Part Two of My Flight Attendant Post for menrule.net

flight

Here’s the second part of my interesting dating experience via Tinder with a flight attendant. If you missed the first part you can catch it on Been Said Before or if you’re into showing my friends over at Menrule.Net then go check it out and sniff around their site by following this link HERE.

As always, click HERE for the original posting or read below. You can even do both. It’s the internet–anything is possible.


My First Flight Attendant: Part Two

It’s been three days since Jackie left. In five more she will be back in Nashville and back over at my apartment. The airline puts her up in a hotel but it is clear across the city from me. And, I don’t own a car. And, a Lyft over to the Opry Mills area is far too expensive from the Belmont area. Plus, I figure she would like to not sleep in a hotel for one night. At least that’s my cheapskate approach.

Three days before she returns to Nashville she sends me photos from her two day trip to Italy. There are pictures of her pointing at touristy things as well as her floating in the Adriatic Sea. I’m still sending photos from my coffee shop outings and videos of my dog snoring.

“can you believe I got these tickets for $45 each way?”
“No, but I would believe you more if you got me those tickets”, I reply.
“next time.”

I pause. Every part of me knows what the phrase ‘next time’ actually means in this instance. It means ‘never’ or ‘not likely’. Still, I go on texting this little blonde girl and grow closer to her with each hotel room selfie she sends to my phone.

While she’s off in Italy somewhere I’m out covering a story for the next This City’s Full feature on a mixed-media artist. While interviewing him I can’t help but bring up my Tinder dates and the creepiness that often comes with heavier girls’ messages. The situation I spotlight is my current one with Jackie.

“Dude, you’re almost like Hank Moody.”, the artist says.
“Well-”
“No, really. Someone should be interviewing you.”

Leaving the interview I feel a little better about my rendezvous with Jackie and the other dates. I’m finally single after a break in my, as my friend calls it, ‘serial monogamist’ ways. Ever since he’s known me I’ve been with someone–whether it be with a vindictive Hot Rod Circuit loving woman who mothered my daughter, a fake blonde-haired girl with a Russian man’s name, or a brunette who ultimately drove me to lunacy. For once in my life I am finally single in an actual city with nothing but freedom in my pockets. Who wouldn’t take advantage of the limitless opportunities this newfound open space holds?

On my way home from the interview Jackie texts me to remind me that tomorrow is the day. Her excitement is endearing and flattering. Here’s a woman who’s only spent one long night with me and is already putting me to the forefront of her daily thoughts. At times it slightly weirds me out. Most of this feeling comes from my pattern of getting poised to make a woman who shows me this kind of affection my girlfriend..or try to at least. Then, in response to her text, my patterns overcome my tact.

“I think I like you more than I should”, I say to her. I’m sitting on the top step of my front deck.
“oh, j. you barely know me.”
“That’s why I said ‘I think’.”
“i’ll see you tomorrow, silly guy.”

I put out my cigarette in the grill and walk back into the house to get it cleaned up again. I don’t hear from Jackie for the rest of the night. This is probably a good thing. I’m busy thinking about where to go or what to order for dinner for us tomorrow night. I’m also really enjoying listening to Rancid on Spotify without the quick silences when a message comes through. I do know I need to pick up some Sriracha. If I don’t have any I am sure that will be a deal-breaker.

We trade little texts throughout the day of her second arrival. I’d usually receive a selfie with the countdown of hours before she gets here, but not yet. It feels different but it doesn’t bother me too much. Our little affair can’t be anything more than an occasional meet-up when she may fly into Music City. Finally, I receive that picture at her last stop before landing in my city.

“two more hours, bb.”
“I think I’m going to order pizza. I hope that’s fine. I was going to order Indian but I don’t want to eat rice.”
“as long as you have sriracha.”

Instead of going to the grocery I sit in my apartment and drink an entire french press to wake up from smoking a little too much pot. After a nap earlier in the day I figured I’d be fine by now. I was wrong and I’m way hungry. Hopefully she doesn’t mind the way I’m going to destroy that pizza. I doze off again.

My phone goes off, “LANDED!”

I scurry to wake myself up.

“YES! I’m going to order the pizza. I hope cheese is fine.”
“it doesn’t matter as long as it’s food. i’m starving.”

She lets me know she is downstairs and I do the same thing as before–shove my tiny dog away from the door with my foot. When I make it down something is different. The spark that was there before is more of a lighter that has run out of fluid. I carry her bags up the stairs again. We get friendly for a few minutes before the pizza guy knocks on the door.

“Do you have sriracha?”, she asks me.
“Fuck. I took a nap and didn’t get to it.”
“Any hot sauce will do then. You do have hot sauce, right?”
“We’re two single guys. Of course there is hot sauce”

I am knocking shit over in the refrigerator while looking around expired miso and tupperware filled with moldy things.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”, I say while looking at the oyster sauce.
“Forget it. I’m hungry.”, she says from my bedroom, “Bring some paper towels.”

I spin around to look on the kitchen counter. Everything but paper towels are up there. If she asked for three pounds of bees’ wax or a janbiya then she’d at least get one thing she asked for. I walk into my bathroom and pull my towel down from the shower curtain.

“I have this.”, I say, presenting my brown bath towel to her.

She looks at me unimpressed, “I guess it’ll work.”

We eat in silence. And, I mean total silence. There are no sirens outside. The dogs aren’t barking. The air conditioner doesn’t run. There is nothing. But, what did she expect from a single, broke freelancer? She knew what she was getting into so I don’t feel at all guilty. After we finish eating we start making out. She crawls on top of me and that’s when things really take a turn for the worst.

“I can’t”, she says, falling over next to me on the bed.
“Are you okay?”

She begins crying. I become very confused and mostly uncomfortable. Is this some weird issue from the past? Is this where she wields her own janbiya and commences to cut my parts off? Luckily my roommate just got home. If anything I have a witness.

“I have to go.”, she sobs as she calls for a car.
“………..”, is all I can say. My confusion is painted on my face and all over every wall in my room. Luckily her Lyft is only two minutes away.

We get dressed and I walk her out past my roommate and just outside the front door. He looks at her watery eyes then looks at me with inquisitive brows. I shrug with my eyes.

“Well, I’ll see you later.”, I say to the back of her head.
“Maybe”, she sniffs.

I walk back into my apartment to my roommate smirking at me.

“So, what did you do to this one?”
“I actually have no idea”, I walk straight to my bedroom, “I need a minute or two and I’ll get back to you.” I shut the door.

Jackie calls me when she gets to her hotel. She explains that she was feeling close to me but couldn’t get close to me because of the distance and her schedule.

“I wish I didn’t leave now that I’m alone in the hotel.”
“It’s probably better that way.”
“I’ll let you know when I’m back in town. Lyft rides are expensive so maybe you can come to my hotel the next time around.”, she says. It’s obvious she’s trying to straighten things out.
“Yeah, next time.”

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