A Nomad Santa Reflection
I was on my way home from a mission. One of those long-haul flights where the cabin lights dim, and dinner service feels almost ceremonial.
I decided to allow myself a small indulgence — a glass of red wine with dinner. Nothing fancy. Just a plastic cup, filled three-quarters of the way. I was in an aisle seat, finally relaxing, when a man heading for the restroom brushed past and bumped my elbow. Half the wine leapt from the cup and landed squarely in my lap.
He froze, muttered a flurry of apologies, and hurried off to the lavatory to fetch paper towels.
I sat there, dabbing at the spill, trying not to look too bothered. My phone, meanwhile, was mounted to one of those clip-on devices attached to the seat back in front of me — perfectly positioned for a bit of dinnertime entertainment.
As I reached to adjust something, turbulence (or karma) did its thing. The phone popped out of the holder, dropped like a stone, and landed squarely on my cup, knocking it over and spilling the rest of the wine into my lap.
I didn’t move. Just stared at the growing red blotch with the stillness of someone who’d reached the far end of protest.
The woman across the aisle leaned over and said with a smile, “Rough day, huh?”
Without waiting for an answer, she jumped up, raced for the bathroom to fetch more paper towels like a seasoned first responder.
A few minutes later, the flight attendant arrived with dinner — a surprisingly decent pan-fried steak, the kind that might’ve passed for a slider if they’d handed me a bun.
She looked at me, then the lap, and asked gently, “Would you like another wine?”
I paused for a beat… then nodded.
Because sometimes, when the universe dumps wine in your lap—twice—you just raise your cup and toast it anyway.
It’s a small world—and we’re all neighbors. Even when you’re wearing your beverage.