New Jersey to London, Saturday

My friend Ray drove me to the airport at 448am. I walked inside to the ticket counter, my eye on the empty slot when my arm is grabbed by a small man in a windbreaker. He asks me questions about my trip, ticking off numbers in little boxes as he looks my passport over. He hesitates for a moment, staring at the Isreali stamps and their security sticker, then places his next to it and sends me up the line. nThe Virgin Check-im process was smooth and my suitcase was on it's way down the belt before I could remember to stuff one last thing from my carry-on into it. I bring far too many things with me, always worrying that I will be bored or I'll run out of something to do.
Security was a breeze and I zipped through in about 3 minutes, walking down a ramp into a giant fishbowl of 8 gates. Heathrow and Cancun were the only two flights on the board. The entire center of the routunda was taken up by a duty-free shop, which was closed at 530 in the morning. I couldn't smell any coffee, so I walked around the duty-free thinking that there might be some on the other side.
NOpe.
No coffee.
So, there I am, about to board a plane for 6 hours and there is no coffee in the waiting area.
Had I known, I would have waited outside security at the little coffeeshop I passed on the way in. Shouldn't there be a "Last coffee until you board your plane" sign? Shouldn't someone warn you that you will not be getting your required daily amount before you enter a secured area?
I paced about and then sat down to watch CNN. I got up and cruised the gift shop, watching as a woman with a really large handbag knocked over a shot glass that said "I HEART NY!" and it shattered on the tiled floor. She looked up comically startled and then continued her conversation with another customer. The girl behind the counter never reacted. She didn't look up or jump. I walked around and around the duty-free. I spoke to one person. He was reading and he had two large bags of books from The Strand next to him.
"Smuggling books?"
"Sorry?"
"I asked if you were smuggling books to the UK."
"Oh, right. Well, sort of."
I gave him a polite smile and moved on to the windows where the sun was rising.
There were 45 minutes to go until boarding.
*********

As a Premium Economy passenger, I was allowed to board in the first batch. Made my way to 22A and settled in. The book smuggler showed up moments later. He was my seatmate in 22B. He offered to loan me something good to read to replace my Michael Crichton. I declined as I wished to finish it and give it away before leaving the aircraft.
I scouted my seatback pocket and found an inflight entertainment guide, a duty-free shopping catalogue, and a little fabric envelope that said Premium Economy. I opened it and found socks, an eyemask, earplugs, toothbrush and paste. All in purple. Sweet!
The book smuggler just read.

Once in the air, the breakfast service started. Hot meals for everyone. Even economy class. In premium Economy, we got mimosas as well. They handed out menus with a choice of traditional English breakfast or a vegetarian breakfast. I chose the meat. As did the book smuggler. I don't believe I've ever seen anyone eat so fast and yet so neatly. I asked if he had brothers, or perhaps he'd been in the military, but no, neither one, he claimed he was just very hungry.
After breakfast, we read our books and I dozed behind my purple sleep mask for about an hour until we hit turbulence, the kind that makes the sound of the engines change.

Turbulence makes me antsy, so I put down the book and played inflight trivia on the on-demand system that Virgin has in every seat. American carriers need to take a look at how Virgin does things. People are happier, more relaxed and the flight is much smoother.
The book smuggler and I started chatting. Turns out he's a free-lance journalist. He was visiting friends in NYC while researching a story. He also visited friends in Jersey City. Iris Records