Slick Operator

June 4, 2020 - somewhere over the Pacific Ocean - 11:30am Hawaiian Standard Time

You know when you wake up and literally have your head buried in your ass that something, somewhere, went horribly wrong. As I bounced and froze in the tiny space, I consoled myself with two, irrefutable facts. 

One, I had succeeded. 

Two, no one knew I was there.

“We know you’re there,” a voice crackled distantly over an intercom from the cargo hold above. 

Well, shit.

New York - 27 hours earlier….

“M’am,” I said to the customer service agent, “I don’t think you understand what’s on the line here. Would you deny someone their God-given talent, their sense of worth, all because of some stupid bug going around?”

“Sir, I don’t know how to say this any clearer. Due to the protocols and restrictions currently in place, Hawaii is not accepting any in-bound flights from the main land.” The woman was doing a good job of keeping the annoyance out of her voice and expression, but she forgot about the fact that her three-inch long nails tittered rapidly across the laminate countertop. 

I folded my hands in front of me, leaning towards her in that seductive way I knew women couldn’t resist.

“I realize that….” I shot a look at her name tag. “Mindy.” I glanced up through my eyelashes, really laying on the charm, which I’d learned from some vampire novel somewhere. “But you see, I had tickets for this very important trip months ago and I can’t just post-pone. It’s a 2021.”

“It’s still 2020, sir.”

“No, not the year. It’s a 20-20-1. Twenty, beautifully cut baby-back ribs. A twenty inch sub with all the fixings. All. Of. Them. I’m talking avocado slices, bacon bits, crunchy onion crumbles, the whole lot. And to finish it off? One entire lava cake, flowing with the finest raspberry lava explosion you’ll ever see.” I sighed. “It’s the thing that gives meaning to my life each and every year, darlin’. I have to defend my title. I can’t not be there.” I pull out my wallet and show her the picture inside of me holding that sweet golden trophy overhead, puke riddled down my front. “See?”

Mindy swallowed with difficulty, no doubt at the emotion brought on by such a beautiful sight.

“Unfortunately,” Mindy said slowly, “circumstances in the world have changed since your initial booking. As I said, Mr. Sharp, we would be happy to either refund the full cost of your flight or you can reschedule in the future once the flight restrictions have been modified. I apologize for the inconvenience, but that is all we can do for you at the present time.” She lifted an eyebrow in a challenge. 

Damn, did I do the smolder wrong? I straightened up quickly, crossing my arms. “Fine. Then I would like to speak to your manager.” 

Mindy didn’t even take a beat to think about it. “Gladly.”

Stone-cold bitch.

As soon as the manager came forward — Could you really call him a manager? He looked way more like a major night-club bouncer. I mean, honestly! — I bounced myself out. Nope, that wasn’t going to work, either. 

I got myself a sad cup of coffee and sat in the airport terminal, staring at the equally sad departure board, which was littered with red “Cancelled” all over its face more so than anything else. I dragged my phone from my pocket and swiped half-heartedly through my trip planner app. An ad popped up, bouncing annoyingly all over the screen. As I tried to catch it with my thumb, the words soaked through. 

“G’day, Mate! Missing the sun-soaked sandy beaches during quarantine? Shelter no more and double down on your fun in the sun. Book now and earn a one day layover of pure bliss in beautiful Waikiki!”

“Bingo,” I whispered. I bolted over to the concierge desk, a new customer service victim in place.

“Excuse me,” I said, skidding to a stop.

“Hello, sir,” the woman there said with a smile. “How can I help you?”

“So, I just found this and I’m wondering if there might still be space available?” I waved the ad in her face. It took her a moment to focus in.

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry, sir. While I’d be happy to book you the flight to Australia, the layover option in Hawaii has been temporarily discontinued due to the pandemic.” 

“No!” I smacked the counter.

She jumped a little, but quickly found her composure again. “I’m so sorry. It was a wonderful offer, I know, but we can only stop for our refueling now. Would you like to sign up for an alert when this special is available again? Or would you like to book the flight anyway? I can offer you a discount.”

But my ears had fallen numb. 

“Refueling?” I asked.

“Um, yes,” she said. “It’s quite a long flight, so we still use the stopover in Hawaii for refueling purposes. But the passengers remain on the plane, as it’s a relatively short process.” 

I nodded. “I see.”

“Would you like to book the flight, sir?” 

I smiled quickly at her. “I’m going to give it a think. Thank you, though.”

“Of course. If you have any questions, please let me know.”

“I will, thank you,” I said. “I’m just going to go do some research first."

New York - 13 hours later….

Due to my week and a half of parkour lessons, I knew I could easily scale the chainlink fence surrounding the airstrip. In true form, I sailed over it gracefully with style. As I picked myself up off the ground, I brushed tiny bits of gravel from my gouged knees and pulled my black hoodie a little farther over my face. Then I snuck forward like a ninja in the night.

I found the airplane easily enough and slipped beneath its belly. I ran a hand along its side. People did this all the time, I’d found enough articles to prove that. Hidden up beneath the wheel well, they just skedaddled when the plane came in to land. Easy peasy. Sure, I could have bought a ticket for the flight, but there would have been too many eyes, too many people to stop me from getting off the plane. 

This was much better.

Hawaii - 1 hour after landing….

“Alright,” said a slick police officer with an incredible tan as he slid into the chair next to my hospital bed. “Mr. Sharp.” He glanced up at me, his eyes tight. “Can I confirm that I am understanding your statement here correctly? You snuck your way onto the flight from New York to Australia in order to attend the “You Go Bro Eating Contest,” because you saw there was a temporary stop-over in Waikiki, where you’d had a flight previously booked and had been cancelled due to the current pandemic. Is that the general gist?”

I nodded. “Yes, you got it! Good on you.”

The officer’s jaw tightened and he closed the manila folder holding my fate with a snap. “Mr. Sharp, there have been few cases of stowaways on airplanes in the past, almost none with happy endings. Considering most end in death, people who have done this in the past were often fleeing extraordinary circumstances and felt the opportunity outweighed the risks. We’re talking people fleeing political persecution, poverty, civil wars, and so on.” He shook his head. “Mr. Sharp, what can you possibly say in your defense?”

I folded my hands in my lap, bowing my head in thought. The man was right, people had been desperate in order to do the things I had done, the promise of opportunity and the benefits too great to back down from the possibility of dying of exposure, falling to their death, or becoming a human popsicle. What had it all been for, to me personally? The promise of opportunity, of course, was a no-brainer. He didn’t need me to explain that bit. But the risks? I’d nearly frozen to death, I realized, as I felt the walls closing in around me once more. And then I remembered.

“Did you know,” I said, raising my head and looking him straight in the eye, “that extreme cold, enough to lower your body temperature, is supposed to slow down your digestion?”

He blinked at me. “Excuse me?”

“I know, right?” I nodded. He was obviously just as impressed as I had been to find out this information. “I read an article about it once. If your body temperature drops enough, your digestion can slow…which means I could keep any amount of food down for a longer period of time. Who knows how long?” I smiled in awe. “I’d be the ultimate champ.”

With a stone-cold look, but not a word, the officer stood and left the room. After about ten minutes, he returned, sliding a stack of freshly printed papers in front of me as he walked past to take his seat once more.

I smiled at him crookedly and looked at the first page. It was an article of some kind, the headline reading “Cold Exposure and Its Affects on Cognitive Function.” Beneath that, words and phrases such as “lowered brain activity,” “less alert,” “slowed thinking and verbal reasoning” popped out in quick succession. 

My head snapped up to see that same challenge in the shape of a curved eyebrow once again. This was becoming an unfortunate occurrence.

The policeman grunted. “How many times have you tried this before, sir?”

“What? Never!” I brandished the papers at him. “What is this about?”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, of course I’m sure! Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because frankly, Mr. Sharp,” he said, “it would explain a lot.”