The Mother of All Mile-High Club Stories

We’d just begun boarding what was supposed to be a fairly empty redeye flight from Salt Lake City to New York, which we’d (incorrectly) assumed would be a slam-dunk of an evening. As people made their way to their seats, we’d all taken notice of a beautiful young blonde woman. We’d first noticed her because of her looks – her hair and makeup were flawless and she was dressed much more stylishly than your average redeye passenger – but also because she was talkative, loud and a bit weird. Her behavior was strange in a way none of us could put our fingers on.

Toward the end of boarding, we took notice of another unusually attractive and well-dressed passenger – this time a young man – and he took the aisle seat to her window with no one in between. The blonde lady immediately engaged her seatmate, whose chiseled good looks and manner of dress said more “professional athlete” than “economy class.” The two were well-suited to each other in that neither of them looked like they belonged there. He was quickly overwhelmed by her but went along for the ride anyway.

An off-duty pilot sitting behind their row got up shortly after takeoff and told my coworker and I with a smirk, “I would watch the lavatories for those two. She told him she wants to [use your imagination here, readers]. And they were talking about drugs.” He couldn’t offer me any more info on the drugs than that, so there was nothing to do but watch them.

They shared a blanket and we’d noticed some suspicious shifting going on underneath it, but couldn’t catch them in the act of anything too bad. We were on on edge with these two, as were the people around them. As everyone began to fall asleep, we saw them stand up and begin to make their way toward the lavatories.

My coworker Robert and I discussed this. I thought the best option, rather than being the pants police for hours on end, was to turn a blind eye and let them get it out of their systems, and they’d fall asleep and quit being a nuisance. Robert, on the other hand, wanted no part of it, but understood where I was coming from (as I did him) and decided to begrudgingly go along with it.

The man, who had a look on his face like she’d forced him back there at gunpoint, went into the bathroom first, trying to look nonchalant but certainly winning no Oscars for acting. Blondie, on the other hand, was beaming. She realized we were being complicit and, to our horror, that was part of the thrill. She held her hand up to Robert, sulking behind his jumpseat, for a high five. “Don’t touch me,” Robert hissed.

Blondie immediately made me regret my idea as she repeatedly screamed in the throes of passion, causing a little old lady in the last row to crane her neck behind her, flashing me a mischievous smile, which I’d have found that funnier at the time if I hadn’t wanted to die.

I knocked on the door and tried to shout as quietly as I could, “Come on, be quiet in there!” She ignored me. “That’s enough! If you don’t come out of there I’m opening the door!,” I was livid that they’d put me in such an awful position. They finished up and slunk back off to their seats, where they finally fell asleep.

Robert and I embraced the long-awaited peace and calmed our nerves, sitting in our jumpseats on opposite sides of the aisle in the back galley, reading. Suddenly, I noticed him lunge toward me. Before I could even get words out, I looked up and saw Blondie’s friend falling right on top of me, with eyes rolled back.

He quickly regained consciousness and sat on the galley floor, confused. I started asking him questions as we attempted to determine the cause for his fainting, confusion and lightheadedness. He knew where he was, for the most part, but had no clue what made him faint. Between their “romantic” interlude and this point, a couple of other passengers had echoed the pilot’s assertion that (more specifically now) the woman had been talking to the man about drugs, but I still couldn’t get anyone to tell me what kind or if they were doing them onboard. Keeping that in mind, I’d asked the gentleman if he was intoxicated. He said no. As I filled out a MedLink form so we could get some professional advice on how to proceed, I added into my report that drugs were suspected but not proven.

The captain called after speaking with MedLink, telling me that the police would be waiting for him since illicit substances were potentially involved. We felt uncomfortable with that. We felt that the two should to be interviewed, not just him because, while clearly the man was responsible for making his own bad decisions, it was obvious to us that she was a big part of the problem.

We landed in New York and the police told everyone to remain seated, and they walked back to the row where the couple had been seated and led the man away, leaving Blondie behind. “Wait! Talk to the her, too!,” the lead flight attendant shouted as they started down the jetbridge with just him. They brushed her off and sat the man, weak and now even more confused, in a wheelchair as they questioned him.

The passengers filed off and we watched in anger and disbelief as the woman sauntered by the cops and her lover without so much as a passing glance. When the plane was empty, we gathered our belongings and left. As we walked past the cops and the man, we noticed the dynamic had totally changed between them. He was now filing a police report of his own.

She’d made off with his wallet.

[Photo: Shutterstock]