I pull my “uniform” out of my employee locker and slam the door to get it to shut. I sigh, this is what I get for picking up extra shifts, 8am private tours of Elite Naval Aviators. I really hope they aren’t a group of cocky old men ready to call me condescending names. I slide my thin vest over my clothes. Of course, I’d choose a pale blue tank top to go under a white crochet swimsuit cover. I was just glad I chose jeans today instead of a skirt, I didn't need more harassment than I already got. I button the vest at my stomach and pick my coffee up off the break room table. My early morning pick me up definitely helped make this shift more livable. I set it back down and make my way through the door leading to the hangar.
I can see the aviators milling about through the glass lobby doors, luckily I spot a woman or two among them and none of them looked old enough to cat call. I walk quickly to the doors, checking my watch, 7:53am, right on time. I walk towards the doors and turn the lock.
“Hello!” I say, trying to sound cheery and awake, “Welcome to the Naval Air Museum, Hanger four; the Cold War.”
The group gathers around and a few of them smile at me and one man with glasses gives a shy wave. I feel an abnormal heat spread at the back of my neck. I knew I was touring Aviators today but I didn't expect so many of them to be attractive. Actually all of them were attractive.
I force a smile, “Here at the museum all of the employees go by callsigns, mine is Sweetie and I'll be your guide today.” A few of the group chuckle and my neck heats up from the attention. “I’ll be taking you around and showing you planes from each decade of the cold war. Feel free to ask me questions at any time and I will try my best to answer them. If you have further questions, you can always scan the QR codes on the displays for more information.”
Reciting the memorized script eased my nerves. I asked the group to follow me and I made my way through the tour, stopping at key planes to describe their uses or pilots or any of the many, many boring details of their reason for being in a museum. I saw a few of the group yawn on occasion and some had stopped to read other planes' descriptions. There was one person who kept their eyes trained on me, the same man who had waved at me in the lobby. He was tall and lean with wavy dirty blond hair. He wore thin gold glasses that suited his face. He wore a vintage t-shirt tucked into well fitted jeans. He had a worn blue carhartt jacket and he looked absolutely stunning.
I stumbled over my monologue about the F-15 and he smiled at me and gave an encouraging nod. I feel my face turn red at his attention. I'm about to finish my tour when I spot a woman walking between the exhibits, drink in hand and two kids running ahead of her, one with a tablet and the other with a bag of chips as big as their head.
“Excuse me ma’am, this section of the museum is closed for a private tour until nine.” I say politely. She turns quickly on her heel and looks me up and down. My stomach drops, one of those huh.
“I paid to be here,” she looks at my name tag and scoffs, “Sweetie.”
I smile with my teeth gritted and try to remain courteous, “Im sure you did ma’am but there was a sign posted out front saying this section is closed. We have plenty of other wonderful hangars open to the public.”
She rolls her eyes and places a hand on her hip defiantly, “Don’t ma’am me young lady. I will go wherever I please as long as I’m a paying customer.”
Her grating voice attracts the attention of the pilots, a few start to move in closer to see what the commotion is. “Ma’a- Miss, I’m sorry this tour is a special request from-” I start.
“I don’t care who's ‘special request it was’, I've been sitting in the car with those two,” she gestures to her two kids running between the planes, “for five hours. So I’d like to enjoy the museum that I paid to see.”
I open my mouth to say something else, getting frustrated, when I hear the door to my left slam open. I hear a voice echo through the hangar, “I know someone is not yelling at my employee at eight in the fucking morning.” It's my manager, Dynamite.
“Oh, Dynamite you’re-” I start before she holds her hand up to me. I stand there shocked as Dynamite lays into the woman escorting him towards the door. I see one of the pilots, the muscular blond one, lean over to his friend and murmur, “That's hot.”
Dynamite, returns to the group and smiles professionally, “Sorry about that y’all. I hope you enjoy the rest of your tour with our Sweetie here.” She gives me a gentle pat on the shoulder, “If anyone has any questions at all let me know, I’ll be over here figuring out paperwork at the side desk.” She points to a desk with the sign “Need help?” hanging off it., before making her way over, quickly tailed by the murmuring blond.
“Sorry about the interruption folks. We have mostly concluded our tour. If you'd like to walk around we still have about fifteen minutes left.I’ll be over by the info desk if you have any more questions.” I smile at the group and make my way over to the info desk. I began to organize the leaflets that the Karens kids had strung everywhere. I’m so focused on my work that I don’t notice the bespectacled man approach. He cleared his throat soft and I jumped, almost dropping the papers I was holding.
“Hey there,” he says quietly.
My face warms and I smile at him, “Hi, did you have any questions?”
He scratches the back of his head and looks at the floor, “Um yea could you tell me about,” he pauses and looks around the planes, “could you tell me more about the F-15?” His cheeks are flush red and so do mine.
“Of course,” I say and lead him back to the plane. “The F-15 here has a wingspan of about 42 feet and ten inches, she runs on two electric turbofan engines, as well as being the first plane to have radar.”
I try to sound excited but I’m slowly running out of facts, I only memorized a few per plane. The tall man trains his eyes on the plane and then looks back at me and asks, “Do you know how fast it can go?”
“Uhh,” I say, “I’m sorry I don’t. I could ask Dyna if you'd like.” I’m a little disappointed that I don't have a reason to keep talking to him.
“Oh,” he smiles down at the floor, “Its top speed is Mach 2.5. I just thought I might as well figure out a reason to talk to you.” I’m a little surprised. His face is red as a beet and adjusts his glasses.
I feel my face heat up and my eyes widen, “To me?”
He chuckles, “Well yea Sweetie, I really enjoyed the tour.”
“I see,” I fiddle with my sleeve and shuffle my feet, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Most people get pretty bored but there are a few interesting parts.”
“Well I think we just had a really good guide. I’m Bob Floyd by the way,” he extends his hand to me.
I take it and ask,” No call sign?”
He smiles at me, “No, just Bob.”
“Are you a pilot?” I ask, trying to find some reason to keep him talking to me.
He chuckles and rubs his neck, “No, weapons systems. I back seat for Pheonix over there,” he gestures toward a woman with dark hair pulled into a low ponytail. “She flies, I just drop the bombs.”
My mind goes blank trying to think of something else to say, but Bob speaks up before I come up with something embarrassing, “Would you like to show me around again?” I look at him a little surprised and nod making my way around the plane.
“I’m sorry I can't tell you much more about them. Usually people aren’t too interested in asking me questions after the tour.” I smile at him as we walk.
He blushes a bit, “I’ve actually studied most of these. Kinda a hobby of mine.”
“Oh,” I frown at the ground a little, “then why did you want to walk around again?”
He blushes and looks down at the floor, “I thought it was obvious.” he glances at me, “I wanted to walk with you.”
My face turns red and I touch my cheeks, “I see,” I look down at my feet and then back up a Bob. He has his hands shoved into his pockets and his face and ears are dusted pink.
“Well,” I came to a stop and turned toward him, he did the same, “If you wanted to walk with me, I get off at four.” I look up at his surprised expression before he breaks into a grin.
“Really?” he asks, I nod my head. “That sounds like you're asking me on a date,” he gives me a crooked smile.
“Would you like to meet me back here at four then?” I question, “I don’t think I'll need to change,” I say and look down at myself.
“No,” he says suddenly, “uh, no, I mean you look perfect just like that.”
I smile, “Bobby? Are you hitting on me?” My hand goes up to play with one of my necklaces, his eyes follows the movement. A smile tilts his lips again, and his eyes quickly flit down to my body to my shoes and back up, before meeting my eyes again.
“Would you like me not to?” he says softly, “It’s going to be difficult.”
I choke at the boldness of his words. The shy, blushing man had disappeared and this flirty sailor had appeared in his place. Before I can respond he takes a half step closer and I don't want to back away from him. He smiles down at me, his eyes slightly lidded. “After we take a walk, I could take you to dinner.” his smirk gets bigger, “But I have to tell you.” He cranes his neck down to look me in the face, I inhale sharply at his expression.
“I let very few people call me Bobby,” he looks like a starved animal that just found his next meal. He winks, one side of his lip following and a sharp, short click comes from his tongue.
Then he stands straight and steps back, “I’ll see you at four then right Sweetie?” His smile could sweeten tea. At a loss for words I slowly not my head yes.
“I’ll pick you up then,” he says scratching the back of his neck and takes two goofy steps backward knocking into a sign reading ‘No Outside Food or Drink’. I giggle at him and he looks up at me and joins in. He gives an awkward half-salute-half-wave before turning to meet the woman he had named as Phoenix earlier.
When I stop giggling the reality of what just happened sunk in and a heat spread from the back of my neck and around my face. I hurry towards the break room glancing over at Dyna who is still talking to the Blond man who had followed her over.
I bust through the door and open my locker, then shut it. I open it again, glance at the shelves and my bag hanging on a hook and then shut the door again. I lean my back against the door. What the hell was that?
