Late Arrival

I am 49 years old, and until this morning, I have NEVER "met cute" on an airplane before.

Now, don't get your knickers in a twist just yet. I ain't sending out gold-engraved invitations anytime soon. Hell, I may never even see the dude I met on today's Kenya Airways flight to Mombasa again. It's just that for the first time ever, I had an incredibly interesting conversation with a guy on an airplane who wasn't a borderline, or COMPLETE, schmuck.

Guess I should take that back, because on the Detroit to Amsterdam leg of my flight back to Kenya in January, I spent several hours talking to the Auburn University student who made me laugh, think and question my worldview all at once. That was a fascinating conversation, albeit with a virtual infant. At 20, there wasn't gonna be any frequent flier credit earned in the Mile High Club with him.

But today, when the guy sitting in the window seat to my left made a crack about the radioactive "croissant" we had just been handed, I had an instant choice to make--and I've made the same one 97 percent of the time on scores of airplanes. I could have twisted my mouth into a wry grimace and then proceeded to completely tune him out, while pretending to focus even more intently on my copy of Oprah Magazine, or the newspaper I'd brought along. You see, I have this tendency to size guys up fairly quickly, and if they don't get the engines revved within the first 10 seconds, I'd rather check my horoscope than jibber jabber through hours of flight time.

Besides. when 8A finally showed up to take his seat, I was already in a mildly pissy mood. I usually make a point of asking for a window or aisle seat, but for some reason, it didn't occur to me this morning. And since Mombasa is only 45 minutes away, I don't see the point of making a big deal about it. For whatever reason, I've always gotten a window or aisle seat. This morning, I was in a smack-dab middle "B" seat, and gritted my teeth waiting for a porker on one side and a deodorant-challenged dude on the other. Well, 8C showed up first, and at least he was a hygienically correct, if stiff and reserved white Brit.

8A turned out to be a man of Asian Indian descent, about my age I'd guess, average height and build, casually dressed in that "I'm a businessman heading to weekend meetings at a golf resort" kind of garb. Absolutely no hormonal activity was flared. So yet again, it was one of those cases where I stretched my face at him and then tucked into my copies of the Daily Nation, Standard and Star newspapers. Then the "breakfast" service began, and I knew I could concentrate on slurping my yogurt and granola until we began our initial descent. That's when 8A cracked wise about the roll.

8A has a deep, sultry British accent that could spontaneously combust the elastic in your drawers. He was also wearing some really cool glasses, and he had a pleasant smile. He's also an apparently EXTREMELY successful businessman, with many contacts and references I've heard of, and one we have in common. And even when I tried to shut down the conversation at various points, when it seemed like he kept asking questions about what I do, and what I think of President Obama, and how I liked Kenya, and what I'd be doing in Kilifi, he was still interested.

By the time he offered to carry my bag off the plane, I was completely gobsmacked. It has been SOOOOOO long since a guy thought I needed help, it took a second for me to even translate what he was saying. And as we walked to the baggage claim, he did that quintessential "guy on the prowl" thing--asked if I was living here with my family. I said I was single. He added, "And ready to mingle?" I just laughed. Like I said, it's been so long since anybody cared, I didn't have any flirty replies at the ready.

We parted ways when I had to wait for my usual gargantuan suitcase at the carousel and he headed off with his sleek carry-on. And then he did the cutest thing...the thumb and forefinger "I'll call you" gesture. I just smiled. I mean, I'm still way too much of a cynic to NOT believe that he has a wife named Padma and 8 children under age 6 living in a Nairobi suburb. I actually don't expect to ever hear from him again.

But something about the encounter felt like another sign that my life is shifting into high gear. I mean, I'm launching this really cool new project that could turn out to be a big deal, if the Universe cooperates. In a lot of ways, I'm more at peace with who and what I am than I've ever been. And even though this morning's encounter was only an incremental step, it was an important one.

So, if I can score a seat next to a stimulating, successful man who seems totally into ME on one flight, I can do it on another one. It's never to late to cash in some frequent flier miles, I guess.