Fly Me to the Moon (25 page)

“Decaf for everyone. We want to keep them tired and groggy,” said I lelga, who with thirty years of seniority, a thick German accent, and a mean look in her eye was someone I wasn’t willing to tangle with.

And with the seat belt sign already extinguished, the plane at cruising altitude, and the carts dressed and ready, it was time to choose a partner.

Since I was new, I didn’t know it was standard practice to just nod at the person next to you, grab a cart handle, and start pushing your way up the aisle. But on that particular day, with Helga at the helm, she took one long withering look at me, pointed to the flight attendant on my right, and said, “I want to work with her. The pretty one.”

And that was that.

But six years had passed, and I’d learned a few things. Like,

A. You shouldn’t hide out in the lav while the rest of yourcrew is still working.

B. You shouldn’t be so vocal about wanting to work with just the pretty people.

C. Everybody hated Helga.

So during briefing, when it became clear that I Helga had no recollection of me, or her earlier snub, I knew my moment had finally come.

“Why don’t we work together?” I said, smiling brightly, with no real plan in mind, but confident in my ability to wing it.

But Helga just shrugged, mumbled something about being exhausted from her Frankfurt commute, and, grabbing the cart, started pushing so hard she nearly ran me over.

As we made our way up the aisle, her pushing forward, me fake-pulling backward, I decided I’d get my revenge by taking my time, by engaging in what I’d learned early on never to do—converse with the customers and actually look them in the eye while serving. I was more than willing to make the sacrifice, especially if it brought an end to Helga’s reign of terror, since it would leave her with no choice but to pick up some of the slack for a change.

So I started chatting, and laughing, and treating each row of passengers as though I was hosting this fabulous party for 226 strangers. And when I saw how much it annoyed Helga, with her constant eye rolling, German obscenity muttering, and head shaking, I started making up errands.

“Oh, you’d like a celery stick for that Bloody Mary mix? Let me go see what they’re hiding up in first class!” I’d said, waving goodbye to Helga and disappearing behind the mesh cabin divider.

But after returning from a long, drawn-out search for chocolate mints I knew we didn’t have, Helga was gone. And the remaining passengers had turned the abandoned beverage cart into an open bar.

Maybe I carried it just a little too far,
I thought as I shooed away the booze stealers and picked up the pace. But as the rows and minutes ticked by with absolutely no sign of her, I knew she was taking one of her infamous “lav naps” and wouldn’t be emerging any time soon.

And that’s when I learned the truth about revenge. I may have been serving it cold, but like bad coach-class lasagna, it was repeating on me.

As I continued down the aisle, I quickly regressed to my old ways of monosyllables and generic greetings. Though unfortunately the passengers I’d left in my wake were unaware of my recent reversal. And still under the impression that I’d do just about anything to ensure their comfort and safety, they started ringing their call lights and asking for refills, cookies, complementary headsets, pillows, blankets, newspapers, magazines—one even requested a scoop of palate-cleansing sorbet.

I knew I was responsible for this mess. It was just the natural consequence of pretending to care. But the truth was, I didn’t care. And I was completely over it. I mean, Helga was probably deep into the REM stage, while I still had thirty rows to go.

Shaking my head, I continued pushing that two-hundred-pound beast down the aisle, tossing cookies like bread crumbs to pigeons, and flipping pop-tops till my calluses bled. And as I wiped my sweaty brow and gazed upon the endless rows of needy people, their mouths stretched open like newly hatched birds anxiously awaiting their share of regurgitated food, I cursed that horrible Helga, along with my own delusional dream of thinking I could change her when countless others had already tried.

And as I felt someone creep up from behind, tapping me gently on the shoulder, I thought,
That’s it! This is the passenger who’s going to suffer for the sins of the others! I may lose my job, and they may not remember my name, but like the legendary stewardess before me, who after a self-important passenger’s repeated screams of “Do you know who I am?” grabbed the PA and announced, “There’s a confused man in first class who doesn’t know his name. Can someone please come and identify him?” they’ll remember this!

Clenching my jaw and narrowing my eyes, I slammed down a plastic cup of ice so hard I lost some cubes, and as I turned on my heel, ready for battle, I was faced with a tiny little person with Coke-bottle glasses, a shiny bald head, a withered arm, and a
weird hump on his back. And he was bearing the loveliest, most genuine smile I’d seen in the last six years.

And that’s when I learned about karma. Except I already knew about karma; I’d just temporarily forgotten. So I gave him the extra napkin he asked for, along with a pillow, a blanket, a sleeve of cookies, and a complementary headset he probably didn’t want. I even mumbled something about sorbet.

Then I finished the service, parked the cart, and rigged the bathroom door so Helga couldn’t get out.

After crawling home from the bus stop in complete and total exhaustion, I grabbed my stack of mail, sorting through it as I rode the elevator to the top. And as I opened the door and dropped my bag in the hall, I noticed the very last one was from Atlas. And something about the plain yet official look of the envelope made my stomach fill with dread. But like pulling a bandage from a knee, I knew I had to act fast. So after ripping into it and unfolding a single sheet of paper, I quickly skimmed over it.

We’ve entered a time of NEW CHALLENGES that have resulted in a CHANGED BUSINESS LANDSCAPE such that we have no choice but to embark on a RADICAL CORPORATE TRANSFORMATION, which will unfortunately result in the FURLOUGH OF NINE THOUSAND Atlas employees, blah blah blah.

 

Then, at the very bottom, it stated:

Be aware that seniority numbers 13,400 and higher may be affected.

 

I was number 13,802.

“Hailey? Hello, hello, can you hear me?”

“Oh, hey Kat,” I said, rubbing my eyes and squinting at the clock, shocked to see that it was already 10:45 in the morning.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Um, no. Of course not,” I lied. “I’m just sitting here reading the paper.” I rolled over and looked out the window, but the apartment was so high up all I could see from my bed was blue sky.

“How are the kids?”

“The cats are great, but I can tell they really miss you, especially Conrad,” I said. “So how’s Greece? Are you in Athens?”

“Greece is wonderful, so relaxing. We were in Athens up until yesterday, but then we decided to visit Yanni’s villa in Mykonos. It’s so beautiful; everything is white.”

“Great,” I said, debating whether or not I should get up and actually do something with my day, but then quickly deciding against it and tucking the down comforter snugly under my feet.

“And how are you? How’s the writing and flying?”

“The writing? Well, I guess it’s on standby since it’s not really going anywhere. And the flying, well, Atlas has just informed me that there’s a good chance they’ll be laying me off. Though they make no promises.” I closed my eyes and bit down on my lower lip.

“Sorry?” she said. “I’m on a cell and I couldn’t quite hear you. Now what did you say?”

“I said I’m getting laid off!” I shouted, suddenly sitting upright with the phone clutched tight to my ear.

“Oh Hailey, that’s terrible.”

“Tell me,” I said, no longer wanting to explain that Atlas and I were actually still in the trying-to-make-it-work stage. That we hadn’t yet decided whether or not we’d split.

“Come to Mykonos,” she said.

“Oh, no. I can’t. I need to stick around and figure something out. Find a new job, start a new book,
something.”

“I agree. But all that will still be waiting for you when you return. So for now, you should come to Greece and let Yanni and I take care of you for a few days. Use your free passes one last time lor something wonderful.”

“But what about the cats?” I asked, having already decided to go and now just trying to nail down the details.

“Call Clay. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Okay, so they need to be fed twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. And Jonathan Franzen gets just a pinch of food. And I mean
just a pinch.
Any more and he’s a floater,” I warned.

“Hailey, jeez. I got it, okay?” Clay said, shaking his head and taking a swig of his beer. We were having a late-afternoon drink at a bar we’d both determined was located almost exactly halfway between my place and his. And since I was leaving for Greece the next day I needed to get him prepped and ready for duty.

“Oh, and when you’re finished feeding Jonathan, make sure you close the door. I don’t want the cats to know he’s in there.”

“What is he—a squatter?”

“A stowaway,” I said, reaching for my wine. “You know, you and Peter should stay over. Take one of the spare rooms and turn it into a mini vacation suite, or honeymoon suite, or whatever. I mean, you guys are still together, right?”

“Five months and counting.” He smiled.

“So, is this getting serious?” I asked.

“Check this out—the other day I came home from yet another La Guardia—Lauderdale hell trip, and when I walked in the door, Peter had champagne, flowers, scented candles, and a bubble bath all waiting for me.”

“Wow,” I said, feeling happy for Clay, but also kinda gypped that straight guys rarely did stuff like that. “You know that kind of
treatment should be mandatory after a Lauderdale trip. In fact, Atlas should provide a team of massage therapists and posttraumatic stress counselors the second we get back to the gate.”

Clay laughed and took another sip of his drink, but I wasn’t joking. Certain routes had earned certain reputations, but the La Guardia to Fort Lauderdale route was by far the worst in the business. And it wasn’t just at Atlas. Oh no. Over the years, I’d talked to plenty of other airline employees, and it was basically all the same.

Different uniforms, different logo, same exact shit.

It starts with boarding. Every other person boarding those flights supposedly needs a wheelchair—
because wheelchairs get on first.
And with as many as fifty chairs lined up at the gate, you’d better start early if you’re gonna have a chance in hell of an on-time departure.

Once the chairs are emptied, wheeled back up the jetway, and everyone is more or less resigned to the fact that complaining the loudest will
not
result in a free first-class upgrade, we are free to board the remaining passengers.

And that’s when the call lights start ringing. Since now that the aisles are clogged with 156 people all trying to locate their seats along with a spot for their oversized luggage, those already seated have decided it is the perfect time to indulge in their assortment of pills and medications, and thus they require water—
immediately.

After struggling against the current of bodies making their way down the aisle, after being shoved into armrests and battered by bags, after somehow miraculously
not
spilling the entire tray of waters before they reach their final destination, the preflight water service is complete, and a brief period of relative calm overcomes the cabin during the showing of the safety demonstration.

But as the flight attendants get securely strapped into their jump seats and the plane enters one of the most dangerous phases of flight, speeding down the runway and lifting into the air, the call lights start ringing again as passengers let forth a litany of complaints about everything from the cabin temperature, to the way
the pilots are flying, to the lack of legroom, to the appearance of the flight crew—and each other.

Once a comfortable cruising altitude is reached the flight attendants wheel the carts into the narrow aisles, signaling that this is a great opportunity for passengers to:

A. Perform yoga stretches in their path.

B. Ensure that all bags, briefcases, purses, and extraneousbody parts are resting comfortably in their way so that theycannot move around them.

C. Take a leisurely stroll through the cabin, peeking in the galleys and checking out the lavatories while following closelyon the heels of the crew member working the beverage cart.

After moving the cart back and forth, over and over again, so that passengers can get in and out of their seats for various
valid
reasons, after every single person on board has complained about the food (or lack thereof), after every last bit of water, decaf, ginger ale, and tomato juice has been spoken for, it is time to stow the cart and collect the garbage.