Recently on Facebook I let loose with a little known fact and the promise of a blog story to follow. What was that tidbit again? Oh, yes.
I never wanted to be a flight attendant.
So how did I end up here? How did I end up with a life in the sky, writing stories about adventures and exploring new cities? How did someone with an irrational fear of glass elevators end up serving drinks at 34,000 feet? Let's rewind the clock.
I had a great job. I was an office manager for a close friend of mine. We put together and managed some of the best shindigs in the area from Fiesta Hermosa to Riviera Village Festival, Lobster Fest to the Edelbrock car show. We provided audio and lighting for Frank Sinatra Jr one year in Palm Springs on my birthday. I got back stage passes to practically any stave at NAMM each year. It was an incredible job and the perks were only the icing.
The boss was forever encouraging to his employees, and the employees were a family. I had more 'big brothers' watching out for me than the Brady Bunch. They hugged me. They teased me. They helped me. Their families became my families. I would read the adventures of Hookfoot the Pirate Cat (c) to their children and help with science fair projects. It was our own community. I even made more money at that job than I do now as a flight attendant with over a year on the job. Life at work was harmonic poetry. And as long as I could fly once every couple of years or so, I was ok.
I always had the travel bug. I've been known to pile up a car with a few things and hit the road for several days. Once, I felt the need to get out of town suddenly, so I jumped into my car, put the top down and drove to San Diego before I stopped. Only then did I decide on my destination and think to get a hotel room. That was only two months after I had returned from Paris. The travel big was getting stronger. In September I drove my poor car from Los Angeles to San Francisco after work one day. By the time December rolled around, I was desperate for a new horizon and had become depressed. Somehow my big brother and his family knew. My family in Michigan sent me a plane ticket for my birthday.
I'd never been to Michigan. I couldn't wait to go. There would be two flights for me - the first one from Los Angeles to Detroit, the second from Detroit to Iron Mountain in the upper peninsula. It was on the second flight I met the woman who changed my whole life.
There I sat in the fifth row of a tiny CRJ200 airplane, late at night and alone. I was excited about seeing my brother and his son. I was excited about seeing my adopted family. I was excited about my birthday and the Christmas party the family was taking me to the next day. I needed someone to talk to! There she was, sitting alone in a jump seat up front. I moved from the fifth row to the first row - and moving four rows up changed everything.
We chatted for the short flight. I asked what Iron Mountain was like, but I never asked what her job was like. She asked what I was doing in Iron Mountain. We chatted. We listened bee had a generally fun, short flight. And then she hit me with it.
It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a brick across the face or a Nerf ball. She hit me with a statement I really wasn't expecting.
"You should think about doing this job."
"A flight attendant?"
TO BE CONTINUED
Sent from Amanda's iPhone