Mean Airline Hostess

Date: 5/18/2019

I was waiting for plain at a small restrictive airport. The plain was old and small but a smart private rental air vehicle. The terminal was a retro first story commercial glass housing. The plains taxied up and passengers walked along a railed boardwalk to the airplanes. I was waiting in-line with a man who had been part of a group of travellers. He wasn’t particularly physically attractive, at bit too bulky with a visually world-weary postural. I liked him anyways because he was kind and had clean thick brown hair. On our cultural/casual informal business research trip, we had got on because we shared interests and values. While some of the other travellers in the group had grown prickly, ill mannered and rude with each other, we remain happy and quietly talkative. From my point of view he was just a very casual acquaintance but the man seemed to be going the extra mile to ease my comfort. His close attention was a little unnerving at first but pleasantly useful. I hadn’t expected or asked for his thoughtful personal assistance. It seemed natural and genuine enough, though and I liked it a lot. I had arrived a terminal separately and a little behind time but not late. I hadn’t quit got my papers in order. He was helping me to organise my thoughts as to what I needed to find out my bags, passport, boarding pass etc. I had to empty my rucksack of things, particularly a tourist token small Persian rug. Like the man, it was intricate, antique and a bit bulky too. It took a little while to find and get my papers out, which panic me unnecessarily. The man was helping me shove the rug back in when the air hostesses opened the gangplank early. She said she was tired and just wanted to get back home smartly. She looked at my open bags with thinly disguised disgusted impatience. The man said he would go in first so that I had time to get sorted. He organised the rest of the small queue to help me. Once he had passed his check in, he waited on the other side of the barrier for me, but the hostesses would not let me board. She said that I was late and too disorganised, so that I would delay the rest of the travellers. This was mean and untrue as I’d had everything in order by then. It was obvious that the number of people who had boarded the plain wasn’t close to the number of available seats. She was acting against the companies interest, to make her home flight simpler (the lazy, unfair, spiteful bitch face, I thought this shit in my dream). I also suspected that she had seen how kind the man had been to me and wanted that for herself. The man looked horrified and upset that I wouldn’t be on the plain with him. I felt sorry for him to be in clutches of the unscrupulous mare and told him not to worry, I’d see him after I’d got the next fight. I was sad because I thought I would never see him again. It was very likely he would be too weak to resist the attractive uniformed woman’s advances once she had got him to herself. I had no right or authority to force passed her jurisdiction. She had opportunistically trapped him and I could do nothing about it. I felt I was going to miss his friendship. Although I knew I could find a more attractive and romantically purposive companion, perhaps even a equally benevolent useful one, I was going to miss his particular mindfulness. I woke up feeling miffed but also thinking why?, when the guy was just a dream character and I know no one exactly like him. He had a look similar to an old, very knowledgable university lecturer, whom I definitely never had a crush on. The dream guy was far more sincerely thoughtful and acted more agreeably generous and close that any non-family male, I’ve ever known. He was certainly better that my last calculating real life guy. I wanted some of that personal male compassion to come through into waking reality. I felt I had lost a chance and I can’t figure out when, who or why... or if I did think there must have been someone, I thought it stupid. Probably one of those situations where there was never any real chance. I also wondered about the bitch face hostess. Was she ever a real person or just some nasty naysayer inner critic? Dreams can be very stupid.