A Potter Gold

I just read that in 2007, J.K. Rowling made over 5 million dollars A WEEK.
Do you understand what that means?

• she can buy a pair of crocs in EVERY color.
• she doesn't hyperventilate when she realizes her library books are overdue.
• she won't notice the price of gas until it hits maybe $25,000 a gallon.
  
• she can have facelifts to avoid having a neck like the scarecrow in the wizard of oz.
  
• she can ignore the $100 water bill she got yesterday and not even tell her husband about it because if she did he'd just have a fit and tell her those plants are costing too much money and with climate change they're not going to last long anyway so you better just stop it and not bring us to rack and ruin by throwing good money down the drain!
• and, she NEVER, NEVER, NEVER NEVER has to fly coach.

We flew from O to SLC a week ago. It was such a great deal, a non-stop flight! I mean, I didn't think they even made non-stops anymore. And, what was really great is that my sister and brother-in-law actually live in Park City, only 30 minutes from SLC, so it wasn't like we took the flight just for the non-stoppish-ness. No, we went to visit family and we didn't have to do anything all day long except ride, ride, ride. The Man and I are championship riders. We have trophies and blue ribbons exaltating our ability to ride.

I had booked a window seat for The Man because he likes to look down during a flight and say "Lookie! Lookie!" about a million times and I had the aisle seat in the same row. Because of the emptiness of the plane I foresaw no problem with our arrangement...that is; until he came down the aisle.

Everyone was on the plane, all snug in their seats, water bottles at the ready, books and magazines set for action, cellular phones and other electronic devices turned off. We just sat there waiting. No one knew what we were waiting for...that is; until he came down the aisle.

The flight attendants had checked to make sure all our carry on bags were stowed under the seats in front of us and that our tray tables were in the upright and locked position. They closed all the overhead compartments, chatted amicably with the passengers...that is; until he came down the aisle.

He was wearing biker clothes, jeans, a t-shirt and a black leather vest. His arms were covered in tatoos, and his hair was cut short in the front in order to disguise that fact that there was actually a ponytail in the back.

He shouted to the flight attendant that he needed "13!" then he hacked like he wanted to spit but realized too late he couldn't.

I gulped.

He approached our row. Some ticketing agent had actually given him OUR middle seat. I told him I'd move over and sit in the middle, all the while wondering if anyone else could hear my brain which was screaming "Are you NUTS?! Are you out of your MIND?!"

He said he didn't care, "they're all the same to me" and he sat down and started hacking. I'd say "cough," but it really was so much more than a mere cough. It would definitely qualify as a "hack," the hack of an eight-pack-a-day smoker.

On my right, The Man's eyes were boring into me. Eyes that were saying, "What have you done? Why is this guy in OUR row?" and other absolutely worthless and irritating things. I refused to look at him, knowing that if I did I'd scream. Instead, I looked at my watch and announced to no one in particular, "Three hours and 20 minutes to go."

After we reached altitude I got up and walked down the aisle to the restroom. What I saw was astounding. People all stretched out with empty seats between them, everybody spread out, lying down in empty rows. One girl awoke with me just standing there looking down at her. I was thinking, "Why is she alone in this row and comfortable and sleeping?" She looked at me like "Who is this creepy woman and why is she staring at me?" I continued to the bathroom and intentionally banged my head against the door several times.

I squeezed back into my stupid middle seat and he started talking to me. He told me that he'd almost missed the flight because he went off to use the bathroom and to the bar (he nudged me in the arm) for a pre-flight drink (chuckle, chuckle), but when he got back to the gate his carry on bag was gone. The Airport Police had confiscated his unattended bag! The flight was boarding and he had to frantically run and find the Police Office. Once there they hassled him about leaving his bag. He was an ex-con and "you know how the cops are with ex-cons and all" and he lives in Reno. He had taken the bus from Reno to O to get some money he was owed. He showed me the envelope in his inside breast pocket, "about $8000 left," he said. He had just gotten out of jail a few weeks ago and found that his ol' lady had some friend of his, another guy, living at their house now and he didn't like that one bit. The story went on and on and the guy was still hacking and every time he hacked he smelled like a Burger King hamburger.

I sat there stunned, unable to get past the "ex-con" part of the story. I shook my head and muttered platitudes, but my mind was saying "He's an ex-con. You're sitting next to an ex-con. This guy's been in the big house." I started wondering about the proper etiquettie for conversing with a jailbird? Can I ask what he was "in" for?

By this time The Man had left his window seat and was out having his own adventures looking for another place to sit. He left me alone with the felon. I watched part of a movie, but I kept taking my earplugs out to listen to the guy tell me more about himself, about his five children who live in various states with their various grandparents because the mothers were in jail or just gone. I may have been flying to SLC, but my flight mate was taking me on a rocket ship to the moon.

By the end of the journey The Man was sitting up a few rows in a bulkhead seat, I was back in my original aisle seat, and the ex-con was in the window seat. He was looking down, then he turned to me and said, "How come the states don't have their names printed on them, you know, so you could tell where you are?" I thought that was a great idea. You fly over Nebraska and you see in big white letters N-E-B-R-A-S-K-A! Every state is easily identifiable. We laughed about it together. "At least they could put the first letter," he said. "Yeah," I said, "they should do that."

Then he said, "Oh look, a rainbow!"

I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned over. We both looked out and, sure enough, there was a beautiful rainbow.

Which brings this story full circle, right back to J.K. Rowling and her Potter Gold.