“Been a tough year, more like,” she answered. Now she had my attention, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. “They make us wear all this,” she looked down at herself and I followed her gaze, right down to her elegant, shapely legs and the bright red shoes on her feet. “And we all know it’s just to keep the men occupied gawping at us on the flight.” I could see why that would happen.
She suddenly stood in front of me, feet together, one leg slightly bent at the knee and her hand on her hip. “They just make us look ridiculous.”
I looked her up and down again: she looked like a dream come true, but I didn’t think saying so would help. Nor was I about to agree that she looked ridiculous.
“This jacket is always pinching at the waist,” she continued, and as she spoke she unfastened the single button that held it closed, shrugged it off her shoulders, slid it down her arms and held it out in front of her as if she’d found a dead rat in her kitchen. She looked at it in disgust.
“Well, screw them, and their uniform,” she said, and she threw the jacket out of the window. I watched as the wind took hold of it and it flapped into the bushes by the side of the tracks. My first thought was that it looked far too expensive a jacket to be throwing away, but then the thought was erased instantly.