Take Off


  New York kisses you goodbye at five in the morning and the sky welcomes you with open arms like an old friend. You are old friends. You spend more time in it than you do on the ground. The pre-packaged microwave meal is your usual, the stewardess your best friend, the rumble of a landing your wake up call. Rise and shine, time for work.

  All you need to know is that I’m a consultant of one brand or another. If there’s anyone more intimate with air travel than a pilot, it’s a consultant. When I was a hipster indie youth pop culture kid I asked my guidance counsellor what career to pursue if I loved to travel. She said anything with the word consultant in it was a safe bet. Here I am, sitting on my umpteenth flight to Europe and wishing I’d just worked in retail or something. I have no home; a bed in every port but no woman. The company pays for the expenses but hotel cable loses its appeal surprisingly quick.

  I’m essentially a flying hobo.


~ by Joseph Blame on April 13, 2011.

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