Interlude Two
The United Airlines Boeing 777-200 touched down at Singapore Changi International Airport almost exactly on-time at 11:56 PM, local time. After using a mile of runway to decelerate, it turned onto an exit taxiway and sedately turned back toward the terminal area. Few people talked inside the jet, most having just woken up from not near enough sleep. Most busied themselves repacking their carry-on luggage under the low cabin lights, listening with half an ear to the flight attendant's goodbye message:
"Ladies and gentlemen," the attendant began, standing up in the galley area between the First and Business Class cabins with the PA system's handset up against her cheek. "We would like to be the first to welcome you to Singapore, where the local time is approximately eleven fifty-seven p.m. We would like to request that everyone remains seated with their seatbelts securely fastened until the aircraft has come to a complete stop at the gate and the seatbelt sign has been turned off. We would like to warn you that items placed in the overhead bins may have shifted during the flight, and so caution should be used when opening these bins. Finally, the entire flight crew of this United Airlines flight eight-o-one and I would like to wish you a pleasant stay in Singapore or a safe journey onwards to your final destination. We hope you have had a pleasant flight with us, and hope that if your travel plans call for air travel again, you will think of us at United Airlines. Once again, we are now in Singapore, local time is eleven fifty-eight p.m."
The woman then placed the brown plastic handset back in its cradle on the wall and turned to help her fellow flight attendants clear up the galley. As she stacked wineglasses in their padded carrying case, one of her colleagues called to her from across the galley:
"Mary," the man called over to her as he opened up the coat closet and pulled out his blazer, "did you get all the dishes from First?"
The woman paused for a second, trying to remember if she'd cleaned up all the glasses and plates from the First Class cabin. It was almost completely empty, and she had been so busy clearing up all the empty wineglasses and coffee mugs from Business Class cabin she must have forgotten. Not that it was difficult to, with only one man sitting up in seat 2A, sleeping most of the time and asking for nothing more than a Coke every once in a while.
"No, I don't think I did," she replied, nodding in thanks to her friend before turning and heading forward to the First Class section of the aircraft.
Dimly lit during the entire flight to allow its occupants to sleep soundly, the First Class cabin was filled with only ten seats with only one occupied - a gentleman sitting in seat 2A. He stared blankly out the window as the woman neared him, either because he hadn't noticed her or just hadn't bothered to look up. For almost the entire flight he'd been like that, staring darkly out the window or at the newspaper he never bothered to read. He hardly spoke, even when Mary had tried to strike up a conversation during their infrequent encounters. She hoped she didn't come across as desperate for conversation; it was simply that he looked lonely, and she had thought a little chat might do him some good. But every one of his answers to her questions had been short and uninterested, so she left him alone.
"Can I take those for you, sir?" she asked the man, seeing his tray table still laden with four glasses and a half-eaten club sandwich. The man nodded slowly, not once turning his head away from the window as she removed the dirty dishes from his table. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"
"No, thank you," the man answered quietly, his voice flat and indifferent. The flight attendant nodded and walked back to the galley, a little disturbed by the man's stoicism. Not that she really wanted to talk to him - his appearance had disturbed her from the moment he walked on the plane in Tokyo.
Sporting a long, blue robe that hung down to below his knees, she had at first thought he was some kind of monk or priest. But the garment seemed too bleak and stiff - with its rigid black collar and large, polished leather belt around the waist - for any religious group to use. His face was also upsetting, with a strange blue tinge to his skin and a hideous scar running along his left cheek. With his blue-black hair pulled back into a slick, glistening ponytail he looked more like a mental asylum escapee than anything else. But now the flight was over, and Mary no longer had to worry about him.
Once the aircraft was parked at the gate with its main exits open and the jet-bridges connected, passengers were slowly allowed to disembark. The blue-skinned man was one of the first off, stepping off of the airliner without a single word of thanks to the flight crew. His step brisk, the man was soon entering the cavernous immigration hall, devoid of passengers at such a late hour. The uniformed Customs officer found nothing wrong with the man's Canadian passport while stifling the urge to ask about his unusual skin tone. Instead, he waved blue-skinned Peter Smith past his booth, and into the baggage claim area. 'Peter Smith' picked up no baggage, but instead walked past the rows of black conveyor belts and through the second Customs checkpoint.
Outside, in the brightly lit Arrivals hall, he walked past the throngs of people waiting for friends or family to where a small, well-dressed native stood holding a sign. Taped onto the board was a sheet of paper with the words 'Mr. Lipsquie' printed in large, bold lettering.
"You're from the hotel?" the blue-skinned man asked, not bothering to correct the man's misspelling of his name.
"Yes - and you're Mr. Lispie?" the other man replied in heavily-accented English. Apparently he needed to work a little on his language skills.
The blue-skinned man smiled slightly, his scar contorting as his cheek rose, and nodded in affirmation: "Yes, I'm Mr. Lispie."
The hotel employee nodded in understanding, and led Mr. Lispie to the hotel van parked outside. After eight hours of sitting in a pressurized steel tube the heavy, humid night air of Singapore was a welcome change for Mr. Lispie. He took a few deep breaths of the sweetly moist breeze sweeping along the terminal building's edge before following the man to his ride.
"Did you have nice flight, sir?" the small man asked him as he opened the door on the passenger's side.
"It was decent, yes," Lispie replied, pausing a moment as he thought about something. "Though for some reason this dammed flight attendant kept trying to strike up a conversation." He paused again; "I think she was coming onto me."
The United Airlines Boeing 777-200 touched down at Singapore Changi International Airport almost exactly on-time at 11:56 PM, local time. After using a mile of runway to decelerate, it turned onto an exit taxiway and sedately turned back toward the terminal area. Few people talked inside the jet, most having just woken up from not near enough sleep. Most busied themselves repacking their carry-on luggage under the low cabin lights, listening with half an ear to the flight attendant's goodbye message:
"Ladies and gentlemen," the attendant began, standing up in the galley area between the First and Business Class cabins with the PA system's handset up against her cheek. "We would like to be the first to welcome you to Singapore, where the local time is approximately eleven fifty-seven p.m. We would like to request that everyone remains seated with their seatbelts securely fastened until the aircraft has come to a complete stop at the gate and the seatbelt sign has been turned off. We would like to warn you that items placed in the overhead bins may have shifted during the flight, and so caution should be used when opening these bins. Finally, the entire flight crew of this United Airlines flight eight-o-one and I would like to wish you a pleasant stay in Singapore or a safe journey onwards to your final destination. We hope you have had a pleasant flight with us, and hope that if your travel plans call for air travel again, you will think of us at United Airlines. Once again, we are now in Singapore, local time is eleven fifty-eight p.m."
The woman then placed the brown plastic handset back in its cradle on the wall and turned to help her fellow flight attendants clear up the galley. As she stacked wineglasses in their padded carrying case, one of her colleagues called to her from across the galley:
"Mary," the man called over to her as he opened up the coat closet and pulled out his blazer, "did you get all the dishes from First?"
The woman paused for a second, trying to remember if she'd cleaned up all the glasses and plates from the First Class cabin. It was almost completely empty, and she had been so busy clearing up all the empty wineglasses and coffee mugs from Business Class cabin she must have forgotten. Not that it was difficult to, with only one man sitting up in seat 2A, sleeping most of the time and asking for nothing more than a Coke every once in a while.
"No, I don't think I did," she replied, nodding in thanks to her friend before turning and heading forward to the First Class section of the aircraft.
Dimly lit during the entire flight to allow its occupants to sleep soundly, the First Class cabin was filled with only ten seats with only one occupied - a gentleman sitting in seat 2A. He stared blankly out the window as the woman neared him, either because he hadn't noticed her or just hadn't bothered to look up. For almost the entire flight he'd been like that, staring darkly out the window or at the newspaper he never bothered to read. He hardly spoke, even when Mary had tried to strike up a conversation during their infrequent encounters. She hoped she didn't come across as desperate for conversation; it was simply that he looked lonely, and she had thought a little chat might do him some good. But every one of his answers to her questions had been short and uninterested, so she left him alone.
"Can I take those for you, sir?" she asked the man, seeing his tray table still laden with four glasses and a half-eaten club sandwich. The man nodded slowly, not once turning his head away from the window as she removed the dirty dishes from his table. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"
"No, thank you," the man answered quietly, his voice flat and indifferent. The flight attendant nodded and walked back to the galley, a little disturbed by the man's stoicism. Not that she really wanted to talk to him - his appearance had disturbed her from the moment he walked on the plane in Tokyo.
Sporting a long, blue robe that hung down to below his knees, she had at first thought he was some kind of monk or priest. But the garment seemed too bleak and stiff - with its rigid black collar and large, polished leather belt around the waist - for any religious group to use. His face was also upsetting, with a strange blue tinge to his skin and a hideous scar running along his left cheek. With his blue-black hair pulled back into a slick, glistening ponytail he looked more like a mental asylum escapee than anything else. But now the flight was over, and Mary no longer had to worry about him.
Once the aircraft was parked at the gate with its main exits open and the jet-bridges connected, passengers were slowly allowed to disembark. The blue-skinned man was one of the first off, stepping off of the airliner without a single word of thanks to the flight crew. His step brisk, the man was soon entering the cavernous immigration hall, devoid of passengers at such a late hour. The uniformed Customs officer found nothing wrong with the man's Canadian passport while stifling the urge to ask about his unusual skin tone. Instead, he waved blue-skinned Peter Smith past his booth, and into the baggage claim area. 'Peter Smith' picked up no baggage, but instead walked past the rows of black conveyor belts and through the second Customs checkpoint.
Outside, in the brightly lit Arrivals hall, he walked past the throngs of people waiting for friends or family to where a small, well-dressed native stood holding a sign. Taped onto the board was a sheet of paper with the words 'Mr. Lipsquie' printed in large, bold lettering.
"You're from the hotel?" the blue-skinned man asked, not bothering to correct the man's misspelling of his name.
"Yes - and you're Mr. Lispie?" the other man replied in heavily-accented English. Apparently he needed to work a little on his language skills.
The blue-skinned man smiled slightly, his scar contorting as his cheek rose, and nodded in affirmation: "Yes, I'm Mr. Lispie."
The hotel employee nodded in understanding, and led Mr. Lispie to the hotel van parked outside. After eight hours of sitting in a pressurized steel tube the heavy, humid night air of Singapore was a welcome change for Mr. Lispie. He took a few deep breaths of the sweetly moist breeze sweeping along the terminal building's edge before following the man to his ride.
"Did you have nice flight, sir?" the small man asked him as he opened the door on the passenger's side.
"It was decent, yes," Lispie replied, pausing a moment as he thought about something. "Though for some reason this dammed flight attendant kept trying to strike up a conversation." He paused again; "I think she was coming onto me."