Talk about hot pants on stews!! Flight on Southwest from Houston to Dallas in the '60s:
We take off and the beverage cart comes down the aisle (remember, this is a one-class airline even then). I order vodka on the rocks (my Russian language training taking over); the stew hand me a glass and holds up a half-gallon bottle, says, "say when." Then comes back I don't remember how many times during this short flight. We land in Dallas, and I hear one of the guys in the row behind me say (in a slur that can't be reproduced on a typewriter): "Why don't we jus' stay on board an' go back t' Houston?"