A Carton of Duty Free Camels

Go time. Seventeen fluoro-yellow shirted cleaners carry equipment  in a single file down the aerobridge. The plane is from a gulf state airline, with oil money throwing its weight around to get a long list of needless decadences - tissue-paper toilet covers impress nobody on a flight of 400, 500 passengers. The contract keeps the cleaning company afloat, however. Get on, make immaculate, get off, thirty minutes max.

Luke is allocated to the seats on the aerobridge side (Y1) of middle-economy. Strip polyester headrests, strip pillow cases, throw both in a yellow double-bag for quarantine waste, fold seat belts, wipe table trays. A seat-back pocket bulges with mystery rubbish: will it be wrappers, discarded food, bags of vomit, diapers again? The anticipation is not even slightly palpable as Luke stretches the pocket towards him so as to see what must be removed.

Luke instead finds cigarettes. A carton of cigarettes. Camels.

Fuuuuck. Luke salivates into the pocket for a precious minute. The other cleaners gain a lead, clearing rows in their designated columns of seats. Panicking for lack of plan, Luke takes the carton and slides it back under three rows of seats he is yet to clean.

The next lot of headrests, pillowslips, seatbelts, tray tables and pockets. Luke wants those cigarettes but it is too many to pocket, to discretely smuggle past the boss and off-chance border-security. Taking items off planes is technically theft and a breach of quarantine laws, but the lawful alternative is to bin them. A 'waste not, want not' consensus exists among the cleaners - pens, Kit-Kats and gossip magazines are the most common illegal harvests. And they are Camels, preferentially far better to burn into his lungs, one at a time, than all at once in an incinerator.

Headrests, pillowslips, seatbelts, tray tables, pockets pass as Luke thinks fruitlessly for solutions. Ah, but wait, here comes Mahmud the truckie, carrying four bags of clean blankets up the aisle, three more than OH&S allows. The carton could be stowed in a bag of dirty blankets to be loaded onto the truck, currently elevated to the plane's rear door. Then at the warehouse, at the end of the shift, the smokes can pass unnoticed from the truck back into Luke's hands. Genius, or as close as Luke gets.

Luke, conspiratorial: 'Hey, Mahmud, I aaah need to put something in one of those bags.'

Mahmud sees the carton at Luke's feet and crack's a wide smile: 'I could do that.'

'Thanks man.'

'But will I?'

Luke, of course: 'You want something.'

Mahmud nods: 'Your side hustle.'

The leading hand shouts from business class: 'Everyone else is done with their seats, Luke!'

Mahmud bags the carton amongst dirty blankets and resumes down the aisle, leaving Luke to ponder What side hustle? It is four minutes later when, passing a half-charged Makita 18V Li-Ion vacuum back and forth over crumbs, Luke realises what Mahmud means. The side hustle is a bi-phasal sleep pattern that turns seven hours of sleep into eight. Hitting bed at midnight, waking at six, napping from three until four keeps Luke as refreshed as if he had slept a whole eight* whilst gaining an hour of Fortnite. Mahmud wants an extra hour for his second job.

Luke: 'The secret is catnip. I drink it like tea and it helps me nap.'

Mahmud: 'Then I want some catnip.'

Luke, handful of complimentary floor pizza: 'I, uh, don't have any on me. Where do we go from here?'

Thus they hash out terms whilst distributing plastic-wrapped headphones to each seat. A contract-come-I.O.U is scrawled on the back of a sick bag. In return for services rendered, namely the smuggling of one (1) carton of Camels Cigarettes (200 cigarettes) by Mahmud Siddiqui, Esq., I, Luke Duthie, agree to compensate Mahmud Siddiqui, Esq. with 100 grams or more of catnip no later than Friday the 6th of April, 2018, or face four (4) kickings to the balls. Signed, Luke Duthie. The contract signed, smokes exchanged hands. Luke is unsure as to whether Mahmud is sincere about the kickings to his balls.

Two days later, Luke goes to visit his Auntie Margaret. Four Fowlers Vacola Ultimate Dehydrators are spread along the breakfast bar. Auntie Margaret lights the first Camel from the pack that Luke had given in exchange for the 100g of dried catnip. Albeit, the dense green and purple wad of vegetable matter, wrapped twice over in cling-wrap, is about a kilo.

Luke: 'Seriously, Auntie Margaret, this is too much.'

Scratching the tummy of Mr Toddles: 'Australian cats don't seem to take to catnip and the internet is dominated by pet stores. And they're Camels.'

'But what am I supposed to do with the rest?'

Shrugging: 'Ask around. Someone might want it. Someone might know someone who wants it. If they want more, tell them to see me with cash.'

This is how Luke found himself with eighty cigarettes and 900g of useless catnip.

* Luke believes. The science is dubious, anecdotal, but to each their own.