Nov. 23 The Snorer

The Nov. 22 prompt for the daily Flash Fiction was to be stranded somewhere with a famous person.

 

Because my flight from Toulouse to Heathrow was late, I did an O.J. run to my Montreal connection. O.J. may not mean something to lots of people, but he was part of an advert before he was tried for murder in the 1980s.

 

I don’t usually fly business, but my husband had frequent flyer miles to upgrade me. I was the last one on. I was panting so hard, the flight attendant brought me water as I strapped myself in.

 

On the overnight flights the seats turn into beds and there was only one other person in business. He not only had his mask over his mouth and nose, his eyes were covered and a blanket was pulled up to his neck. He was snoring.

 

He snored through take off. He snored across the Atlantic. He snored over Greenland. He drowned out the engine. I was able to mute him slightly with the volume from the movies, I didn’t want to watch.

 

I admit, I’m neurotic. The sound of a snore bothers me the way some people react to chalk squeaking on a black/green board in a classroom. And if I’m willing to tell my snoring husband to turn over, I didn’t feel I should to a very tired stranger.

 

We landed and the flight attendant shook the snorer awake.

 

OMG!

 

Garou!

One of my favorite French/Canadian singers since he played Quasimodo in Notre Dame of Paris. I've seen him three times in concerts in Geneva.

 

As he gathered his things from the overhead. I was trying to think of something to say, but couldn't.

 

I reached up for my laptop in the overhead, but couldn’t quite make it without standing on a seat.

 

“May I help you?” he asked in English.

 

“Merci.”

 

By the time I shouldered my backpack he was gone.