Seattle to Mozambique

My row buddies on my flight from SEA to JFK were a woman from Mexico in the middle seat who was moving to Montreal and a Seattle transplant whose best friend is the coach of the NY Jets. Not that I know this at first. I find this out through a lengthy flirtation between these two as I'm trying to sleep without leaning on the passengers lined up for the restroom. As I'm drifting in and out NY Jets tries to make the moves on Ms. Mexico by talking about football. Ms. Mexico responds by dragging out a folder of her mexican girl band with large, overly styled photographs of her in various positions (not all singing). She giggles that she is a model too. They slowly get closer and closer and soon their legs are intertwined and they are checking out the line to the bathroom. NY Jets was trying to speak the few words of Spanish to her that he could muster. Two of which, accidentally, were "mi esposa" (my wife). To which Ms. Mexico is astonished but continues to flirt and cuddle up. NY Jets continues to flirt as well but begins to nervously slide his wedding ring up and down his finger. Yes....the inevitable happened. The ring flew off his hand and his attempts to find the ring by jamming his hand between their seats wasn't working.

At this time Ms. Helpful, the flight attendant, comes by to tell him that this happened before to a NY Jets player (what is with the fucking Jets and my flight?) and that he never did find his ring. This comment from Ms. Helpful sends NY Jets into a frenzy and three rows of people get up and walk to the little space between the bathrooms clutching their seat-cushions-that-double-as-a-floatation-device to their bodies as NY Jets crawls through the gunk left by thousands of previous flyers. This went on and on....Ms. Mexico and I must have been standing at the back of the plane for an hour. I was amused and glad that I was ready for a water landing at any moment but Ms. Mexico looked embarrassed and guilty and NY Jets was getting more panicked by the minute.

He finally found it. The whole place gave a weak clap (all had been a witness to their intertwined intensity) and we went back to our seats in silence. Ms. Mexico and I chatted for the rest of the flight as NY Jets looked lost in relief and guilt. Ms. Mexico wanted my e-mail and made me promise that I would visit her in Mexico or Montreal (this is strangely not even amongst the first times that my seatmates on a plane wanted me to visit them afterward) and we all left into the great grey bosom of NY.