Page 28 of Cuts like a Knife
Not my problem, right? Wrong. At least according to Callum, it was very much my problem.
“How the fuck was I supposed to know I needed a passport? The Bahamas are part of the f—ing country.” His voice boomed into my ear from my phone speaker, making me wince.
“No, Callum. They’re not. It’s a completely different country.”
“Wrong,” he said93. “It’s like fu—ing Hawaii. Or Puerto Rico. We own that s—t.”
I had closed my eyes94.
I want to die whenever I think about the fact that I slept with him. I really do.’
“The Bahamas are an independent country in the Caribbean,” I finally said, losing my composure a bit. “I don’t know how else to say it. Not part of America. At all. I thought you went to college.”
“Oh f— off, little miss High and Mighty. You’re only tagging along on this trip because of me, so go pick up my passport,” he’d replied.
What else could I do but comply? He’s my superior. I’m getting a free trip to the Bahamas that I wouldn’t have without him. I need to keep this job95.
So instead of taking the car I’d booked to the airport as planned, I took it to Callum’s place, found the key under the flower pot, as instructed96, found the passport and then made my way to the airport by shuttle, because I couldn’t afford another cab ride and even though this is a work trip, Citidaze is terrible about reimbursing for expenses. I can submit exactly one receipt for this morning — the car. And if I’m lucky, accounts will just pay it. A second car ride? They’d question it. It would be an argument. And Callum may or may not back me up were I to explain that I was only doing his bidding. So I sent the car away and took a bus shuttle to the airport.
Which is why I’m late.
And he won’t even appreciate it. Guaranteed.
Inside the terminal, I find Callum waiting at one of the banks of check-in kiosks.
“Finally,” he said. “Took you long enough.”
I hand him the passport and he immediately turns to the machine.
“Can you check me in too? You made me late. I’m probably going to get stuck in a middle seat,” I say. I poke his back with my own passport, but he ignores me.”
“Yup,” he says, as the seat map pops up on the screen in front of him. “Not a lot of options left. Not none mind you, but you better hurry if you’re going to get something decent.”
He doesn’t turn around, just keeps tapping away at the screen in front of him.
I love my job. Grateful to have it.
I look around the crowded terminal. There are lines at every kiosk. I hump my way over to another machine that has just a few people ahead of me, but by the time I scan my passport, there are exactly three seats left. Unfortunately, before I can pick one of the two middle seats near the centre of the plane, both of them disappear, going grayed out and unavailable before my eyes.
There is exactly one seat left for me. Back row, aisle on the aisle, directly next to the bathroom door.
Of course.
I sigh and select the seat and the machine spits out my boarding card.
I love my job.
~
The flight is exactly as I expected97. Every time someone uses the one-and-only bathroom, a cold blast of chemical stench and … well, poop, among other scents, slaps me directly in the face. Ugh.
I find that if I lean slightly to the right and look up the aisle, I can just see the back of Callum’s head, his shiny, over-styled black curls glistening in the overhead lights. He looks perfectly comfortable98.
Nonetheless, I attempt to do my research on the show and latest season’s roster of faux-celebrity competitors. There’s a tonne to sift through, between the packet and the countless articles I find online, but it fills the time, and with the periodic scent of airplane urine in my nostrils, I learn quite a bit about Hot Slice, and even manage to come up with a solid list of potential story ideas that shouldn’t be too hard to fulfill.
The sorts of stories we do at Citidaze are so contrived, I basically write them in my head before even starting my interviews. I leave gaps for quotes and then ask pointed, direct questions to get my subjects to say things that will work within those gaps.
There’s a level of skill involved that I’m proud of, if I’m being honest. It just feels like I’m using my skills for evil, rather than good. Or, okay, if not for evil, then at least for neutral, which isn’t exactly the life I planned for myself, though I suppose things could be worse99.
