Act 3 Scene 24: Traveling

For those of you who haven’t done it yet, “flying solo” is a liberating experience. Literally. There’s a certain feeling of pride in showing your license to the security officer (unless you forgot it in your dorm, but that’s another story) and then finding your gate all by yourself. You’ll see businessmen straightening ties and carrying suitcases, flight attendants applying yet another layer of lipstick and then there’s you. The independent. Pulling out your computer, typing, looking all “official. “ You know what’s up. I mean, for heaven’s sake, you’re traveling alone!

My unaccompanied travels didn’t start until I got to college. I knew that going to school about 700 miles away from home meant I’d have the opportunity to fly home for breaks. My airline of choice? Southwest, which is a long way from the airline I’ve  flown all my life -- Continental, but I’ve grown to love the homey atmosphere. It’s cheaper, they don’t charge for bags and they give you snacks (and no, no paid endorsement here!)

I also get to meet interesting people on Southwest flights. I don’t know what it is about this airline, but I’ve never had more strangers strike up random conversation with me. This time, there was a notable individual: the cake man.

No, not Duff from Ace of Cakes (though yes, I have seen him in person and he’s just as funny and well, round, as you’d expect). 

At the Chicago Midway Airport, there’s a café called “Let Them Eat Cake.” So naturally, my sugar loving self stopped in and couldn’t leave without a piece of Strawberry Dream Cake. I took it back to my gate and planned on eating it there. I could see hungry eyes mentally tasting my cake, but none so much as the middle-aged man in front of me. He even went as far as to say, “I have to go” to whoever he was talking to on his cell phone and said to me “you know, you’re going to have to share.”

I laughed and opened the plastic container it came in, silently inching the cake closer to me. I stuck the fork into the thick, white frosting and was about to place it in my mouth when he said, “you know, it’s my birthday.”

The anticipation of the first bite was ruined, so I put down my fork. “Happy Birthday.” I said to him. “You know, the cake place was right over there.” As I spoke to him, I noticed his eyes never left the red flower petal artfully drawn on top. “Well, I might just have to grab a piece, then.” He proceeded to watch me eat the entire piece, which was pretty uncomfortable. But, cake man, you taught me a few things:

    1.)  Birthdays are no fun after you’re 21 (well, I knew that, but he reinforced it).

     2.)  Cake isn’t as enjoyable when you’re a middle-aged man with a more than middle-sized waistline.

So, for those of us who still have youth and spontaneity on our side, I say, EAT CAKE!