Maxed Out 

Flying the friendly skies

Page 3 of 3

It didn't matter though. Tiffany, the stew, asked me if I wanted breakfast anyway. I said sure and she handed me a cardboard box about the size a kid's pair of sneakers would come in. Inside, and I'm not making this up, was a very small container of plain yogurt. Yogurt falls into a category I refer disparagingly to as "white food." White food and I do not have a deep and abiding relationship. Very few things that are good to eat are white. Even fewer of them contain spoiled bacteria as their principal ingredient.

Rummaging around in the box, I found a spoon, a moist towelette and a thimble-size container full of granola, assuming the definition of granola can be stretched far enough to encompass three oat flakes, two broken and unidentifiable nuts and a stale crust of brown sugar.

I closed the box and handed it in the general direction of Tiffany who was busy pouring juice on the woman in the aisle seat. I nearly drew back a stump when the chubby guy called dibs on it and looked at me as if I were crazy for not eating it myself.

I can't wait for the flight back.

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