Do I press the attendant call button for Larry to come stand with my cart while I run to the back, or should I take the cart all the way down the aisle to do it myself?
The passenger finally turns to look at me for the first time, though it’s to convey annoyance.Hey, buddy, I waited longer than this for you to turn off your phone.
I guess I could just use another cup as a scoop.
“You need anything?” Larry surprises me from the other side of my cart. He’s holding a garbage bag, so he must be finished with his service and cleanup.
I will never complain about working first class again the way I did on my trip with Desiree. It’s evidently not about position but about experience.
“I forgot my ice scoop,” I answer meekly.
Larry grips both sides of the cart like he’s placing it under arrest. “I’ll wait here.”
“Thank you,” I breathe.
I turn and jog up the aisle to dig madly through my supply bin. Hopefully, this is the only thing I forgot.
By the time I return, Larry has handed out snacks to the first three rows. He’s putting me and the phone guy to shame by doing both our jobs at the same time—serving snacks and keeping the world a safer place.
And that’s how it goes for the rest of the flight. By the time we’re supposed to prepare for landing, I don’t even worry about where anything goes. I just shove all the supplies into random cubbies with the intention of figuring it out later.
I’m barely in my seat before turbulence hits. Nothing worse than when driving a pickup on a bumpy road, but I’m still relieved to be buckled in. I double-check all the red latches on the bins and carts. Should I miss one, I’d have to submit a report about breaking an FAA regulation to protect myself from termination. Worse, a cart could roll down the aisle and bust someone’s kneecap. Or so I’ve heard.
Finally, we’re on the ground. I follow passengers down the aisle, checking bins and seats for any items left behind, then sigh in relief. I have an hour to relax before doing all that again.
Nathan enters through the main cabin door, his gloved hands brushing snow off his jacket shoulders. He stops directly in front of me, as if waiting for something.
I look up into his dark eyes in expectation of whatever joke he’s about to tell next.
“Go grab your bags,” he says.
I laugh, no idea where he’s going with this one. “Why?”
“We’re changing planes.” He actually appears serious—no twitching lips to give him away.
I study him closer. Is he just messing with me? If we’re really changing planes, I won’t get as long to relax. Also, I’d be leaving behind my mess for another flight attendant to deal with.
Larry steps behind him. “Let’s go. I still have time to grab an empanada.”
They’re serious. Oh no.
I retrace my steps to retrieve luggage from the middle of the plane, though I’m wondering if I have time to run to the aft galley and rearrange everything.
Vincent’s voice follows me. “Next crew is here.”
So that’s why we’re changing planes. Their flight must be scheduled before ours.
I don’t have time to clean up. I’ll just have to avoid eye contact with the next flight attendants out of shame.
The rest of the crew laughs and jokes along the way. I keep my head down as I enter the jet bridge, only peeking out from the corner of my eye for Mary Janes or possibly boots, because of this weather. I should really get myself some boots.
“Claire,” a female voice trills.
I look up to find Angel’s radiant complexion. She releases the hold on her carry-on to envelop me in a hug.
I soak it in. Then I remember why I’d been avoiding her gaze in the first place. I pull away but grip her shoulders. “Are you working aft?”
She giggles, then whispers, “No, I’m forward to be closer to the captain.”
