At first I had been annoyed and angry at the company. Why had they put this man on the ship with us when he clearly had no experience in the matter? I had groaned and rolled my eyes when the sedative he had been administered had worn off too quickly, but, as soon as I had heard him retching behind me, and the cold splat as his vomit hit the ground, I'd instantly remembered my first time. The stench of his sick had clung to my nostrils and I'd remembered when that had been me - a trainee on my first flight - totally unprepared for take off.
When it was safe to do so, I unstrapped myself from my chair and stood up, stretching my arms and legs out to return the feeling I'd lost from being sat too long. I looked over to the new guy, who was still passed out in his chair, looking pale with a slight green tinge in his cheeks. I sighed and quickly collected the mop to clean up the ever-spreading gunge. However much sympathy I may or may not have been feeling, cleaning up another person's vomit was not one of the things I could be happy about.
When I'd finished mopping I replaced the mop and went back over to the newbie, crouching next to his chair and inspecting his face closely. He stirred slightly and I jumped, almost losing my balance but (just) managing to stop myself from landing on the still wet floor. I realised I had gripped his hands and instantly pulled away, moving my hands to the armrest on his seat. My gaze flickered down to his badge and I breathed a small laugh at the irony of him being in charge of entertainment. He definitely had provided that during take-off.