And speaking of airplanes . . .

CHAMPAGNE FLIGHT

Steve and Penny, good seedstock breeders from Iowa, made a trip to Hawaii to check out the thriving cattle business in our fiftieth state.

Through an oversight (she says he forgot; he says it involved the International House of Pancakes, Slobodan Milosevic, and the air traffic controllers’ handbook), they were forced to purchase first-class round-trip airline tickets. They had to take their youngest out of college to pay for the trip.

They spent several days observing the big ranches on the island of Hawaii, loading feeder cattle on ships for U.S. and Canadian destinations, and making new friends.

Upon boarding for the return flight, they and the other passengers watched a Very Important Person and his entourage create a scene. He was a mid-forties hawkish-looking man with slicked-back hair pulled into a ponytail off his balding forehead. Dark eyes, gold earring, cream suit, black collarless shirt, and a diamond ring big as a dinner roll led some to think he was either a drug kingpin or a maître d’ at Caesars Palace. Steve thought he had seen him at the sale barn in Winterset, but he wasn’t sure.

This VIP insisted on boarding first. He bustled about his seating area, 1D—first seat on the aisle on the starboard side. He had also purchased the adjoining window seat upon which he laid his lizard skin briefcase, tungsten alloy featherweight laptop, gold lamé cell phone, and compact sound system. While all were boarding, his six vassals loaded in coach. He held up the departure to complete an important call. The entire first-class section heard him say, “Paint it robin’s egg blue.”

Once they were en route, his behavior was demanding, arrogant, and snotty. The passengers around him felt sorry for the flight attendant who took the brunt of his abuse. She managed to get the surrounding passengers accommodated cheerfully between the VIP’s outbursts and complaints about the turbulence, bitter coffee, mediocre champagne, cheap silver-ware, thin blankets, and monotonous view.

Meanwhile, Steve and Penny had been rat-holing the plastic forks, unused napkins, and extra packages of nondairy creamer. The flight attendant also presented them with a bottle of champagne she had unwired but never opened. (“I’ll put it in the overhead storage up front. You can pick it up when you leave.”)

“The captain has lighted the seat belt warning for landing. Please remain in your seats.” The plane descended from 35,000 feet into the Los Angeles airport. At precisely 1,100 feet above the runway, a gurgling, fizzing gusher poured from directly above the VIP. A Niagara of champagne sluiced from the overhead compartment along the leading edge, cascading over his hairdo, down his neck, and onto his seat.

He was screaming, trying to cover his head and unbuckle his seat belt. The flight attendant leaped to his side. She held him firmly beneath the foaming waterfall, insisting repeatedly, “You must remain seated for your own safety.”

He spluttered and squinted as she did her duty. Only once did Penny see her smile, but fellow travelers were observed in various displays of mirth, from covered-mouth giggling to Steve’s braying like a mule and pounding the back of his seat.

As they were debouching, the flight attendant apologized to Steve and Penny about their bottle of champagne. “The change in pressure must have popped the cork,” she explained, suppressing a guffaw.

“Actually,” said Steve, “we’re not big champagne drinkers anyway. I’m glad you found another use for it.”