Read Online Easy to Like by Edward Riche - Free Book Online

previous day’s Toronto Post and Leader — a paper Elliot remembered as a vaguely
right-wing daily business rag — and crumbs. The edges of the three-way emergency
escape foldout were getting furry, and there were ridges and blisters in the
lamination. Elliot read that he was on a 737-300. He saw the problem: the
aircraft scheduled for the flight must have been unavailable for some reason.
That explained the trouble with his seat assignment and the antique flying
machine. As long as it got him to his Toronto connection.
    A flight attendant now passed, looking
with disgust into Elliot’s lap and counting under her breath. Judging from her
age and disposition, this woman evidently came with the plane. An occasional
visit to the barber, hot towels and the fixings, might cheer her up, thought
Elliot. He thought he would wait for another stewardess with whom he might bring
up his problem.
    The other woman patrolling the aisles
in Elliot’s section of the plane looked grumpier than the first. She sighed
loudly and closed the overhead storage bins with projected violence. Elliot was
too frightened of her to even ask for a glass of water.
    Only after they were airborne and the
seatbelt sign had been switched off did Elliot go looking for the attendant
responsible for the business-class compartment. He found a man in his forties
with baby blue contacts and a carotene complexion.
    Elliot explained his situation. The man
looked at Elliot’s ticket, nodding as though he were agreeing, and then
shrugged.
    â€œWhat a company, hey?” the steward
offered. “Piece of shit outfit.”
    â€œThey told me —”
    â€œâ€” to call an 888 number. Yes, I know.
Don’t bother, you’ll be on hold to Mumbai longer than the charge in your
cellphone.”
    â€œI don’t want to make a fuss about it.
I would like my seat in business class.”
    â€œYou can try in Toronto.”
    â€œBut then I will have already
flown.”
    â€œI would really like to help you,” he
said, “but I think that’s what they want me to do. They are trying, you know, to
make us take on the responsibility of the ticketing agents. Once they do that,
they’ll start laying them off. I was supposed to groom the aircraft today
because the service in LAX didn’t show — they haven’t been paid in over a
hundred and twenty days. I’m sure you can see my point.”
    Elliot shuffled back to 23B.
    If the blood-pooling confines of his
seat weren’t bad enough, an hour into the flight miniature screens dropped from
the ceiling and the in-flight entertainment commenced. The 737-300 did not
provide a choice for viewers: you got a package of Canadian news and a movie.
    Some bald guy hosted the newscast. (You
would never see that in the States.) Life in Canada didn’t seem to have changed
all that much. The RCMP were reported to be turning into a bunch of bumbling
crooks. Quebec separatism was back, having briefly waned, so the federal
government was announcing more spending in La Belle Province. The disgruntled
premier of Newfoundland and Labrador, wielding evidence of yet further Canadian
colonial malfeasance, was either righteous or insane. A woman in British
Columbia had fended off an attacking grizzly with her guitar. The hockey
playoffs, featuring two teams Elliot had never heard of, were, inexplicably,
still going, even though it was nearly fall — there was a danger they would
overlap with the beginning of the next season. That was Canada this day. There
followed some short travel features, an episode of Happy
Days , which Elliot couldn’t remember as having been this terrible,
and then, one hour into his five of mile-high confinement, the feature.
    Though he had never before seen a frame
of the finished film, the first few seconds of image sent a chill of recognition
down his spine. A poison began to transit from his optic nerves to his
sphincter. Here was young