blake

White male, 26-28 years old, 5'11", attorney, Boston University, plaintiff-side class action litigation, in Aquadots case before my judge, going to Boston for bachelor party, had been looking forward to it for months, got bumped off the same flight as me. I made conversation by asking whether he had any more information than me; he didn't. We walked together from Gate B5 to B21 for ten minutes, dodging rolling bags, slicing through queues, waiting when one was behind the other. High spirits, fast walking. I called DR on my cell phone for advice about what to do and Blake half-listened to my end of the conversation, chuckling politely when I made jokes about the weather. Queued together for twenty minutes, commiserating with fellow travelers. A man who had just made it to the front of the queue walked back looking grim. I asked, What are they saying? The man - 6'3" Eastern European in sharp business dress - said, with a gulping accent, "Bullshit." Everybody laughed, everybody suffered the same. No point in getting angry at the weather. Blake and I advanced to the counter and monopolized the smiling attendant for fifteen minutes asking about different permutations of travel options: standby on Flights X and Y; guaranteed seats on Flights A and B but not until Saturday night; refunds; reroutes. I felt lawyerly communion with the lawyer at my side.

The options were not good. Take a risk on waiting for a standby seat for the last flight to Boston before Sunday, with a more than 50% chance of not getting a seat at all, or attempt to fly standby on a flight to New York, which would leave me 210 miles from my destination at 12:30 a.m. Blake desperately wanted to go to Boston for the bachelor party; one could sense it from the way he talked about his job. I said, Come on, just fly to New York. He said, But I don't know anybody there. I said, You don't know anybody there? No. And then, for a brief moment, it seemed the crazy was going to ratchet up to a new level, and I thought about proposing that we share a hotel room that night. We had engaged with each other for half an hour and it got me to almost right amount of friendly, or flirtatious, or slutty. But I guess no, not yet, not enough. I wavered for a few moments, and then decided to run through that lovely colorful neon sound installation to Gate C8 to stand by for the next flight to LaGuardia. Blake was researching Chinatown bus options with his thumbs all over the screen of his smartphone. I shook his hand, said goodbye, and ran away.