During the plane ride the steward came to me and said, “What would you like to drink?”
I said, “Tomato juice.”
In ten minutes’ time he brought me something that looked like tomato juice, but it smelled like wine. I was half in the dream world, but I asked myself, “How could it be tomato juice? Definitely this smells like wine.”
Fortunately I smelled it first before drinking it.
I said to the steward, “This can’t be tomato juice. I asked you for tomato juice.”
He said, “Oh no, you asked me for...” and he said the name of a drink that started with the letter ‘t’. He said the name at least twice, but still I didn’t know what he was saying. He didn’t say, “Sorry!” or apologise in any way. He acted as if it was my fault. Finally, though, he did bring me some tomato juice.
WE 16. 20 May 1982↩