It was only a minor deviation, but Lee was certain it did represent a failure by someone to follow the airline’s operational process requirements. Presumably there was a specific item on the pre-boarding preparation flowchart or checklist to cover this protocol variable. But—to his temporary benefit as a voracious reader willing to browse almost any printed text that fate sent his way—the slim pocket under the raised and latched tray table of his window seat had not been inspected and properly remediated to return it to take-off standards. There were no wadded paper napkins with traces of mustard or ketchup or salad dressing, neither were there remnants in tiny plastic containers that would have sealed those or other condiments. There was no in-house airline magazine jammed down with innards left rolled and folded, perhaps exposing scratches of dark ink within little white squares on a half-completed crossword puzzle. Instead, ignored by the clean-up crew and resting undisturbed in the middle of otherwise perfected seat-pocket contents was a high-production-value college alumni magazine, just the sort of annoying reading material with which Lee had maintained a love-hate relationship beginning three months (one “quarter”) after his own designation as an alumnus of a medium-sized four-year college in South Dakota.
The “love” part, which had become somewhat smaller and smaller with each passing quarter, centered around the featured stories typically highlighted with headlines and pictures on the cover: profiles of professors or programs or projects intended to instill a sense of pride in alumni for having an association with an institution of (among other things) “higher learning.” The self-certified accolades in these stories were mostly credible, despite the intrusion of the too-obvious public relations (and fund-raising) mission, and often represented genuinely interesting news of an academic or societal character.
The “hate” part was adequately represented by the magazine just liberated from the stiff confinement of the seat pocket in front of him. It was produced by a private school in Atlanta previously unknown to Lee: The Hugo H. Reeder College of Liberal Arts. Apparently founded in the late nineteenth century to foster the principles of something referred to in the little historical blurb on the inside front cover as “Protestant Humanism,” it had evolved over time (it said) to accept and embrace a much wider educational mission. (In order, thought Lee instantly, to downplay any hints of earlier campus life that might impede enthusiastic reception by high-school seniors targeted for recruitment—especially tall basketball players.) Yes, the “hate” part—or maybe just the “dislike” part, or maybe a mutant species of unresolved “envy”—was in full flower on the Class Notes pages to which Lee had turned first (given his habit of riffling through magazines from back to front):
Walter Gordon (B.S., 2011): appointed Technical Design Specialist in the Communication Software Group at Silicon Thicket Resolutions, a new start-up in Conover, Washington.
Virginia Whittaker (M.A., 2008): promoted to Human Resources Director at the Native American Museum of Textiles and Pottery (NAM-TAP) in Hartridge, Wyoming.
Edwinna Hood (M.A., 1992): Published first book to treat struggles in the first three quarters of the twentieth century by screenwriters seeking green-lighting for screenplays containing male characters embodying feminist values (One Way On His Highway: Softening Shoulders On The Hollywood Boulevard Off-Ramp).
Carolyn Wilbur (B.A., 1984): Retired after three decades as District Audio-Visual Coordinator for all thirteen secondary schools in Lindlook, Arizona.
Peter Doggett (M.S., 1976): Awarded two U.S. patents for telephone devices (both cell and land) that support automatic identification of in-coming calls from telemarketers and block them from future transmission.
Gary Thorn (B.S., 1968): Sold his remaining independent record store (“Austin Vinyl All The Time”) to a regional instrumental music chain now expanded to feature on-site digital recording services, headquartered in El Paso, Texas (“Planet El Pea”).
Dr. Steven Gedney (M.S., 1959): re-published his DNP medical articles from a variety of international nursing journals (What Kept Us Up At Night: Selected Essays 1970 – 2000)
So, Lee couldn’t help wondering, was someone actually paid to pen these little capsules? (And the omnipresent little sidebars on the same pages begging for donations?) Or were these mini puff-piece paragraphs just lightly edited from submissions from the attention-starved graduates themselves? Then again, what would he submit? Did he have any laudable accomplishment to claim? And even if he did, what would be the point of composing a condensed articulation of it and shoving it into the mailboxes of a captive audience of human beings who just happened to have spent tuition dollars at the same school as he . . . It would mean nothing to those who had left long after he had, and even to those who had been in his same class it would mean very little unless they were still close friends of his—in which case he hoped they would already be aware of it if he had done anything truly worth knowing . . . But regarding these Hugo H. Reeder folks, regarding Dr. Gedney and Ms. Wilbur and the others, “Hats off to you! I’ve seen worse!” It was just that not once had he read a class note claiming a definitive cure for cancer, the total elimination of all varieties of flu viruses, or a vaccination against the insult of aging.
As the flight attendant neared to offer beverages, Lee returned with meticulous care the not-actually-so-mysterious magazine to its seat pocket and prepared to raise the tray table. But before raising it, he first leaned down to the scuffed carry-on bag under the seat in front of him and rifled through its contents until he found more laudable reading material, a creasy-cornered paperback copy of Camus’ The Plague.