Flying Down to Rio Without Fred or Ginger 

It’s a long way down to Rio. The wife and I headed south and we took off from Atlanta about 9 o’clock in the evening. As far as I could determine, neither Fred nor Ginger was aboard. However, 200 souls were heading to the land of coffee, Carnival and Caricoa.  There were the usual in-flight amenities: the overloaded beverage cart, the overcooked lasagna or undercooked chicken, the delayed coffee service, the shuffle up and down the aisles of passengers headed to the lavatories. Around 11 o’clock, the full complement of prisoners settled in for the long flight.  The lights dimmed, the seats adjusted, neck pillows placed.  With the steady thrum of the engines I fell into the light slumber of one confined to a dog cage, shifting, stretching into positions known only to a contortionist.  Ever alert, my wife never sleeps when aloft.

About midnight there came an announcement from the overhead, “If there are any medical personnel on board, would they come to the rear of the plane by the galleys?”  

My wife gave me “the nudge”.  Do you know “the nudge”?  Most husbands do. A gentle poke in the ribs that means you’re supposed to pay attention.  

She said “Did you hear that?”  

I said, “What?”.  

She said, “They need a doctor in the back.”  

“I’m not sure they need a dermatologist” I replied. 

Then, a second similar announcement. Then, a second nudge. 

”Okay, Okay, I’m going”.  I unbuckled my seatbelt and walked to the rear.

On the floor in front of one of the baños públicos was a middle-aged woman, flat on her back, an oxygen mask over her face.  Around her hovered four flight attendants.

“What happened” I asked.  

“She fell out of the loo.”   

I got down on my hands and knees and examined her for signs of life.  She was not in extremis. Her pulse was good, her color good, her breathing good. 

I said to her, “How are you doing?”.  

She replied, “Hrummmph, resdich sooblach”.  

I think she spoke English but between the roar of the engines and muffling of the oxygen mask I couldn’t understand a word.   

So I repeated,  ”Do you feel okay?”  

And she replied, “Skleesh sombrero, spasoch”.   

Again, no idea what she said.

My expert medical opinion was that she had gone into the lav, fainted and fallen out of the cubicle.  She was fine.  

I said, “I think you’ll be okay. You only fainted.  We’re going to stand you up slowly and get you back to your seat.”  As two attendants began to assist the lady from her recumbency I instructed her, “As you stand-up I want you to pull your pants up.” 

This accomplished, they escorted her to her seat.

As for me, I stood there for a few moments expecting a free glass of Chianti, a free flight to Cincinnati or a pat on the back.  Nothing….  Nothing…..

I slowly shuffled back to my seat, quickly fell asleep and dreamed of the girl from Ipanema.