Dinner with the bigwigs pt 3
Jamaa, like most of the other Mongolian women present, was imperiously, impressively beautiful will perfect brows. Ten years ago you had to bring toilet paper to Mongolia, and now around the necks of the Tibetan monks you will find attached to lanyards little cell phones more modern than the ones in Manhattan.
At the beginning of the dinner Jaamal had said, from way across the table when hS introduced me and my Luce scholar placement with the Writer’s Union, --that sounds unbelievably strange. She had not made eye contact with me the entire time.
--Singapore Airlines, said S. It’s the best one in the world and I flew here business class. I go to the bathroom and everyones already has lunch and the windows are down
--You spent that long in the bathroom? Oyuna interrupted.
--Oh, you talk to me on the phone while sitting on the toilet.
--Anyway this flight attendant says, Mr. S, can I make your bed for you? And I had to adjust .
--Adjust what? I asked, and Layton from the Ivanhoe Gold Mines Corporate Responsibility Department, seated in the corner, laughed. Then S launched into how they make a bed out of plane seats.
But outside the airplane, outside of this city--adrenaline tourism! Someone says, and we toast again.