Toby: Dunia's Big Day

I can't say yesterday was the craziest day of my life, because I've had one where I woke up as a Latina woman and others where I didn't get to become myself again because the police were questioning me about the whole thing, but, man, yesterday was something.  It kind of blows my mind that the only person back home who will ever believe me is Lambert, and it kind of makes me sad, even if there are some things I don't really want to explain to Mom.

Mostly, how a big part of the reason I was on edge to start was because I'd just found out the night before that Dunia's boyfriend Luis would be coming home that day.  I think he was kind of nervous about it, too, because he's not usually one to be low-key; most of his texts before the injury had swagger to them or were kind of over-the-top complimentary about some picture I'd sent or posted (dude really likes Dunia's ass!), although often in a way that makes it reflect well on him for being her boyfriend.  Instead he was like "hey, coming home tomorrow, the flight will be kind of late and my folks are getting me but if you're going to be at the airport anyway..."  I said of course I would be there, and then texted Dunia right away, saying the day had come.

We'd sort of come up with a plan from watching and participating in other military reunions in the airport, which are way less spontaneous than they look, between letting families meet returning soldiers at the gate, finding the best spots for someone to capture it on camera, and making sure that wheelchairs are treated a lot more carefully than usual (and having me roll them out of the plane, because the military girlfriend is a good look if folks decide to interview absolutely everyone around).  This wasn't a fancy, makes-the-news return, because Luis was not deployed to someplace active, so we could sort of scout things out and pick out a spot for Dunia to hang back and interrupt if I was really screwing things up or just overwhelmed. 

There was a round trip before that, though, and it was looking pretty uneventful for the first hour or so.  That's when I noticed a crowd forming around the restroom in the rear of the plane getting a little anxious, and they said someone had been in there for fifteen minutes and wasn't responding to knocks on the door, but they thought they'd just heard some sort of noise.  I told them to step back, knocked myself, and then when I got no response, unlocked the door. 

There was an older lady on the floor, with an open prescription bottle of heart medication spilled around her.  She wasn't breathing.  Someone who had been crowding the door screamed and I told her to get back while I laid her flat, checked her airway, and started performing CPR.

I barely noticed Dunia run down the aisle when she heard the noise, but she grabbed the intercom, informed the captain, and asked if I needed any help.  The lady took a well-timed shallow breath at that point, so I said no, and she started telling everyone to return to her seats.  A minute or two later, the captain made an announcement, and pretty soon we're descending. 

I don't know if any of you have ever had to do this before, but while I imagine it's scary as Hell at the best of times (you're starting out from someone who's technically dead and even if it's not an older person with brittle bones, you've probably gotta break their ribs because they're basically there to keep anything from outside having any impact on the heart), but with the plane banking and the angles changing, you've really gotta straddle the other person and tense up so you don't move.  I think Dunia or Allen was holding my shoulders at some point to keep me steady, but I was just trying to stay focused on the job at hand.

Eventually we stop and I vaguely hear Dunia and Allen telling everyone to stay in their seats so the EMTs can get through.  They lift the lady into a stretcher and roll her away.  Nobody else on the plane gets off with her, so I guess she was traveling alone.  I sit in the jump seat and try to catch my breath as the passengers leave the plane.

We're in North Carolina, I think, in a city our airline doesn't usually travel to, so I guess there's a lot of stuff to do, finding a window where we can take off again which would put the co-pilot above his allowed hours on the clock and, meaning they had to bring in a replacement.  It's a two-hour delay, which means when we get to DC, the rest of us are over time and have been reassigned to another flight in the morning.  Fortunately, I guess, when someone mentions Luis coming home, they make room for me to deadhead back, but between him being in the air and me being in the air, he doesn't get the message that I'll be a few hours late until after he arrives, and he went home with his mami.

I probably could have done the same, but it seemed like a shitty way to treat a disabled veteran, so I got a ride share and headed to their house.  It was eleven o'clock by then, but he'd said he'd be up a while.  I was incredibly nervous as I rang the doorbell, and was a bit relieved when Luis's mother answered it.  "Well, look who decided to show up!"

I was ready to say something about how I probably had more trouble with delays at the airport than you'd think, but she looked too tired for that.  "Long day."

She grunted.  "Well, come in.  Luis is in the living room."  I nodded, and took a step in what turned out to be the right direction.

He was sitting on the couch watching a horror movie, which he paused on seeing me.  "Well, look at us.  Didn't figure you'd be in uniform while I was in my civvies the next time we met."

I chuckled at that, and he started to reach for his crutches on the floor, but I could see from how the end of one leg of his pants was empty that this was going to be a production.  "Hey, no need to get up."  I walked over and was about to sit next to him when he put his arms around my waist and pulled me down.  Before I could squawk, his tongue was inside my mouth and one of his hands was on my bottom while the other held me close.

I was kind of surprised at how quickly I responded.  Sure, I'd been psyching myself up for this moment for the past two weeks, and it wasn't the first time a guy had kissed me, but this was different than that time at the club.  That man had been playing and exploring and having fun, but Luis had been waiting for this, so there was force behind it.  Not that I felt attacked, but you could feel the emotion.  And, besides, I had been waiting for it too.  I've been Dunia over a year, and while I tried to deny it for a while, it had been a long time since I felt desire in a women's changing room, and even longer since the first time I felt my head turn at a good-looking guy.  Not wanting to cheat on Luis was a good reason to not explore that, but now that I was in his grip, it melted away.

And he was pretty nice himself!  The army had been keeping him in good shape, he knew every curve of my body even better than I did, and he kind of smelled real good, like, the guys at the club tend to be wearing some sort of body spray or cologne and the folks at the bleach were usually sweaty and covering that up with Axe if anything.  Luis, and it feels weird to say it, smelled like a man, and something in my body was really responding to it.

Honestly, I might have been ready to let him have me right there, but his mami made sure to slam the door as she went to her bedroom, which gave us the giggles, and led to us sitting up and straightening our clothes.  I got my hair out of its bun to let him talk first, and he took the occasion to repeat that I really did look good in the uniform, and how my dream job was treating me.

"Really good, actually, even today!  It's still exciting to take off, and you meet a lot of interesting people, if only for a couple hours.  I've kind of been flying the same few routes for the past year, but it's really nifty to spend the afternoon in another city entirely before going home, and I'm gonna try and mix it up a little more from now on.  And sometimes, like today, you get a chance to really help someone."

He raised his eyebrow, because I'd only said a medical emergency made me late in my text, so I filled him in.  It was honestly kind of embarrassing telling that to a soldier whose leg had been amputated like I had done anything particularly brave or noteworthy, but he said he was proud of me.

Then his phone beeped, and he said it was time for his midnight meds.  I hadn't even noticed the pill bottle on the end table, but asked him if I could get him some water.  He said no and swallowed them dry before putting them back, turned around so I couldn't see the label.  Before I could ask how he was doing, he mentioned they made him pretty drowsy, resituating himself so he was lying down with he head on my lap.

We talked a little more, asking whether Ceci was still a trainwreck, or if I'd heard anything about some friend of his that Dunia had never mentioned to me.  After about fifteen minutes, he really did seem to be trailing off, so I asked if he needed help getting upstairs, and he said he figured he'd just sleep down there.  I said okay, and held his hand until he nodded off, which almost felt more intimate than the kissing:  His grip was tight until it was a little looser, and I felt a little guilty pulling away and catching a ride back to Dunia's house.

Fortunately, Dunia and I have a late flight today, so I could sleep in and won't have to tell her everything until then.  Because, wow, it's a lot, and I'm not sure if I'm up for things being this intense all the time!

Toby: Dunias' Summers' End

Is that the way you'd write that?  It's been a while since high school English and they didn't exactly cover this situation, but I kind of want to get right.  It's bad enough folks look at each other knowingly and say ah, ella es estadounidense when they address me in Spanish and I respond in kind, but mangling my native language is something else again!

It's not really getting cool in Miami for the fall (it never really does), but were spending a lot of time in DC these days, and there's a bit of a nip there occasionally, although Dunia insists it's not enough to start wearing pantyhose or tights under our miniskirts yet.  It's surprising what a difference they make, though, and if "hot girl summer" turns into hot girl winter, I'm going to insist. 

See, she's insisted we make the most of the time we're like this.  It started early, since i was pretty down for a while when Gerard made a mess of things with my Mom.  I told him to not be so flamboyant about the cover story that explained where Lambert and I supposedly were over the winter, and I guess he tried, but I don't know which was worse for her between thinking I might be gay enough to spend the winter in that sort of arrangement and being sure he was lying to cover something worse.  Things got around town, she kicked him out, and it was hard enough to find a job that he just picked up and left, eventually crashing with the guys he'd visited the Inn with, who became a straight couple in Baltimore. 

With all that Gerard did, Dunia is probably the best friend I've got left, and after letting me mope for a few days, she decided that we weren't going straight home after work one day, because she needed to update Alicia's wardrobe.  Lambert hadn't bought anything while he was wearing that face, and while Harmon had adapted pretty well, her brain was still kind of stuck in the 1980s on the one hand and not exactly subtle on the other (her idea of "sexy" was closer to "slutty", to hear Dunia describe it).  So we hit some shops, with Dunia asking what I thought as a guy every time she tried something on and then if I'd be embarrassed being seem with her as Dunia and Alicia.  She naturally also found a lot of things that she had to see me try on and that i should buy if only so she'd have them next summer.  We spent a lot of money that afternoon. 

But the weird thing is, it did lift my spirits!  I've made a lot of jokes about women and shopping, I'm sure, but there's something really great about being told you look nice and seeing a friend get prettied up herself.  I don't know if you can buy self-confidence, although I'm sure that's what these places are selling as much as tiny crop-tops and one-piece swimsuits that somehow cover less than bikinis, but Dunia had a great time and it did feel pretty good to know that I could pull off living someone else's life better than Gerard. 

Of course, she also insisted we get some use out of them, so we spent a lot of time on the beaches of Miami and the clubs in whatever city we were in when the sun went down, or even walking around the Smithsonian and other museums in Washington.  The National Mall isn't as welcoming a place as it was when i was going there last year and the State Fair thing was super-lame, but more people flirted than asked what an Afro-Latina girl thought she was doing there.

Granted, we got back on the Miami-DC route in large part because Gerard had wound up nearby and she figured it would be good to keep our circle tight.  I was still kind of upset, but she was right.  She had him book a spot for us at a nice restaurant during mid-afternoon hours when it would be quiet, and while I figured we'd just stay in our uniforms, she'd made sure to bring a sweater that clung to her chest (because she's kind of having fun with Alicia's body, like it's fun to know people are staring rather than doing it from behind), while I was in one of her halter-and-pleated skirt pairings.  We got there first and sat at the bar, getting about one drink in when he came in and waved.  She waved back, and then leaned over to whisper "why didn't you tell me you were so hot?"

I stammered.  "I'm not!  I mean, you've seen pictures of me on Facebook, and if Gerard looks sexy, it's just because he spent too much of my money on clothes and that haircut!"

She laughed.  "Toby, if all it takes is a nice haircut, you're hot!"  Before I could argue, she waved him over, and I got my first good look at the new Gerard/Toby, which was weird.  I know the face and everything pretty well even if I was never one to spend a whole lot of time looking in the mirror, but the way he talked and dressed and held himself just didn't feel like me at all, which isn't something anybody had really told me, either as Dunia's friends and family saying "Dunia, you're acting strange" or her saying she wouldn't do something.

But it turned out okay; he told me he was really sorry about how he made my Mom uncomfortable, and was trying to improve it now that they had a little distance, and had a lot of funny stories about what an old married couple his buddies had become, even though the husband had been a girl and the wife nonbinary (for his part, he usually didn't even notice he was only attracted to women until some guy would hit on him and he wouldn't feel it).  He'd also somehow landed a job I couldn't imagine I'd ever get, some sort of outreach position with the city government, and he said it wasn't that hard, you just had to be confident in your interview, figure out how in lined up with what you're good at, and work on the rest.

Anyway, it was a really good meal - Gerard has been exploring DC's apparently great restaurants and decided to introduce us to Ethiopian - and we agreed that next time, we'd try and hang out in a club or something.  I wasn't quite so enthusiastic about that, but Dunia was, and she told me that I should practice, because my next girlfriend wouldn't have any idea what kind of jackpot she'd hit with a combination of farmboy good looks, any stylish things I inherited from Gerard, and knowing what she wanted from the inside.  Which is kind of when the clubbing stepped up a bit, and it hasn't been so bad.  I can tell when a guy is just using a line or seems genuinely interested in me a lot better now, or when brushing up against me is accidental or deliberate or somewhere in between,  I'm dancing a lot better too, although I'm not sure how much of that will transfer once I don't have Dunia's butt.

(BTW, the way she rolls Alicia's when I say something that she calls "complaining about the amazing ass I gave you" is kind of hilarious.)

Heck, last night, I actually wound up making out with a guy in a DC club.  It had been a long day - we were supposed to make a round trip, but the first flight was delayed an hour and a half, which led to a lot of people being rude as if Dunia and I had anything to do with the engine, so another crew took the return flight and we had an overnight.  I drank a little more than usual, but the dancing felt really good - sometimes you really need to move after being trapped in a plane for that long! - and this guy was funny and sympathetic, and when we wound up near a wall, his hands were on my butt and my boobs and his muscles felt kind of good.  The kiss was a surprise, and so was the tongue, but it made me realize just how long it had been since I'd experienced that, and I don't know where it would have led if his buddies hadn't come by and said they'd been called in - I guess they're cops or first-responders or something - and we exchanged numbers.  It was kind of silly that Dunia high-fived me after that, but she said that her boyfriend being away didn't mean both of us shouldn't get laid for the twentieth time and what happened in DC could stay in DC.

We had a late flight home, enough that I collapsed in bed as soon as I got there, only to have payback slap me in the face after just three or four hours of sleep as my phone buzzed me awake.

It was Dunia's boyfriend Luis, and he was crying, saying that he'd been injured pretty severely in a training accident, would probably be rotated home in a couple of weeks, and didn't know what was coming after that.

I said of course I'd be there for him when he did, before immediately texting Dunia about what the heck that means under these circumstances, and writing all this because I really didn't want to go downstairs and discuss it with her dad.  But I'm guessing the super-fun summer is gonna be over soon.

-Toby/Dunia

Toby: Dunia's a Different Sort of Alicia

Vacation's been over for a few weeks, although it never felt like one because of the FBI (somehow not the craziest thing to happen to me in the past year), so I've been back in the air, which is a weird sort of relief.  There's something claustrophobic and scary about being on an airplane, sure, but faced with the prospect of that couple days I was being held running much longer, it's kind of nice to get on a plane in one place and off it somewhere else, regularly, even if you don't often make it out of the airport.  Even better when you're spending time with Dunia and Rosa. 

Rosa was surprised to see us again (or "again" in Dunia's case).  Most flight attendants don't really like the short shuttle routes like Miami-Atlanta, so they tend to try and get longer, less frantic ones on bigger planes as soon as they get some seniority, but since Lambert and I figured there would be a new Alicia and Dunia would need some experience, it would be better to start them off the same way we had.  There's enough flights that we didn't necessarily figure they'd be paired with Rosa again, even though she planned to stick to that route indefinitely because she has family in both cities, so we mentioned her in our letters and said good luck. 

She was happy to see us, at least, and was kind of surprised when Dunia-Alicia wanted to join us for lunch in the food court, then ordered a salad, and then chuckled a little when someone commented on how well my butt filled my uniform in Spanish.  She literally asked Dunia who she was and what she'd done with Alicia, because she was usually kind of bossy and hard to get along with, but Dunia just shrugged and said she didn't know what to say.  Most people are going to figure people change for regular reasons rather than from some crazy curse.  Still, after she walked off to take a call, we were both like "Oh my god, she said the thing!"

She's also picked up the job really quick, which is to be expected, since she had been studying the same employee handbook I tried to memorize in a few days for weeks before going to the Inn, Lambert left fairly useful notes, and I guess I've been paying enough attention to give her pointers when she needed them.  She doesn't have a lot more responsibilities as purser than I do (she handles the checklists and it's usually the one to pick up the intercom to either make announcements or talk to the Captain, which is fine with me, and does some paperwork after we land), and she seems to be doing fine. 

I did kind of laugh when she stayed following Rosa's example of wearing heels in the airport and during boarding but switching to flats before takeoff, leading me to ask if she was trying to land a pilot or some fancy CDC doctor.  She blushed, saying that as far as she knew she still had a boyfriend, but that when she imagined herself doing this as a girl and especially since last year, she was sexy as opposed to just capable.  That' didn't quite become a conversation about how I presented myself, although she's helped me refine my makeup skills a bit while asking how I (in my capacity as a secret white guy) think she's doing with her new skin tone.  She actually finding it kind of annoying because Alicia is a pretty pale Eastern European girl and I guess it's kind of easy to wind up looking like a clown with the wrong amount of blush, and she's apparently dealing with noticeable tan lines for the first time.

We hang out after work a lot more than Lambert and I did, too, and while the friends I inherited from Dunia seem to think it's a bit odd, they've started to warm up to her, which is funny, although I kind of split my time more than having the whole group of us hang out as a group.  She's trying to connect with her roommates, but it's slow going, given how apparently both Harmon and Lambert didn't want to be there.

I'm just glad that we get along so well!  Sure, Dunia and I have been friendly since last year and she seemed excited to meet me in person, but I don't know that I'd be able to be around Gerard as much as she's around me without telling him that he's doing me wrong.  And I might be doing that a lot - sure, he got left with a great big gap to explain, but it's really causing trouble with Mom and my friends at home, and I guess it makes Dunia appreciate my trying not to leave a mess, because I'm sure going to have one to clean up next year.

-Toby/Dunia

Toby: Dunia's May schedule

I've kind of been wondering how we were going to return to the Inn and our own lives without losing Dunia and the next Alicia these jobs, especially Dunia, as I/we haven't been employed long enough to have a lot of slack.  I'm not sure that what we've hit on quite works, but it's the best we can do:  Basically, we've managed to get assigned to the Miami/Boston route for May, and somehow managed to work out that we're overnight in Boston most of the time, as there aren't many red-eye flights going that direction.  We rent a car at Logan, drive up to Old Orchard, hopefully arriving before whatever happens overnight happens (I guess it's usually around 2am), and then drive back to the airport the next morning.  With any luck, we'll text the airline about how we're really sick, and hopefully that will get us to the week or so that we've blocked off on the schedule, during which Dunia and a new Alicia will return to normal. 

It's not really a great plan; it kind of relies on the idea that the first couple groups at the Inn will be folks trying to get their lives back and will show up the first chance they get.  It also probably wouldn't work at all if the lady who is living as Alicia's mother Magda hadn't gotten a promotion that put her in the scheduling department.  Or if folks from Canada were visiting Florida as much as they used to (I guess a lot transfer at Boston) and they needed us for more than just one round trip a day.  Honestly, I kind of wonder how many folks get changed and then stuck in their new lives because they just can't afford the trip back.  If someone has become me, there's a good chance that, once the reservation is made, gas money is tight and they're not exactly enjoying the Maine restaurant scene while they wait for something to happen. 

But it's the plan we've got, and so far, it seems to be working out.  Nothing happened last night, but we aren't really expecting the place to fill up before the weekend.  Heck, so far as we could tell, there were only five out of 13 there, and it was kind of a weird vibe. It felt like we should have breakfast together or compare notes or something, but nobody really wanted to dwell on the lady seven or eight months, and there was a lot of fretting about explaining how and why we'd been missing.

It is kind of strange being with Lambert outside of work, though.  You might think we'd have bonded or something over all this, but that never really happened.  Instead, we were mostly quiet on the drive north, before taking turns in the bathroom removing our makeup and changing for bed.  I kind of kicked myself when I saw what a big nightshirt she was wearing over loose boxers with a drawstring, while I was wearing the same panties and belly shirt as when I'm sleeping in Miami.  I can joke about how my butt may wind up smaller when I'm a white guy again, but other parts of those panties would squeeze and I'd probably shred the top like the Hulk or something.  I suppose i could sleep in the nude, but boy would that get uncomfortable with a roommate! 

But, nothing happened, so we showered, got dressed and made up for work, and I've been writing this during the drive back to Boston to try and tune out Lambert's podcast.

It's crazy that we probably won't be friends after we get back, but I'll know there's someone in town who went through the same really weird thing as me. 

- Toby/Dunia

Toby: Dunia's Dream Job

Hey, it's been a while, but apparently which flight attendant crew works which flights or gets any time off at all during the busy part of the year is based on seniority, and I'm absolutely the lowest on the totem pole, so the past month in particular has just been crazy, especially considering things were kind of slow before that, although sort of frustrating because of how all this works. 

I was kind of a nervous wreck that first day, because I'd never been on a plane before, and while I crammed all the manuals and stuff more than I had ever studied for a test in high school, this seemed like it would be really different.  I tried to tell myself that I picked up how to work any piece of big equipment that got thrown at me on the farms pretty quickly, and it's not like I would be flying the plane, but I still feel kind of awkward walking around as Dunia on level, non-moving ground, and should probably consider myself fortunate that high heels aren't part of the uniform.  Dunia likes her wedges, but I'm in sneakers or sandals most of the time. 

I got to the airport early on the first day - in addition to never having been on a plane before, I hadn't used a bus since junior high and wanted to give myself enough time - feeling kind of ridiculous in my uniform with the little neck scarf and hat, afraid I'd suddenly turn back to myself and look ridiculous, or that I'd be stopped when I tried to use my employee ID to bypass the line for passengers.  You'd think I'd give off some sort of wrong vibe, but apparently not. 

Or maybe I do but people just assume it's for something else, like it just being your first day in a new job.  There was a three-person cabin crew that first day and for most of the first month, because we were assigned to a fairly small plane doing shuttle flights between Miami and Atlanta, and when I got there, I was greeted by a Latina woman a few years older than me who introduced herself as Rosa and looked at me a little strange, but that was apparently because I wasn't wearing nearly as much makeup as she thought I should.  "You're very pretty without it," she said, "but people expect a more visible effort, you know?  Like, people get nervous flying,  and want to see you looking like you're ready for anything.  Especially you and me, you know?"

I didn't, but apparently a lot of Latina women go really heavy on the makeup, or at least that's the stereotype.  I've been Dunia for nearly three months now and it seems like a lot of lines that seem very clear back home are blurry here.  I'd brought some cosmetics in my bag - at the time I was just starting to figure them out, but at least grasped that I might have to fix something mid-air, before finding out what things cost in airport terminals - and Rosa knew exactly what to do, even with my darker skin.  By the time she was done, I wasn't sure what I thought, because it was the kind of look that kind of works for me even though I always tell myself that I like girls who don't use a lot of makeup more, so I was kind of judging myself in a couple ways, but also thinking that, yeah, this is kind of what looks appropriate for someone in this kind of job, like, kind of fake, but in a way that says you're at work and trying to present yourself well and this maybe isn't who you are in the off hours. 

It was pretty close to time to report to our gate when Lambert ran into the ladies' room right past us so he could puke in a stall.  Rosa's eyes went wide - she later confessed that she was having flashbacks to someone at a different job who showed up hungover a lot - and I shooed her out, saying we'd spent the last few weeks together.  Once I was pretty sure there were no actual girls in the room, I walked over.  "You okay, dude?"

He looked down at a bit of his hair that had gotten in the way, thinking a bit before reaching for some toilet paper to wipe it off.  "Man, I can't do this.  I get so nauseous and half the time I take Nyquil or something before takeoff!  I should just go in and quit!"

"Hey, don't leave me alone!  Just think, I don't think Dunia would want this job so much if it wasn't a good one.  Besides, you've got Alicia's stomach and inner ear or whatever, so you shouldn't get airsick, right?  They've been doing this job for years."

He didn't look totally convinced, but didn't say anything.  We got his hair cleaned up the best we could with hand soap and paper towels, and then got to work. 

That first day was kind of strange in every way, but Lambert and I both did okay.  Miami to Atlanta is a short enough flight that we barely have time to do anything between takeoff and landing, although some folks just absolutely need a coffee in midair, or more often one of those little bottles of alcohol to calm their nerves.  Confidentially, I kind of think half of them are just looking to have one of us lean over a row of seats so that they can reach up and "accidentally" touch our boobs.  I flinched pretty badly the first couple times, but after that I just sort of figured that's what guys were going to do.  My butt was also a very tempting target, and I kind of like that even less.  Boobs are just weird and don't belong on my body, so I don't really feel upset like I do at having my butt slapped by a man, which feels really inappropriate. 

Lambert has bigger boobs than me, so he was more of a target for that, but he seemed to get over his fear of flying pretty quickly.  Maybe It's just that Alicia/Harmon got used to it on a way that transferred over to him, but i think he just likes bossing people around more than he hates flying.  Not that he can really boss the passengers around, but he can raise his voice when warranted, and he really puts on a good show of being senior to me and Rosa.

It's not so bad once you get used to the weird sensation of the plane moving.  Apparently Harmon called it being "a glorified waitress", but I kind of prefer it to farm work.  There are a lot of people who are kind of jerks either because they're nervous or just jerks - my mom is a waitress on the ground and she's got stories! - but you kind of get used to it. 

The pays not really great, though, I guess because it's a job that a lot of people think would be fun for a while, but also because you don't really get paid while you're in the airport.  I gather some airlines don't start paying you until the cabin doors close before takeoff or after they open on landing, even though dealing with people who act like what they were told about carry-on bags doesn't apply to them is maybe the most frustrating part of the job, but you definitely don't get paid for the time between working a flight from Miami to Atlanta and the one back.  Even on days when you've got three round trips, that's not quite 8 hours of work even though you're out of the house early and back late, and before holiday travel started, we didn't have a lot of those full days.  I don't find it a huge problem - farmers back home love to find ways to keep you off the clock and I don't have a lot of living expenses starting with Dunia's father - but it really pisses Lambert off, especially when we wind up sick in the Atlanta airport of a few hours and he's boxing about how this isn't helping pay the rent on Alicia's apartment.

Dunia kind of eats every detail about it up, though, demanding I fill her Instagram up with pictures from her first day and anything interesting that happened afterwards, and kind of loves cute selfies of me/her/us in the uniform.  I joked about her being a pervy old man once and she seemed hurt, and I get it; she'll have all these first times in a few months but she'll have to act like they're old hat and wants to have some sort of record of the way she's going to feel.  And it's not like I'm not kind of enjoying it.  It's kind of nice to put on a uniform and have people kind of jealous of your job and get to help folks like you know what you're doing, and i do look kind of nice.  I could do without folks slapping my ass as I walk by, but they're going to do that to Dunia as she walks to the grocery store.

I'll be kind of glad when the schedule gets a little less crazy in the new year, though, especially since Lambert and I will be resigned to a longer route. 

- Toby

Toby: Dunia & Papi

(Wrote this October 1st, forgot to hit send!)

Doing this again to try and forget that I'm in a flight attendant's uniform and will soon be flying to Washington, doing a job i haven't trained for at all. 

The strange thing is, that feels like the first thing that had me really nervous since arriving in Miami.  It seems crazy to say that, because nobody else seems to really click into new lives quite so fast, but as soon as Lambert dropped me off in front of this pastel-colored building, her father ran out and squished me to his chest.  "Where were you?  Everyone has been so worried!"

"We, uh, got lost in the woods.  Ms. Polawski... Alicia... had this 'glamping' idea, and while she backed a ton of extra food, she apparently forgot a compass, and after these other guys found us...  Well, it was just so embarrassing..."  I felt embarrassed saying this, but I guess that made it sound believable, because he just kissed the top of my head, said I didn't ever need to ashamed to tell him anything, and then picked up my luggage, apparently not noticing that there were two suitcases instead of one.

I'd seen pictures and video of Enrico Cortes on Dunia's phone, but somehow hadn't expected a few things.  You can always smell the garage on him, for instance, even underneath the Old Spice (also: Dunia has an unnervingly good sense of smell), and even when he's so happy to see you that you think he'd overdo a hug, you can sort of feel that he knows when to stop.  He's also strangely tidy - his mustache is perfectly trimmed and every room in this little house is so well-organized that I haven't had to arouse suspicion by asking where anything is in the past week, or at least every room except for Dunia's bedroom.

It wasn't quite dark yet but I was tired, and fell asleep practically as soon as I sat on the bed.  When I woke up the next morning I saw my shoes were neatly placed at the foot of the bed and I'd been covered with a light blanket, which was kind of creepy, but maybe that's just what fathers do when they see their daughters sprawled out with the door open?  I was kind of fuzzy - this was, like, my third day as Dunia and I was kind of jolted awake by her face in the mirror, but let my nose lead me downstairs to where he was scrambling some eggs, and perked up on seeing me.  "Hey, you're up early!  Although I guess you went to bed pretty early for you, so it balances out.  Join your old man for breakfast?"

"Uh... okay."  I sat down and he handed me a plate.  I was a little nervous at first - there were bits of peppers in the eggs, but it wasn't bad at all.  The orange juice was fresh-squeezed, too, and for as silly as I feel silly getting all wide-eyed at my first sip because it's nothing compared to what else is new, it really was different. 

Her dad noticed and chuckled.  "They don't have the fresh aid up in Maine, huh?"  I imagine it's like North Dakota, where they have it in the fancy places folks like Lambert so at but which is out of my range, but obviously didn't say anything  "Well, I'm off to the shop.  Anything you need me to bring home?  I got those bath oils you wanted while you were away, and I imagine you're looking forward to that after your adventure!"

Taken aback, I lifted an arm and smelled my armpit.  I've smelled worse, but I imagine a girl who asks her dad to pick up bath pills doesn't often go 48 hours without showering, especially in this humidity.  I let him awkwardly hug me goodbye, and then made my way to the bathroom 

There was a whole line of products against one wall, and I sarcastically took a picture and texted it to Dunia:  "What an i supposed to do with all this?"

It was only a minute or so before she texted back: "Hahahhaha, that must seem like a lot

"Why don't you just get in and soak and I'll write something up?"

I was kind of surprised by the quick response. "Isn't it like 5an there?"

"4! No daylight savings time

"Guess I'm an early riser now and still sort of on eastern time"

I turned on the faucet and put a door under the tap until it seemed okay.  "That sucks"

"Could be worse, I guess.  I'm kind of hot for an odd man"  She sent a selfie of a silver-haired man in a wide-beater.  She did look like she was in pretty decent shape.  "Now you"

I tried to be cute, throwing up a v-sign and posing with my mouth open so I didn't look annoyed to be her.  There was a brief pause, and she texted back not to make hand signs unless I really meant it.

Then:  "Hey don't be shy about washing my v, ok?  I know it's weird - BELIEVE ME - but I want EVERYTHING in good shape next year"

"Um, k"

She didn't respond door a minute or two, so I took a deep breath, stripped, and lowered myself into the bath.  I winced a bit when the warm water touched my new private parts, but once I was in, it wasn't a big deal.  I mean, it was weird, but it wasn't arousing or anything.

I exhaled and looked down.  Dark-ish skin, perky breasts, tight waist, landing strip, butt flaring out, pretty nice legs.  Little landing strip above a slit, yes, but it kind of hit me that this at least looked tidy, compared to what Dunia must be seeing from the same angle.

I just sat there for a bit.  The warm water felt good, the house was quiet except for some birds outside.  It was kind of peaceful.  I closed my eyes and let my head sink below the water, feeling my hair float on the surface, then popped back up.  That felt like enough doing nothing, so I picked up a lavender-scented beauty bar and started rubbing it on my body.  My skin was soft, and kind of sensitive, but it wasn't ...  Like, you spend a lot of time as a guy thinking about how everything about girls is sexy, but it's actually just skin muscle and fat the way my own body is.  Even when washing my chest, it was like, there's weight and mass there, but touching it doesn't make me go nuts or anything.

Anyway, I got washed up and smelling nice, and once I'd tried off I walked back to her room to get dressed.  Just a simple t-shirt and shorts - it was in the 80s - and spent a little time zooming with Dunia afterward, as she went through all the stuff in the bathroom and said what it was for.

We zoomed a lot over the past week, and I get the impression that's not normal - like, a lot of folks just get thrown into a new life without a lot of help, but I kind of get the impression that Dunia is kind of bored between trips and is in kind of a similar situation to me - she's getting instruction on driving an 18-wheeler and kind of worried about it, so when she has a chance, she's helping me with makeup and going through her Instagram feed to fill me in on everyone.  I complained about her wardrobe a bit but she said I'd like having this butt when her girlfriends get me out dancing and the halters make it look like we've got enough up top to balance them.

And her dad...  Her dad is kind of great!  He's fretting a lot because of the whole going missing thing, but seems really proud of her, and even when he comes home from a long day at the garage smelling like grease, he likes to cook Dunia's favorite foods and ask how my day was, and when I say I've spent the whole day studying, points out that I should have some fun, too.

I've only seen Lambert a couple of times over the past week - I gather that Alicia is the new roommate in an apartment with a few other flight attendants, having just relocated to Miami from New York, and apparently the previous Alicia didn't make a very good impression.  I don't think he's ever had a roommate before.

Anyway, I'm leaving out a lot, I know, and getting into too much in other spots, but I'm about to start my first shift and I'm nervous.  Wish me luck!

-Toby/Dunia

Toby/Dunia: A Much Longer Trip Than I Expected

So... Hi.  I'm afraid that I don't have any sort of introduction where I'm just me saying what I'm doing in Maine.  I kind of didn't even realize this place had a blog attached until after I became this girl. 

It's this sort of thing common, or is it all about the curse or whatever?  I've never really traveled much, or at least not to cities.  We used to go to some of the closer National Parks when I was a kid, but Ma had to sell the camper after the cancer took Dad, and even if there had been money we were never really sure there'd be a job to come back to if we took time off.  I didn't really think about it much, though, I guess because I never had it to miss and there weren't a whole lot of kids in my high school who were going on European vacations.

There were some folks with money around, though their kids went to private schools.  I guess Lambert was one of them.  I didn't know him before I answered the ad; he must've been a couple years ahead of me anyway.  He bought a car on eBay, and since he never liked to fly, he put something in a local Facebook group looking for someone to drive to Bangor and back with him.  Beat the hell out of my real job, especially since they were cutting hours due to the market for soybeans drying up or something.  He seemed all right and I guess he figured I could be trusted with his car on the drive back, so it was a done deal pretty quick.

We stopped at the Inn the night before driving up the coast - Lambert found it online and apparently the last two-week block of the year was an especially good deal for when you didn't necessarily know when you'd be in and out.  We got there on Monday, crashed for the night, and then started for Bangor in the morning.  We spent a couple hours after lunch inspecting and test-driving the Porsche - well, I kind of stood around for that - and then I was back in the BMW for the ride back.  We got dinner at a restaurant on a boat in Portland before stopping at the Inn for the night.

I was awoken by a high-pitched scream, bolting up in bed and looking on the other side of the room where there was a topless woman holding her breasts.  It was clearly the same room we'd been in last night - Lambert's stuff was on the end table - and I was a little fuzzier from the previous night's beers than I should have been, so I asked who she was.

"I'm Lambert Allen - who the fuck are you?"

"It's me, Toby!"  That when I noticed my voice didn't sound right in my ears and my hair was long enough for some  to be in my eyes.  "Uh, at least I think I am."  Hung over enough to go check, I stood from my bed and walked across the room to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.  "How in the heck?"

As you can tell from the subject line, there was a girl in the mirror, about my age, but I was shorter.  Not like super-short - I was six-foot-two and lost about six inches or so.  It made the t-shirt I'd been wearing really loose, although I could see a vague shape of breasts and nipples under it.  I was kind of surprised my boxers hadn't fallen down, but my butt was enough to hold it up.  I guess that may go with being Latina - my skin wasn't quite black but a pretty dark brown.  I pulled the neckline out to look down and then felt inside my boxers - I was all girl.

It woke me up and I ran back into the bedroom, where Lambert was pulling a suitcase out from under his bed and opening it.  He said "you have got to be shitting me" as he lifted the flight attendant's uniform that was on top out.

I did the same, only the top layer on mine was a letter "to the new Dunia Cortes".  It described the Inn's spell, and laid out a bit about the life I was inheriting.  Shes my age, 23, from the Miami area, Cuban-American although it was her grandparents that came from Cuba as children as opposed to someone more recent.  She had just been hired as a flight attendant and was expected to shadow veteran Alicia Polawski, but wound up following her to Maine when she wouldn't cut vacation short.  She lives with her father in "Little Havana" and has a boyfriend, but Luis is in the Army and stationed overseas.  She's become a retired truck driver in Phoenix, which feels as crazy as me being her.

Lambert's letter filled in some blanks; it turns out that Alicia Polawski used to be an college professor and a guy, but he got bored and decided to move on, saying the new Alicia could keep her life or not and he didn't care (she didn't care?).  He also seemed to have invited Dunia to join him specifically because it didn't look like there were going to be 13 people to trigger everything otherwise.  This Harmon guy sounds like a piece of work. 

If there were any people who has been through this before, I didn't meet them, aside from the hot dog vendor who said the thing that freaked me out the most, that there was nobody staying at the Inn after us until spring, so our lives and identities would be in a sort of limbo until then.  He said it's not so bad, because we'd have first dibs on our room and explaining not being around is easier than fixing a mess someone else makes of your life, but that's almost right months!  What's my Ma going to do without me, to start? 

Lambert seems to be more in a daze than I am.  He thought he might go home anyway, but apparently Alicia looks a lot like his last couple stepmothers and his dad is on the prowl again.  He also really doesn't like flying, and I almost wonder if it's bad enough for him to quit Alicia's job ahead of her next shift and try to live on his credit cards until then.  I'm not going to do that - this is apparently Dunia's dream job and she seems nice enough - although there's a pretty big handbook to study in the next week or so.

(It's a lot!  It looks simple enough on TV and in the movies, but I'm already afraid of screwing up the details or having to give someone CPR in midair!)

What he is sure of is that he's not leaving his new Porsche behind.  One of the coupons in the flyer that pointed us to Cary's hot dog truck and this blog is for a place that offers long term parking and storage, but he says there's no way he's leaving his new baby in some beach town that empties out for the winter.  He suggested we just do what we had been planning to do, me driving the BMW and him driving the Porsche, just south on Route One rather than west to North Dakota, but i said that I sure as heck wasn't going to get pulled over driving someone else's car as a Latina woman, so he reluctantly decided to park that one for the winter.  It's probably a good thing we initially packed pretty light, because it's not like the little sports car has  the trunk space to handle four people's luggage if Lambert and I had packed like Dunia and Harmon/Alicia.

It's weird as heck.  I'm sitting in the passenger seat of a really expensive car, and every time I look down rather than forward, I see how dark and slender my arms and legs are, and I've definitely got a figure even if my pink t-shirt doesn't show the boobage that Lambert's top does (we were not left a lot of clean clothes, and I really struggled to pull these shorts onto my big new butt this morning).  When we do get to Miami tomorrow, some guy is going to think I'm his daughter, and then I'm going to have to start working on airplanes starting next Wednesday despite having barely been out of North Dakota before.  I'm kind of tapping this out on my phone just so that I'm not staring at my body or Lambert (he's a little older, but pretty sexy) or talking in our new voices, something to do, and maybe find out if we're doing the right thing taking our stuff along to our new homes.  What I've seen of the entries here, folks usually just leave things there, but maybe not for months.

Maybe this will be my only post because I'll be too busy soon enough.  We'll see.

-Toby/Dunia

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: "Harmony" and other reinventions

I have received several notes via this blog asking if the "Harmony Kelton" credited in several recent short films is me, and, yes, she is.  Apparently a Polish name sounds too much like a Russian one in the current environment, so the person representing me to casting directors suggested a stage name.  I pointed out both that it could be said to sound Ukrainian by the same misplaced logic and that "______ with Alicia" had not particularly see its numbers drop over the past year, but once the opportunity to forge a new identity as an actress presented itself, it did intrigue me.  My first choice, "Alicia Harmon", may have been wiser since I could simply stop using the Eastern European surname on by videos, has apparently already been registered with various unions.  This, at least, had the benefit of amusing me.

I am moderately surprised that I am doing such without necessarily thinking about how it improves the "Alicia Polawski" identity as a commodity.  As mentioned in my last post, almost exactly two years ago, I did not plan to stay in this life very much longer, and had only done so because the Covid-19 pandemic had closed the Inn.  But, somehow, that extra year seemed to make more things my default state.  All those tedious things done to maintain this body's appearance to make it a more attractive product are now habit.  Planning and shooting new videos does not quite scratch the same itch as publishing a paper, but the broader base of people who appreciate it makes up for that some.

It's odd that I actually get some enjoyment out of all that, but then, perhaps not.  Every once in a while, I will search the name of a former colleague and see that, in their retirement, they have taken up woodworking or English soccer fandom or some other thing.  I, evidently, have chosen to be a stewardess and YouTuber in my retirement.  It's not so odd, perhaps - many of them have "downsized" to smaller homes, while I live in an apartment with the current Magda; others spend a great deal of time traveling, as do I; a fair number of them spend their free time pontificating on Facebook, while I make videos.

(It amuses me that my many colleagues who are likely more or less what they appear may not be so different from older men in their behavior.)

It is becoming somewhat more difficult to maintain this life in the carefree manner of a hobby, however.  Despite the disciplinary issues that the original Alicia had, my maintaining my position through the pandemic while many others found new work has made me the senior attendant on some flights with talk of being promoted to purser, which would make this a career rather than simply a job I stayed in out of convenience, and I do not believe I want that.  It is one thing to shoulder some responsibility as one travels, and reap the benefit of how one's scarf and miniskirt triggers a fetish in many, but I cannot see how being in this business for as long as I was in academia would be similarly rewarding.

Thus, I have begun pivoting toward being on camera as opposed to being on flights.  The parts I have gotten as of yet have not been much more challenging than the work I performed for Jordan - tight and scanty outfits worn in the background, breathy double entendres spoken to obvious stand-ins for the filmmakers - but that suits me well enough at the moment.  One's body is a depreciating resource, especially as a young woman, one may as well, especially if that brings experience that will be useful later.  As some have noticed, that has extended to a little bit of nudity, but what of it?  If I later find having those clips out on the web mortifying, the Inn is still out there, and I have begun anew before.  I can at least make a clear decision on that, while some of the ladies doing the same are removing their clothing far more impulsively.

-Harmon Keller, aka Alicia Polawski, aka Harmony Kelton

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Assets

The obvious puns that come with my trying to ascertain the value of Alicia's identity are crude, but fitting.  My current measurements are enviable, or desirable, depending upon one's perspective, but how does one properly value them?  I began asking this not hypothetically, but practically - I planned to use relinquishing this shape to one for whom it perhaps came more naturally in order to both start the next phase of my life in a more financially stable situation and to perhaps have more ability to select that next phase rather than have it happen randomly.  One might not believe that the Inn is a marketplace, but it is, much as any place where money is exchanged for a product is a marketplace.  It is simply a highly irrational one:  Most people who arrive at the Inn for the first time have no idea what they are actually purchasing, while the vast majority who return put such a high value on returning to their previous situations that they fail to weigh any other factors at all.

There are those who do treat the Inn as a marketplace, though getting in touch with them can be difficult and the data one gathers scant enough that it becomes difficult to build a model.  Youth, as one might imagine, is the primary variable; though few of the people I have surveyed admit to seeking immortality per se, they will when pressed say that they want as much time as possible should circumstances prevent them from later revisiting, aside from the physical robustness that correlates with youth.  Financial stability is high up there as well, although not so much as one might expect - those who are concerned with it can liquidate assets and place them in a numbered account, after all.  It is a far greater negative influence - nobody wishes to be poor - than positive one.

Sex complicates matters - by and large, there's a noteworthy bias toward male identities being more valuable, at least in this market.  It's not hard to understand why; the biological nuisances and reductions in social status on average can certainly be frustrating.  But appearance can cause great variance, as can things like relationships, real and parasocial alike, more so than men.

"Alicia" is rather well-equipped on those accounts, now.  Although this particular silhouette has never been the one I favored among female companions, I cannot deny that its rounded bosom and buttocks are certainly able to grab another person's attention, particularly when I made an effort to showcase them.  I was, admittedly, ashamed of having this form when I first started living Alicia's life, but over my time as her, it's become easier.  What's the harm of showing some cleavage or using some high heels to accentuate your gait, if it makes men (and women!) more attentive?  One must learn how to set boundaries without actually sounding like one is ruling anything out, but I feel I have done fairly well by that.  Indeed, there are days when I wonder if I have done so well in that area that becoming a man again would have a steep learning curve.

Aside from that, there is the "vlog", which had seemed to have plateaued last fall but which has been gaining audience steadily since then.  Perhaps it has become more useful as people start to seriously consider vacations (or, based upon what I see during the day job, actually travel more), rather than as just a way to experience such things vicariously.  I have also become a better hostess - as much as I have grown more comfortable using my physicality, I cannot deny that my interview skills have improved, and Barbie and I have become better at editing the pieces, on top of my existing skills as a researcher.  We have put together a reasonably popular "show" for the resources we have; it's not unheard of for a new video to get a hundred thousand views in a month.

This makes "_______ with Alicia" an asset that is growing in value, and I am not the only person who has noticed it - various "content networks" have made inquiries, both about the series as it exists and what they envision it to be.  On the other side, I have had others approach me with offers to "professionalize" the series.  Sometimes it is local camera operators, other times editors, other times "producers" whose imagined roles range from the nebulous to the specific and useful.

That is on top of the people representing themselves as "agents", many of whom I suspect are less than legitimate, and other "content producers" who have seen either my series or Jordan's short film and would like me to appear in their videos, generally for "exposure" (looking at the scripts they send, the double-meaning is obvious), but sometimes for money.  Indeed, some of them even appear to have ambitions beyond online videos - short films like Jordan's which they would submit to film festivals, and even a feature-length presentation or two, although I have my doubts those would ever play a theater.

What to do with these?  There seems to be little question that accepting the proper offers would make "Alicia Polawski" a more valuable commodity, but so many of them seem to be very risky, and also time consuming, enough so to make finding a time to actually transfer this life to another difficult.  Already, it seems impossible to do in 2021.  And it also sets up a possibility that I may find ironic should it come to pass - that I might build "Alicia" up into something so valuable that the next iteration would seem to be trading down.  I've occasionally been bemused by some of the younger victims of the Inn deciding to stay as they were after a mere year or two, because they could no longer imagine returning to their old lives - as someone older than most of them, I cannot say that being Alicia yet feels normal enough to make my previous life seem alien, just in terms of the weight of experience - but the idea that I could become attached in the process of building these assets up to their peak value sometimes seems both frightening and amusing.

-Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Next Steps

I had a decision to make over the course of the "off-season" as to whether I would return to the Inn or continue developing this life I am leading into something with a bit more value then when I found it, perhaps as a means to finance the next phase of my life.  Apparently, for many that the Inn has cut off from the lives they were born into, a curvy woman in her mid-twenties with a thriving social media presence would be ideal, and work as an air hostess only more appealing, apparently not realizing that the vast number of people who think that way leads to a rather low rate of pay.

Instead, there was a pandemic, which not only made a return to the Trading Post Inn unlikely, but disrupted my sources of income - far fewer people were opting to fly, which meant that some flights were cancelled and others needed less staffing.  Given that most flight attendants are not salaried but paid by the hour, we started to feel the pinch almost immediately.  The union makes laying people off difficult, so that means very few of us get enough work to live on.  In some ways, it is a fascinating study of resources thrown out of equilibrium - fewer people are traveling, so there are fewer flights, and since there are fewer people allowed on the flights, there need to be fewer people assigned to each, but the lower capacities also mean that the number can't be scaled back quite as far back as one might expect.  Demand is highly variable as well, and even the people who book a flight often change their minds, sometimes bringing the passenger count below the point where it makes more sense to cancel the flight, especially earlier on.  Given that attendants on this airline are not paid for cancelled flights, even if they show up and are helping to prepare for boarding, it was often frustrating.

It would, logically, have been a good time for "Alicia" to make a career change, but as mentioned, her job likely lends a certain value to her identity as a commodity well beyond what it brings in directly, and that is before considering that this job is also no small part of the appeal of the YouTube channel, both in its travel theme and the idea that there's something ineffably sexier about my making these recommendations because of this job, even if I've been advised to not actually wear my employer's uniform, instead dressing in a dress that suggests it, while also wearing one of those silly scarves and putting my hair up.

Options for that have been slimmer, what with so many potential subjects of new episodes are closed, and I have had to learn to do more of the production myself since Barbara took a leave of absence to look after her ailing father some months ago.  It has been especially frustrating since we had just started to get some meager advertising revenue for our trouble, and even been contacted by certain locations interested in being featured.  The first one or two of those we shot were actually quite enjoyable - no security or police saying we could not film somewhere, people willing to talk rather than finding us a nuisance - although some of the negotiations have been peculiar:  No cash changing hands, but a fair amount of discussion of exchanging links, specifying their website in the video and making it clickable.  There have also been overtures about product placement and endorsements, or an online storefront, but research seems to indicate that many would-be "influencers" find themselves with more inventory and debt than profit as a result.

This apparently tends to be treated as a dirty little secret; I attended a meet-up of various online personalities in the area a few weeks ago and the mostly-young people there had very little to say about monetization or cash flow other than to comment that some "change in the algorithm" had hurt them.  I doubt many of them will last, as the bulk seem to have found a hobby briefly turning into a profitable business but have little idea of how to approach it as one, though they at least have the advantage of being born into this era and having some amount of unthinking instinct into what will work.

On top of that, the landscape can be rather treacherous.  Some fellow who is apparently paid money so that people can watch him play video games suggested that, if travel became too much of an obstacle, I at least have the sort of appearance that would allow me to do well on "Only Fans".  I nodded, said that was an option that one had to consider, and then looked up the name when I had a spare moment alone in the ladies' room.

Suffice it to say, I do not see myself using that platform, although I also wonder if this young man was propositioning me as much as suggesting a future plan of action.  The idea did make me start to think a bit more about how I use my sexuality and even sexual availability in this area, somewhat - while Jordan put me in a tight costume and directed me to speak in a certain way, I haven't necessarily been doing this as well as I could on "_______ with Alicia", especially since Barbara left.  I can walk in heels and stuff my bosom into an elevating brassiere, or undo a button or two in nice weather, but I have not spent much time on learning how to create certain effects with cosmetics, or given much thought to personal fashion choices beyond what generally complements a woman with this body type.  These things, from what I can tell, tend to enhance a woman's appeal to other women, which I have perhaps been ignoring.  Moreover, I tend to rely on the generally-valid assumption that not only will men simply be attracted to this body, but that a woman's lack of reciprocal interest will only make her more enticing.  Two years of Alicia's job have shown that many men are not that complex, and simply want to see a woman eager to be with them sexually, rather than believe that they might be the one to melt the ice queen if only she had a chance.

Integrating this into Alicia's online presence is, I suspect, the sort of thing that will make Alicia's life a more valuable asset at the point when I decide to leave it, though the building of it will likely not be as pleasant as it must appear.

-Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: _______ with Alicia

Though I ultimately opted against adding more salacious content to the Instagram amount that I inherited from Alicia, I did find myself curious about what I could do with itbeyond simply treating it as a repository of photographs for future reference.  I may, after all, find my next set of circumstances one where an understanding of the market dynamics of social media could be quite valuable, and the best way to learn new things is through experimentation.

So, if the content was not going to change much, what other variables could I consider?  Engagement seemed the most obvious, so I started replying to comments, and occasionally following the accounts of one's that had something interesting to say.  I would occasionally make notes on what certain people liked or questioned, keeping it in mind when taking photographs.  Look a bit wanton when mostly undressed for the men, excited when trying new clothes on for the women, make sure there is both something familiar and obscure when sightseeing.  When following someone else, especially one with a larger audience than oneself, comment quickly and simply if she just wants validation; ask questions if she seems to be looking for people who share her interests.

It seems simple enough, but with the right raw materials and the discipline to post regularly enough that one's followers don't feel neglected, one can grow an audience fairly quickly; by the end of July I had gone from 20,000 followers to 75,000.

And my roommates treated this as some kind of accomplishment!  I had changed very little about how I lived my life, but having total strangers "like" what they saw apparently made that life noteworthy, rather than cause to roll their eyes and treat me as an antisocial snob.  They started asking questions about what I'd been up to, and recommendations for what to see in cities that they had visited more often than I had.

I did hit a plateau in August, and thought that might be the end of the experiment, which was something of a relief - the amount of time these "influencer" people must spend on targeted interaction and filtering the most grotesque things that people try top attach to their profiles while not coming off as heavy-handed or some such must be extensive, as I found that an account which posted roughly a picture or two a day might need an hour's maintenance every night.  I was quite ready to simply go back to using the site for my original propose and let those other people continue to pay attention or not as they would.

But then one of the comments caught my eye, saying that I should have a podcast or a YouTube channel.  I had given something along those lines some thought, of course, every time somebody said that a place I had visited and my description of it was interesting, but I was thinking more in terms of a book.  This suggestion seemed more in line with what somebody my apparent age would do.

I mentioned this idly to "Barbie" and her eyes practically lit up, and she quickly opened the locker at the foot of her bed to pull out a video camera, then scooted to the other side of the room to point it at me.  The lens moved and then the red light came on, and she asked me about my favorite place to fly.

"I'd rather not."

"No, you totally should!  Come on - what's the place you're always tempted to over-bid on?"

I roll my eyes and start talking about a sculpture garden in New Mexico which is far from my favorite destination, mentioning how the dry air preserves the work although the hippies who live in the area are nearly as amusing.  I expect her to turn it off, but she doesn't, instead waiting until I'm done and saying it was "awesome", and that I must have wanted to be a teacher before getting into this.  I told her I'd given it some thought.

She says this could be the basis for a channel, that there are men who go on for hours on YouTube about how new science-fiction films are evidence of a conspiracy against the male gender, and I am far more interesting and attractive than they are.  Not untrue, I admit, and we eventually start having out the idea of the channel/"show".  She comes up with the title, saying that even if I never actually do anything more risqué than wearing a short skirt, it will get attention, even if it really means I can do shows on whatever I want (and looks at me blankly when I say it's straight out of The Match Game).

The next day is a mutual day off for us, so we crisscrossed the city with her camera, me delivering "lectures" on the various pieces of WPA at in the area, something that one would think people her age would know about, what with their belief that everyone is an artist or a "maker" deserving of support and fondness for politicians who openly identify as socialist, though I suppose their not reading history is why they need videos like these to spoon-feed it to them.  And though I describe them as lectures, they are not much like standing in a classroom.  There s just Barbie and the camera, telling me to smile more, flirt, or "pretend [I am] telling [my] boyfriend about one of [my] favorite things". 

Ridiculous, even if it does apparently make for good Internet video.  We waited a bit to post it, making a few others at various stops and shooting some new footage as we got more familiar with the process, eventually deciding to bank a few before starting to upload them on Thursday mornings and regularly mention them on my social media accounts over the next few days.

We sent the first one out before working a round-trip to Dallas on September 5th, and she was disappointed to see it did not immediately get many views, and just almost forgot about it until my phone started buzzing while I was in the shower.  I didn't recognize the name of the daughter of s some celebrity who has not herself accomplished anything who re-tweeted our link, but Barbie did, her eyes going wide as she opened her laptop.  The counter on my new YouTube channel was incrementing quite rapidly.  "Is this unusual?"

She looked from it to me, eyes wide.  "Is this unusual?  It's huge!  You're huge!"  Or faces were close, and out of nowhere, she kissed me on the lips.

I did not see this coming, but I had not forgotten how to respond, kissing her back and pulling her closer.  For all that the sensation of our breasts together was surprising, it was not unpleasant, and she has a quite impressive bottom which was soon in my hands, being pulled from her seat.  I unzipped her uniform while she worked the buttons on my pajamas, and soon we were on my bed, her back to my chest, my hands spring her breasts while I kissed her neck.  Soon one found its way lower, and I found that I had not completely lost practice in pleasing a woman.

She seemed to come out of her trance when she turned around and kneeled on the floor, her face being level with my pelvis seeming to surprise her.  "I'm sorry, I can't...  I shouldn't have...  I've never..."  And then she started crying.

I was briefly annoyed, but tried to shrug it off.  "Not to worry," I said while replacing my pajama top, "we were excited, and this was something of a first for me as well.  Now, go take your turn in the shower and when you come back, it will be like it never happened."

"Yeah, that's probably for best."  She pulled a t-shirt and sweatpants from her dresser and headed for the bathroom.

We have been cordial since, continuing to work on the channel and mostly assigned to the same flights.  I do, on occasion, find myself curious about what would have happened had she not gotten cold feet - she is the sort of young woman that I have long favored, even if she does not have the same academic background - but this shape obviously makes circumstances different.  In the meantime, we work together both in the air and on the ground.

-Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Crash Pad

One of the pleasures of my previous life was being given membership to some select group, whether literally or implicitly, by some shared accolade.  A description to be listed as an appositive after one's name conferring authority and respect, or the chance to easily associate with one's peers.  I had attained a number of them before visiting the Trading Post Inn, and I missed them sorely as I acclimated to the life of Alicia Polawski.  The ability to bypass security at an airport does not make up for their loss, especially when one considers that it is the prelude to a menial shift as a stewardess.

However, for all that I bemoaned the loss of such associations, there are moments now when I most mourn the loss of one that I found to be a nuisance for my first year as a woman:  The immediate presence of another who knew my true identity.  Lindsey may have found my situation too amusing, and Daryl may have been indifferent to that situation, but I could at least expect them to have some understanding when my status as a victim of that cursed place.  It is something that I find utterly lacking in this dormitory where I now reside.

The apartment may not technically be a dormitory - it is neither subsidized by the airline nor in a building whose clientele is restricted - but the arrangement is similar.  It is what is known as a "crash pad", with ten beds in four bedrooms.  Three of the rooms sleep two apiece, with those of us slept there each passing a portion of the rent and utilities, while the fourth has two sets of bunk beds, used by other attendants who either have an overnight layover or are spending a few days visiting the area.  Reciprocal arrangements are available in most cities.

It has been decades some I lived in that sort of cramped quarters, but it could not be helped on such relatively short notice - because being a flight attendant is seen by many young people as a job that offers benefits beyond salary, the pay is unimpressive, making Alicia's decision to stay in her mother's apartment rent-free sensible rather than entirely a Millennial reluctance to cut the cord, and it leaves me with little insured means to place a security deposit on a place of my own here in the Bay Area.  Indeed, quitting this job entirely is not practical, as it is the only line on Alicia's résumé, and while I could almost certainly convince somebody that I have qualifications not listed should I start searching for other positions, I suspect that many would look at me and think I meant this metaphorically, and I am not interested in that sort of work.  Thus, the status quo at work, and the newly crowded house.

As might be imagined from the circumstances that brought Alicia to the Inn at the first place, Alicia had a certain reputation at work, enough that some co-workers have been able to come fairly close to guessing what got her put on "administrative leave" last summer, and while most have been willing to believe that I had something else going on since, they eventually lost interest.  Now that some of them are my flatmates, though, the curiosity about what scandalous affairs I get up to has returned, and the fact that I will often spend time in the library or one of San Francisco's fine museums after a return flight rather than subjecting myself to the cacophony at "home" has many certain that I am meeting with some man on the sly.  I suppose there is some truth to it, but I must say that I hope this interest will pass.

Instead, I spend many an afternoon or evening in those public spaces, changed into civilian clothes but still with the makeup and hair that I put on to emphasize how friendly and helpful we are to the passengers, trying to lose myself in something intellectual only to often be interrupted by those seeking to turn me toward more carnal pursuits.  If only I could come home to people who understood that I want nothing more than to quietly unwind with a book and a port, rather than whatever activity they have planned for the night.  To add insult to injury, I had lately been doing this in the bath before moving, a welcome excuse to remove my brassiere and let the water support my breasts, but that becomes impossible with as many as nine young women sharing one bathroom with me; though I may not relish the opportunity to see these women in various states of undress as I may once have as a younger man, and in doing so come across as over-eager, I am never certain how these interactions should go.  At least when a young man approaches me, I can remember similar conversations from the other side; this sort of everyday encounter has me constantly having to think of responses that my flatmates think should be second nature.

It is, I suppose, something I will have to get used to over the coming months, as the Inn will not be accepting guests this winter.  I must admit, though, that I rather hope I will never have an easy time answering when a girl sees me in the bath and suggests we make an appointment to get waxed together.

-Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Remind Me to Take Alicia's Birthday Off!

There has still been no progress in getting Alicia to tell me where she has stored her recording of this football player and her having intercourse, and the fact that the man in the tape (whose identity Alicia sees no need to keep secret from me) is having a good season so far is only placing me in a worse position, as one of my co-workers who listens to sport-talk-radio still says that the callers on those programs are already asking why he has not been extended.  One or two may have looked at me and made comments that implied I would know something about his conditioning, and while Alicia claims to have kept this encounter secret from everybody at work, and that even her mother knew nothing until the changes wrought by the Inn forced her hand, I would not be the last bit surprised if she had the door of reputation that made allowed such rumors to arise spontaneously.

Despite that part of her reputation, it is clear that Alicia is no fool.  The player's early success has allowed her to increase her demands as the team's interest in re-signing him grows, and whether by her doing or by her mother's, the bakery they found themselves running has remained successful enough that they could, in theory, walk away from these lives without fear.  I do not believe that they wish to, but simply leaving the threat in the air gives them more leverage over Jeremy/Arthur and, by extension, the team.  It also further updates him, leading to a recent message pointing out that I am not simply a go-between, that he can make trouble for me in both this life and my true life.

Truly, though, there is relatively I can do to convince either of them, leaving me with little option but to deliver their messages and do Alicia's job with as little incident as possible, lest she decide that file is something for me to deal with while the Inn is shuttered.  It is boring and menial, and surrounds me with air travelers - who are either as dismayed by having to spend several hours on a plane as I am or annoyingly excited by the novelty of it - and the type of person who actually wants this job.  That sort of person is friendly enough, I suppose, but rather more gregarious than I am looking for.

It would have been better, perhaps, if Lindsey and I had slept on opposite sides of the bed and this had our fates reversed; not only would I complain far less than she about relatively minor ravages of age,  but she would probably be more willing to deal with these people.  Indeed, she already seems to be on fairly good terms with much of the airport staff and asks me who I'm working with on any given flight.  I don't give it much thought, although I have mostly been with the same four-person group during October after the utter randomness of September, although we are still being told to come into the airport on a few hours' notice (something else that might have made Alicia's life more suitable for Lindsey; as invigorating as young people can be, they do not appreciate the set schedule the way an older person does).

What all of this means is that, while I said something noncommittal after we had finished our work on a flight to New York when one of Alicia's co-workers mentioned that it was another's birthday, so we should maybe meet in the hotel lobby at 9 o'clock to take her out for drinks.  I have no intention of actually doing so - thus far, nobody has seemed to find it amiss if I say that I feel asleep as soon as I took a moment to sit on the bed - but when I reach my room and open my bag, I see that Lindsey has not included the usual casual wear for my off-hours, but a decidedly non-casual dress with the accompanying panties and footwear.  She has also included a note saying that avoiding to Alicia, Magda, and everyone else she talked to, it's customary to take your co-worker out drinking if they're away from home, so go out, hit the Big Apple, and take lots of pictures.

My first thought is that this is some sort of payback for her feeling I did not do enough on her "Date Night", though she seemed to have learned from that experience and kept subsequent evenings out more casual.  It turns out to be less pettiness than excessive initiative; she saw the photographs Alicia has posted on her social media accounts (both before and after her visit to the Trading Post Inn) and decided, given the seeming precarious nature of my situation with Alicia and Jeremy, that I should attempt to replicate them as best possible, and did this without consulting me because she knew I would have put my foot down, meaning there is probably some sort of message being sent about relying on "mother" for this sort of thing as well.

Unfortunately for me, she's probably right about how I should make a bit more effort to at least go through the motions of socializing with Alicia's co-workers in this way, so rather than just reading the book I have loaded onto the tablet, I cleaned myself up from what an air-sick infant did and got myself into the outfit Lindsey sent.

I'm certain some younger contributors to this weblog have already described the sensation of their first time in "thong" panties after a lifetime of far more modest shorts or the torture device known as an underwire bra - necessitated because, while the dress is certainly contoured to follow these damnable curves, it offers no support for them.  And while it initially seemed very modest below the waist, it actually tapers inward after swelling a bit to accommodate Alicia's behind, meaning that I could only walk because it was slit practically high enough to reveal those skimpy panties.  Not only did this mean shaving my legs because, as mentioned, my pantyhose was in serious need of laundering, but the dress actually dragged on the floor because the shoes Lindsey packed did not provide the necessary lift (she probably should have found a slightly shorter dress if she felt these were the tallest heels I could navigate).

It was peculiar to look myself in the mirror at that point.  I cannot be a stranger to my new face and body at this point, and I've come to grudgingly accept that certain bits of feminine maintenance are necessary to avoid making waves given that Alicia saddled me with a public-facing service-industry job, but getting ready for a day at work is something I tend to do in a detached manner, just as I do my best to take minimal liberties when washing.  I am to look somewhat anonymous most days, aiming to look as though I am not out of place rather than attractive, and as a result, what I saw in the mirror looked and felt unfamiliar:  Bare shoulders and round breasts peeking out the top of fabric that seemed dangerously low and cut to reveal more cleavage without making it look like I had something attached to my chest with adhesive.  It highlighted Alicia's long neck, how pale her skin is compared to her jet-black hair, which blended into the dress.  I could scarcely reconcile it as being me, especially once I put on the red lipstick that I found in the handbag Lindsey had included.

By the time I had done all of this, it was almost time to meet the others in the lobby, although I would first need to stare down a teenager who took the elevator with me and insisted on peering down my decollatage despite his being a good foot taller than Alicia.  I must admit, it was a trifle amusing when the elevator's bell rang and he whipped his head up and pivoted so as not to look like a little lech to his parents waiting in the lobby when the does opened.

I did not see my party immediately, though I was able to find them quick enough at the hotel bar.  I strode to them confidently, putting the sight I must have been with my leg left slipping in and out of the dress and my hips swiveling as the outfit and shoes made me put one foot directly in front of the other, halfway changing direction with every step.  Elgin, who seemed to have already found a man to keep him company at the bar, seemed to notice first, tapping the crew chief on the shoulder and shooting "hey, guys, it looks like 'All-In Alicia' is back!" just a little too loud.

The birthday girl, clad in a red dress as short as mine was long and featuring a plunging neckline, let out a whoop, while our crew chief silently raised her white wine.  I immediately had a pink, sugary drink - Alicia's usual, apparently - placed in my hand, and did my level best not to make a face as I took a sip of the horrid thing.  The younger girl leaned in and said that someday, I'd have to tell her just what "I" did with a passenger to get a month-and-a-half secret suspension that nobody at work could figure out.  I told her she would not believe me if I told her, and she laughed like it was a far more scandalous double-entendre than was the case.

I had thought that perhaps we might simply run up a tab at the hotel bar, but Elgin's new friend had some other friends who were in a band playing in a bar in Brooklyn, so we piled into a van and made our way there in a ride-share van to listen to some millennials play guitar in a way that was apparently amusing because it appropriated the "plots" of video games released before they were born.  It was a two-bourbon show, and only because the bar got crowded and the rest of the group raised an eyebrow at me staying there - Alicia, apparently, dances. 

I do not, but as with many things, a young woman with Alicia's figure doesn't need to do a whole lot to attract attention; just rock back and forth a bit and men will position themselves nearby to see if you will do more.  Thankfully, the young men at this venue would have died alone in earlier decades, unwilling to show any real initiative where a potential mate was concerned.  It was easy to walk away from them.

The guest of honor apparently felt the same way, because once the set was done, we were in a taxi headed to a spot in Manhattan, which is apparently very popular among professional travelers, whether they work for the airlines or simply use them regularly.  I cannot fault them; the place made an excellent martini and, if an expensive one.  Sadly, I only had the chance to enjoy one or two before we moved to the next place.

There, not only were tequila shots the order of the night, but they seemed to come in random succession, with someone just yelling "shots!" in the middle of whatever conversation we were having and then a new set being shoved at us to be downed immediately.  It is here that the crowd truly becomes beyond annoying - as much as I know that sort of outfit is certain to draw a man's more tactile attention, one does get a bit sore, both physically and emotionally, after one has lost count of how often one's bosom and posterior has been squeezed over the course of a single night.  Worse, at around one in the morning, I had the horrifying thought that, while most of the time my own wealth of experience and strength of character was easily able to prevent any changes in biology that the Inn had effected on my endocrine system and even my very brain, this sort of mind over matter might become diminished with enough alcohol.  It was as good an excuse as any to stop ordering drinks and start making my way back to the airlift hotel, although one man seemed quite indignant that I would not be open to him buying me a drink, and had a few friends to help him press his case.  Fortunately, I was able to extricate myself with the assistance of Alicia's supervisor, the others in our party having already left for their one-night-stands without so much as a goodbye, and we made our way back to the hotel in a cab.

I must at least admit that it was a bit of a surprise how resilient a youthful body can be - though I was lying atop my bed's covers with only my scant panties on, my dress, bra, and both shoes each in a different corner of the room where I can only surmise they were justifiably thrown after I liberated myself from them, I was almost unbelievably alert when the ringing of Alicia's mobile phone awakened me with a reminder from her co-worker that I had to be on a plane in forty-five minutes. 

The flight back west was far from the smoothest since I have been forced to do Alicia's job - we all had to make certain allowances for the one who could not properly pace herself on her birthday - and I was very glad to have the next day off.  Lindsey got a well-deserved earful about placing me in situations like that, even if it did give me a temporary respite from Alicia complaining that I was making her look "boring".

-Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: The Stewardess's Life

Now that I have been living the life of Alicia Polawski for roughly a month and working at her job for a little more than half that, I can no longer say that every day brings a new indignity in a literal sense; most of them have revealed themselves and it is only a matter of how often they repeat.  That the bleeding will not return for several more weeks makes me grateful, but that it will reoccur at all is maddening.

As much as the physical changes on their own are more than a person should be required to endure - and though Lindsey occasionally reminds me that this event has left me younger and more spry, that seems like a minor compensation for not seeing one's own face in the mirror - it is in some ways the lack of a routine that can be most disruptive.  While Lindsey has a relatively set schedule, Alicia's lack of seniority and the disruption caused by the "leave of absence" means I am left with a schedule that is mostly "on call" days, meaning I can be called upon to fly just about anywhere in the United States almost immediately, with the barest time to prepare myself for presenting the sort of Alicia Polawski the outside world expects to see.

There is, I suppose, a sort of logic to Lindsey's suggestion that I spend the free time I have practicing the feminine arts, as not only is she seldom present when I am must make my self presentable as a young woman in the service industry, but her amusement at situations where she may act maternal toward me is rather difficult to swallow.  There is, I admit, an obvious irony to our situation, but she does occasionally mine it for the very simplest of jokes.

Still, even those are preferable to actually performing Alicia's duties.  It is, firstly, unnerving to have people recognize me as Miss Polawski and strike up conversations that pick up upon some point made months ago.  Though it is in some ways convenient to know that, no matter how differently one may act than the person one might appear to be, there will not come a moment where some other person becomes truly suspicious or distrustful, there must be a constant threat to one's own identity in living another's life.  Should I open up to anybody but Lindsey, I would not be believed, and perhaps that other person would make an argument that my true life is a delusion.  Next to that possibility, the idea that taking birth control and putting on a brassiere every morning might become second nature is almost quaint.

Not that I find it likely that I will be opening up about my situation to anybody aside from Lindsey in the foreseeable future.  The other flight attendants are, I suppose, tolerable enough; though some have occasionally made homes about Alicia finding men no matter where she goes, none seem to have made the connection with her month-long absence.  Most seem to enjoy the work, looking forward to when they can choose their "lines" and trading stories about the place's they visited on their last trips or how great it was to have a whole weekend with their boyfriends (and even the men seem to have boyfriends).  Lindsey would probably get along well with them, but I find myself unable to relate to this group, much less spend time with them on layovers, where I generally stay in my hotel room, trying to keep up to date in my actual field.

This, at least, is better than the actual work, which had its ridiculous moments (honestly, who decides to apply for a new credit card during a plane's descent for the chance to have those miles applied?), but does at least give me some level of respect for the people who do this job that I may not have noticed before.  I have never been afraid of flying, but I do admit to having found myself nervous during takeoff and landing, and there is no room for that in this job.  It's also the case that what little downtime you get us during turbulence, so it is difficult to actually relax.

And the people!  When I can detach myself from the immediate incident, it is interesting how the improper behaviors in first class and economy differ.  The people in economy, I'm finding, generally have issues with each other, and mainly yell at me and the rest of the flight crew for how they perceive I am taking someone else's side.  In some ways, it is fascinating to see how they have mostly been trained to accept a decidedly non-ideal situation and accept whatever someone in authority says, while those in business class, who are far more comfortable, not only complain if service is something less than instantaneous, but are far more likely to find reason to touch me while making their points.  It was a bit of a shock, at first, although I warrant it is to be expected with the uniforms Alicia left for me to wear.  The number of phone numbers and hotel addresses is not exactly shocking, given the same situation.

There certainly have also been a number of people in coach who I suspect wait for me to be walking down an aisle before squeezing past me with an erection on the way to the restroom (and do not get me started on cleaning one of those mid-flight!), and people in the front of the plane who expect me too mediate their ridiculous disputes, but so far, this is how it has worked out.  It is unpleasant enough that I often entertain the fantasy, when a flight takes me toward the East Coast, of boarding a train and heading to Maine, although it would be the mark of a cad to abandon Lindsey in this situation, especially since, if I understand how the "curse" iterates, there would simply be nobody in the identity of Alicia Polawski until the Inn reopens in the spring, and who knows what sort of chaos the true Alicia would cause should that happen?

And I have no doubt she would.  Though other former guests of the Trading Post Inn seem to have formed tight bonds with those with whom they share lives, that has not been the case for me.  The man taking my place seems a decent enough person, willing to make sure that the work I do is forwarded properly, but has already broken several of my long-standing routines and spent more of my salary than is reasonable on hockey tickets and ephemera, and as for the actual Alicia Polawski, she and her mother have become sisters with some sort of hipster cupcake shop in Texas, and she has this far been recalcitrant to give me any details that would let me resolve the sex tape mess.  She even tried to lecture me on not having anything to negotiate with if she gave it up, like I needed some girl barely out of her teens to explain leverage to me!  She apparently still thinks she will get some sort of benefit from this rather than simply antagonizing a potential adversary.

She is also fairly insistent about my maintaining this career, alas, so I must prepare for a trip to Chicago, and from there to Detroit, before making my way back in the other direction. 

-Harmon Keller