Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Hot. Diggity. Dog

I am sitting in the middle seat of an aircraft. I always have to sit in the middle because Hub likes to sit on the outside aisle in order to stretch his legs and trip the flight attendants or anyone else walking around the aircraft when the pilot has advised that it is now safe to move about the cabin.

Note: When I fly alone, I do not sit in the middle. But I only fly alone when I am going on a girls' weekend, which has been exactly once or when I have a book signing or other publicity commitment for my novel. Which has been exactly never.

Today I am sitting in the middle and I am shoving my small, personal carry-on under the seat in front of me. I am shoving with my feet. It does not fit. The large stuffed horse, won by the Hub at Disneyland's California Adventure and zippered into the top of my small, personal carry-on, is causing the problem, but if I keep kicking, it will fit. Under the seat.

A gentleman is standing in the aisle saying May I step in? meaning he wants to sit beside me in the window seat.

Can't you see I'm busy right now, trying to put my small personal carry-on completely under the seat in front of me? I say, but only in my mind, of course.

The young gentleman and I chat. About my horse. And my 50 year-old Hub. And the Gentleman's girlfriend. And his house on the beach. And his parents who fly around in corporate jets on account of Grandpa just gave Dad the family business. And about how the Gentleman is not in the family business and is flying to San Jose to get bawled out for something dumb he did at work. Selling water heaters. And how lame it is to have to be bawled out in person instead of over the phone.

That is terrible, I say, and I hope that your job will be okay because in today's economy a good job is important.

Note: I like to use phrases like 'in today's economy' and the whatnot.

He is shrugging. I'll be okay, he says. My Grandfather just handed his company to my Dad and I'll be next.

Next to what? I ask.

Note: Be prepared. His response is awesome.

Hot dogs.

I am sitting next to the heir of the (Brand Name Deleted) Hot Dog Fortune.

Note: I cannot reveal the name of the Hot Dog Company but I will say that they answer to a higher authority.

We part ways. He gives me his card and says he can get me a good deal on a water heater, if I'm ever in the market for one.

Thank you, I say. And the next time I eat a hot dog, I'll think of you.

Note: Oops. That just doesn't sound right.

But think about it. The heir of a weiner fortune. No, the heir of a freaking weiner empire. Right next to me on Southwest.

Heck, yes!


Lindsay said...

I really don't like hot dogs. But I am sure hot dog makers are nice. :)

Matthew Gamblin said...

I just like the thought of a "weiner empire".

Any man would love to be the heir to that. :)