Kaitlyn and I have worked together for years and even though I respect her professionally I really don’t like her personally. I really don’t like her personally. Most of us in our company’s education department have dinner together when we are on the road but I always have an excuse ready when, as protocol dictates, Kaitlyn asks me to dinner.
“I’m sorry, not tonight,” I told her in Atlanta, “I’m visiting my cousin Beth.” Several weeks later when in Houston I told her I was meeting a college friend, Robert, and later that month in Boston I was sidelined with a mysterious, unidentified malady that was miraculously cured before we started our meeting the next morning. Let the record show that I have no cousin Beth, my friend Robert lives in London and that I never get sick.
To her everlasting credit, Kaitlyn has never questioned any of my clearly manufactured excuses, which is because she wants to spend time with me about as much as I want to spend time with her. So we both smile politely, knowing that our relationship is pure fiction, do our jobs, quite well I might add, and, at the end of our weekend trips, (but only if there are clients watching,) we suffer a brief hug and bid each other a fond farewell.
“Great meeting!” I’ll say.
“See you in Phoenix!” she’ll gush, and we both go our separate ways, shuddering slightly and muttering under our breath.
A professional relationship like this can continue successfully for many years, indeed there are actual marriages that are built on less, but then one weekend, thanks to a perfect storm or errors and incompetence we were both scheduled on the same connecting flight to Dallas. In adjoining seats.
I was comfortably ensconced at the window when I saw her board the plane. We smiled and waved then she looked at her boarding pass, looked at the seat number next to me and went pale.
“Small world,” she said through clenched teeth, putting her luggage overhead.
“Is this you?” I asked. I was already wishing I was dead; it was a three hour flight. She nodded grimly.
“Small world,” I repeated.
There was a long, awkward silence; the only thing worse than our awkward silences is when Kaitlyn feels the need to fill them with speech. She cleared her throat, and as I cringed internally she told me how much she loved Dallas, hated Florida and hoped her son would grow up to be “just like” Glenn Beck.
We had been together 4 minutes and I was already furious, so I mentioned that I thought Florida was paradise, that Texas should be allowed to secede and form a separate country and that her daughter reminded me of Rachel Maddow.
I saw a little vein bulging in Kaitlyn’s temple but before she could respond she was distracted by a small ruckus at the boarding door.
A young couple, honeymooners, had boarded the plane and discovered that he was in row 14 and she was in row 19. They wanted to sit together and were clearly willing to delay the flight until they could.
The flight attendant was dismissive. “There are no available seats,” she said, “so just sit down.”
I never thought twice. “They can have our seats!” I shouted, just as Kaitlyn said, “We insist!!”
The honeymooners beamed. “That’s very nice of you,” said the bride, as Kaitlyn and I murmured modestly.
“Great chatting with you!” I told Kaitlyn as I headed to my new seat.
“Dinner in Dallas?” she asked.
“I’m seeing my cousin Robert,” I told her and she nodded sadly.
“Love ya, love ya!” said Kaitlyn.