Skydome Airlines

A tall bearded Pete from the airline gave each of us a black Motorola beeper after we have passed through the pearl white metal detector. He said he would page us when the connecting flight was ready. That was weeks ago, I'm not sure how many.

We exited the terminal building and were desperate to find out where we were. It said City of Angels on a lamp post, so we assumed it was Los Angeles. We got on a shuttle and a chubby guy with a visor cap approached. Rather than collecting money he handed each of us a stack of paper. Mine was full of Greek alphabets. The next guy's spelled out some medical mysteries, heart failure etc.

We settled down at a retro classy hotel - stained glass dome ceiling, marble pillars and grand staircase, etc - looked like a joint Al Capone would have frequented. I spent the next few weeks in a room solving a pile of math problems, calculus, set theory, you name it. Our pagers never went off. Then we got anxious and took a hotel shuttle back to the airport.

So here we are at the ticket office talking about how we don't remember much about the last few weeks. Then somehow Skinny Gabe from kids school shows up behind the check-in counter. Unlike then he now looks radiant and glows. He instructs everybody to calm down and think back.

I remember our 767 was full so they upgraded me to first class. People by the windows were pointing and talking about a smoky engine. We were on our way to a emergency landing when a sudden jolt sent magazines and plastic cups flying all over. The low rumble of the turbines grew to a wailing roar, overshadowing the frantic screams of people trying hard to hold on to on their seats. The cabin shook violently and the cockpit door flapped open. Through the cockpit window I saw a control tower drew close rapidly at an angle. I was so scared and I closed my eyes and prayed.

Gabe finishes up his speech, something about how each of us has been given a talent and that he will watch over us. The machine underneath his desk has been spitting out boarding passes which he staples and hands us. I try to find the gate number on mine but in its place is a hospital name.

Oh boy, let's hope that my math will help make better planes in the future.