When I was a flight attendant for Frontier Airlines in the 1980's, I fondly recall layovers in Casper. Or, was it Bozeman? Could have been Billings.

Our departures the following mornings were o-dark-hundred (airline lingo for painfully early) and the only passenger breakfasts loaded were locally baked cinnamon rolls, which were heavenly; fluffy, huge, loaded with sugary frosting and cinnamon.

We flight attendants always hoped to snag some of the fresh delicacies for the pilots and ourselves. Well, okay. Just for ourselves. The things were so delicious passengers rarely refused them, though, leaving no leftovers.

The gate agent was territorial when it came to the rolls. I remember his scowl, and his darting back and forth from the gate to the front galley of the Boeing 737 (where the delicacies were stored prior to takeoff) making sure the roll count matched the passenger count exactly; often taking his own count in the cabin. He seemed distrustful.

If the pastry count exceeded the passenger count, this agent would rush to the galley and take every single excess roll. Where did those extras go? We thought we knew-- directly into this agent's lunch pail.

One early morning we flight attendants were taunted by the familiar aroma. Our stomachs grumbled. Something had to be done to circumvent the cruel gate agent's cinnamon roll control.

After the passenger count, I furtively took the cinnamon roll overages out of one of the foil bakery bags and hid them in an oven. I then placed wads of wet paper towels inside the bag to simulate the weight of rolls.

I made sure the bag looked puffy and felt as if it carried contraband. I took it up the jet-way to the gate agent under the guise of saving him the trouble.

"Here are your extra cinnamon rolls", I said to Old Stingy.

He seemed surprised, but pleased. He snatched the warm bag and stashed it.

I headed back down the jet-way, visions of sweets dancing in my head. We closed the door of the 737 and taxied away.

Boy-oh-boy, we flight attendants gobbled up those pilfered cinnamon rolls. I think we shared our ripped-off booty with the captain and first officer. Maybe not. We laughed all the way back to Denver at how clever we were. We snickered at thoughts of the agent opening his foil bag, anticipating bakery delights, only to find wads of wet paper.

We didn't laugh long.

Upon landing in Denver an agent greeted us with messages. We were to report directly to our supervisors. We gargled in the lavatory to remove all traces of cinnamon breath.

I don't remember exactly what my supervisor, Rhys Wilson, said. I do recall his difficulty reading the charges against me with a straight face. We ended up sharing a hearty laugh in spite of the expectations, perhaps, of the wet paper towels recipient.

No discipline letter went into my file. The incident became forever known as the Great Cinnamon Roll Caper.

That gate agent never again trusted me with the passenger count or his rolls. He seemed to dislike me. I wonder why.