There are three of us. We’re each in that twenty something range and we work for a small airline that’s snuggled up with the other legacy airlines. Legacy airlines are, of course, the big dogs of the air travel industry: American Airlines, United, Delta etc. We’re here to bring gusto and flair and a little interest back to air travel. We’re here to help make the trip easier, more entertaining, maybe even with a small amount of etiquette.
Our perspective is unique but not simple. We, collectively, never experienced the “Golden Age” of air travel. Peanuts and pretzels are all we know. Meaning that we’re not going to compare old to new, only worse to better. We’ll probably even argue a little between ourselves. But in the end, you can expect some class and maybe some rhyme to our reason. Never stepped off a jet bridge before? Step out of the sun and have a chat with us.
Mike’s beard, contrary to popular belief, actually served as the mold for his chin as he was poured from smelter. Like a tank Mike cruises into conversations about anything from food (his professed favorite) to Steam-Punk and Renaissance fairs. He once ate a 20 oz. burger in less than seven minutes and was depressed for a full twenty-four hours that he missed the record by a minute. He’s the quintessential ramp-man, he tosses bags, talks to customers, plays with computers and looks dashing in an orange reflective vest. He believes the best actors are the ones who can do flips off the top-rope, he takes afternoons and devotes them to looking up types of medieval armor and he cooks up some mean paninis, he’s now trying to combine the two with medieval armor cooking contests — the verdict’s still out on that one.
Brando has spent the last year tirelessly researching health gurus and shunning geneticists and their primordial soothsayer powers. He once tried to take out an insurance plan on his chest to find he could only afford liability. The youngest out of the three writing for Under the Jet Bridge, Brandon puts on the facade of being a college student, meddles in the affairs of pilots and sparkles when he stands in the sun. He admits readily that after scalping his hair off he showers less than he used to and is slowly but surely building a palate for micro-brews and knows the difference between hydrolyzed whey protein and crap that clumps up in water (CTCUW). He only likes sounding official when arguing with someone on their Facebook page and he once tried to sleep in his winter onesy, arguing that it was the only form of clothing he ever needed. We got him out, eventually.
There are dreamers and there are schemers. Grant partakes in the Graucho Marx philosophy of wanting to belong to no club which would accept him as a member-he his neither. He candidly admitted one evening, over three or four Old Fashions, that he spends more of his paychecks on skinny ties (coordinated with the seasons) than on gas and food. He travels long distances for secondhand book stores, has extraordinary selective hearing and tried to convince Brandon and Mike to camp out in a jet bridge “just to say we’ve done it.” Never quite shaved, always overdressed, he likes to line up random PAX luggage and rate them on usefulness, style and proximity of abandonment – er – that is how far away a person would to travel before they didn’t care where their suitcase was. Armed with a rapier wit and the mouth of a sailor Grant prefers to write rather than work, sleep rather than write and read rather than all the above.