I am shallow. Not all the time, but I have my moments. Stick me in a tin can full of soldiers and leave me there for 9 hours at 35,000 feet and you betcha I'm going to be checking them out.
Most are quite easy on the eyes. Some are so smoking hot it's all I can do to tear my eyes away and choke out "chicken or pasta?"
It was all to easy to do on my last trip. Half the crew was male, and good portion of that half way gay, so if it wasn't me spotting the hotties, it was one of my overeager crew members pulling me aside and telling me in hushed whispers to go by 25 F or whatever seat of the moment happened to contain their little piece of eye candy. Not that I minded of course...
But there are times that I can't help but marvel that they pay me to do this. And there are times when I meet soldiers like Pablo.
Pablo is a doll of a soldier: square jaw, deep brown eyes, short blond hair, all kinds of muscles. A real GI Joe type of guy. He's got 14 buddies that sing his praises at every turn: all I heard was "Pablo this" and "Pablo that". If the war in Iraq were to be won by an one soldier, it would be Pablo, or so his buddies say. He's an in your face, scarred up, tattooed, flaunt the rules and kick some ass kind of guy. His rifle is never far from hand and he prefers scuffed up white tennis shoes to sand colored boots. He gets away with it too.
He had his pictures taken with the female flight attendants and in group shots, he's always got one of us girls hanging onto him whilst the rest of his buddies grin happily behind him. Pablo never grins. He stays stern in the knowledge that he is the man. And he even dropped trou to prove it, or more specifically, his buddies dropped his trou to prove it. ( I mentioned he was a doll of a soldier right? )
And my god, has it really been three weeks since I posted? Yikes.