“Sir. Sir.” “What?” I am having a hard time opening my eyes. I always take a sleeping pill before getting on a plane. I’m a light sleeper, and Tokyo to San Francisco is an impossible flight for me without a little pharmaceutical assist. My throat hurts too — dehydration. “Miss,” I try to wave off the insistent flight attendant. “Do you mind bringing me a glass of water please? I’m feeling a bit off.” “Sir?” she tries again. I make myself pay attention to her. “Water?” I make my face and voice communicate the urgency of my request. “Unfortunately, sir, I can’t do that right now.” “Oh.” I rub my eyes clean of the sleeping gunk and look at the woman. She doesn’t look familiar. I usually make it a point when I fly to get to know the flight attendants in my area of the plane. It’s just a polite thing to do. And then I take my pill, and off to the lullaby land for me. “Sir? Unfortunately, I can’t give you water right now. But I do need to do a few basic neurological tests–” “What?!” Well, I’m up now. I fly all the time on business;…
