The cruise was over. We were beginning our tedious, 3-flight journey home and I just wanted another piña colada (virgin of course). People were cramming their suitcases in the overhead bins. A baby was already crying. This flight from St. Petersburg to Munich couldn't get better. Thumbing through the Skymall magazine (or whatever those are called) I found some crossword puzzles in the back. This magazine had probably been on hundreds of flights and no one ever tried the crossword puzzles. Score.
I leaned over the aisle to get a pen from my mom. It was a cheap, white and blue, Princess Cruise pen. I felt rebellious as I scribbled down words. I was writing in the Skymall with a pen. A permanent pen. I could imagine future passengers buckling into their seat, gleefully snatching the useless magazine from the seat pocket, furiously flipping to the crossword only to be disappointed by my pen marks. Suckers. I worked on the puzzle, smirking.
Halfway to Munich disaster struck. My pen broke. The tip would retreat into the shell when I pressed down to write. I wasn't going to have any of it. I started unscrewing the pen determined to fix it. I tinkered with the spring. No success. This pen was stubborn. Then I accidentally catapulted a piece onto the lap of the snoozing man next to me. I froze. I debated between grabbing it really quickly and ditching the other pen pieces pretending it wasn't me. I nudged Sam next to me and pointed to the segment on the man's lap. We exchanged whispers. I felt like I was in a poorly written sitcom.
I resolved to get my piece back. Gingerly, I used another pen piece to putt the immigrant fragment off the man's leg onto the floor. Tiger would be proud. I froze again staring at the man to see if he would rouse from his slumber. He snoozed on. Relieved, I reached down and reclaimed the prodigal piece. Not wanting another sitcom episode I abandoned repairing the pen. Who knew the crossword puzzles in Skymall would lead to such adventures at 30,000 feet?
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