Pick Up Lines Don’t Fly at 30,000 Feet

Image from Zazzle

Dear “Houston,”

I’m flattered that you found me attractive – or at least, attractive and proximately-seated enough – that you decided to try to flirt with me on our plane ride tonight. But here’s a piece of advice for you, and every other would-be airborne Casanova out there: pick up lines don’t fly at 30,000 feet.

Yes, okay, sure – in a romantic comedy, two pretty people might very well be seated next to one another, AND both be single, and also probably each just getting out of some really awful relationship, which they will bond over immediately, and  then they’ll keep right on talking and, glory be!, discover a shared passion for fine wines, Italian opera, and miniature schnauzers. But in real life? It’s much more likely that you’ll be seated next to someone unavailable and/or uninterested, and hitting on them will only make the flight feel about three hours longer. That is most definitely what happened in our case this fine evening.

Don’t believe me? Well, here’s what happened, from my point of view:

·         You (placing a hand on my arm): “You look like you’re going to Houston.”

·         Me (shifting my arm away): “Oh, um, I’m not.”

·         You (not giving up so easily): “Well, somewhere near Houston? Where are you headed?”

·         Me (deciding to be vague): “Mississippi.”

·         You (shrugging, aiming for nonplussed): “Oh, well. Because if you were going to Houston…  then, we could’ve… y’know.”

·         YOUR DAD (seated on your left, quietly, ashamed): “Oh, son.”

·         Me (sinking down in my seat, trying to ignore you as I realized that now, following this awk-berg exchange, would still have to remain seated within inches of each other for the next hour and forty-seven minutes): ……

I’m pretttttttttty sure my account sums up the conversation pretttttttttty well. I’m not sure how it went from your point of view (I’d probably be a cold prude in your re-telling, and not that cute anyway). I’m also not sure how you were hoping it would go. “Why, yes, although this flight is not headed to Texas I DO have a connecting flight, and whaddaya know, I AM going to Houston! And I don’t have a husband or boyfriend or anything, and we were seated next to each other and OMG IT MUST BE FATE LET’S MAKE OUT RIGHT NOW!”

Especially with your dad seated beside you. I mean, really. YOUR DAD!

Anyway. In the future, I suggest at least waiting until you’re de-plane-ing to try to get a girl’s number, because that way, if it doesn’t work out, she can swiftly put a terminal’s worth of distance between the two of you. (And if you then wind up seated beside each other on your next flight… well… actually, in that case, maybe it IS fate, and you should ask her how she feels about miniature schnauzers.)

So, yeah. Hope your connecting flight went well. Hey, odds were definitely in your favor that any random foxy girl on the Houston-bound plane would probably, in fact, be heading to Texas. So who knows? Maybe you two could… y’know…

Regards,

“Mississippi”

PS (Insert Mile High Club joke here.)
PPS (That's what she said.)