Timing is everything
This last week, I flew from Portland to Orlando, Fla., to attend a conference for my employer, Portland Community College. En route, I chatted up my seat companion, a pathologist who works in the research field on such topics as organ transplants and immunology. I told her about my book, “Crashers.” She asked, “What’s it about?”
I pretended not to hear her question. It was pretty blustery over Orlando and we were experiencing significant chop. We were in an Airbus A-321 that came off the line about a decade ago and the storm was hitting us pretty good.
As the carrier buffeted around us, this didn’t seem the time to tell her the plot of my novel.
Her eyes grew large as ball lightning hovered over the tip of the starboard wing and I told her, “It’s OK. It’s an electrical discharge. It’s supposed to do that.”
The pilots landed the beast as softly as a father kissing a baby’s forehead. The captain turned off the seat belt sign. The doctor stood and retrieved her overhead luggage. “Hey,” she said. “’Crashers?’ What do they crash?”
I grabbed my valise and waved around us. “One of these.”