Call Me Stewardess

by Elizabeth Landry

  “Eleven years.”

  “Wow! Eleven years! I guess you really love it after that long.”

  “The work itself is okay, but the lifestyle is amazing. When I leave for a flight, once on the plane, time literally flies. I don’t even realize I’m at the office. So, it must mean I still like it. Especially now that I can work all of my hours very quickly and end up having the end of the month off. I challenge you to find another job that’ll give you two weeks off per month; you won’t find one!”

  She was right. Since I had started progressing in aviation, time had flown by. I, too, had fallen in love with the trade. I was far from having fallen for my passengers, or for the intolerable foot aches caused by long hours of standing, yet I still loved my job. Whenever I left for a flight, curiously, it felt like I came straight back. In reality, I barely ever had long eight-day pairings, but even when I did, if the crew was pleasant, time went by very quickly. Not constantly glancing at my watch while at the office was worth more than gold.

  “That’s encouraging! I hope I’ll still enjoy my job as much as you do ten years from now,” I added, smiling before swiftly slipping away to offer a passenger help with his luggage.

  ◆◆◆

  I didn’t mind the task of playing Tetris and helping passengers fit their carry-on luggage in the overhead bins. Actually, I preferred lifting many of their suitcases as I could quickly assess where to put them in order to avoid clutter. The faster a piece of luggage was safely put away, the faster the passenger was seated, the faster the aisle was cleared, the faster other passengers could reach their seats, and we could be on our way. It was better to be proactive.

  Time came to close the overhead bins and make sure everything was ready for takeoff. During my last round, I couldn’t ignore any of my assigned tasks, even the ones I didn’t hold dear, such as briefing moms on their babies!

  Many flight attendants love babies. They cherish them, cuddle them, and even smooch them. I, Scarlett Lambert, have no interest in the passengers’ babies. Sure, I find them cute, but I’m not drawn to them. I’m ready to put up with their cries, out of obligation, but I will not pretend to be the life-saving flight attendant who holds the remedy that will calm Mr. Baby. No, thanks!

  However, seeing as I’m responsible for everyone’s safety, I dutifully make sure that Mr. Baby is ready for takeoff in mommy’s or daddy’s arms.

  That day, per usual, I approached one of the families getting settled on the plane. I looked the mom and dad right in the eyes and asked, without making a fuss, if they had already received the instructions on how to hold their baby while in flight.

  “Good morning, have you received your briefing about holding your child during takeoff and landing?”

  “No,” they answered, rather dismissively.

  “All right, I’ll explain,” I said, ready to deliver my speech as quickly as possible.

  I bent down to meet the mother’s height to avoid having to talk too loud. I started my speech looking at her since she was the one holding the baby. I also made sure to talk about the CHILD, avoiding any mention of gender. As far as I’m concerned, unless a little girl is showing off cute earrings or is covered in pink, I am hopeless at guessing the baby’s gender. As I had been way out of line in the past, I no longer took any chances. A little girl was now a CHILD. A little boy was now a CHILD. No gender. No sex. Everyone was happy.

  “First of all, you must not put the seatbelt around your baby. You are the one who has to hold your CHILD.”

  The woman was calmly looking at me. The baby was also calm, barely drooling, not even crying. So far, so good.

  “You must hold it in your arms, against your body, facing you, with legs on either side, just like in the burp position.”

  At that moment, without any warning, the woman opened her blouse and pulled out her big, spongy, milk-filled breast. As I was bending down at exactly chest height, I perfectly caught sight of the brown nipple ready to greet the baby’s mouth. Strangely, said baby had not let out any sound hinting that it was hungry. All the while, the woman continued to look me in the eye, absentmindedly fondling with her massive booby, directing it into her child’s mouth. I continued my speech as if it wasn’t a big deal. I cheered myself on internally, I’m almost done.

  “In the unlikely event of loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop from above your head . . . ”

  The baby started sucking, making a loud suction sound. I could hear the flow of milk enter his tiny red infant mouth. It was hard at work and I found it surprisingly difficult not to glance at the woman’s breast. The baby was getting a perfectly fine feeding but the mom did not seem satisfied. She pulled her boob off the child’s mouth and I then had a clear view of a very moist nipple. I continued my speech and this time I hurried, as I was eager to finish.

  ” . . . and if there is a loss of cabin pressure, you must put your mask on first, before assisting your CHILD.”

  I was almost done. Just one more instruction and I could run away forever. As I prepared my closing, my eyes came across, once again, the moist human mammary bit. My eyes went back and forth between the woman’s face and the breast she was fondling with. I was hoping she’d understand that a wet breast was bothering me and that she very well could have waited before having it spring out in my face. I continued my instructions with accelerated delivery.

  “Lastly, the baby-changing table is in the lavatory at the back. We kindly ask that you dispose of diapers in the bin next to the sink, not in the toilet. Thank you!”

  What a relief! I could now leave and never come back. I stood up to indicate the end of my speech. I was under the impression that the mom really wanted to make me uncomfortable. I had become a bit paranoid but still, as I was getting back up, she didn’t hesitate to re-plug her baby onto her nipple, now dripping with fresh milk. That was enough. Next time, I thought, knowing I’d never dare to, I’ll tell them to hold off for just one little minute, out of respect for my eyes! I had never really been insulted by breastfeeding before but it would take days for my eyeballs to get over this one . . .

  I made my way to my jump seat. I was still in shock when I finally heard the captain’s passenger announcement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is John Ross and I will be your captain today. On my right, I will be assisted by First Officer Philip Burns. On behalf of the entire crew, welcome on board Americair flight 322 with service to Zürich. Our flight time today will be six hours, ten minutes, with a cruising altitude of 36,000 feet. I will get back to you with the weather conditions shortly before our final approach into Zürich. Until then, sit back, relax, and enjoy the great in-flight service. Thank you and have a nice flight!”

  Had I heard correctly? The captain I had been obsessed with just a few months earlier was flying the aircraft I was on today? How had I not noticed? I then remembered that the pilots that day had not introduced themselves to the crew. It was quite common. Often, in order to be more efficient, the captain’s briefing was only provided to the purser, who would then share the information with the rest of the crew. I didn’t appreciate the procedure as I still wanted to see the face of the one holding my life in his hands, but I accepted it as I knew how important taking off on time was, and how it could avoid many troubles.

  Suddenly, my unfortunate adventure with the woman with the big nipple was forgotten. My attention was now directed at someone else: my mysterious captain. Ready for takeoff, I sat on my jump seat smiling, eager to see him again. He, who had made my heart skip a beat without even realizing it. Maybe this time he’ll finally notice me? To my own surprise, I really hoped he would.

  Chapter 6

  Paris (CDG)

  When we got off the aircraft, the whole crew boarded the private bus taking us to the train station, where we could hop on a TGV to Paris. For the second time in my life, I was able to catch a glimpse of the object of my desire, of my obsession. I hadn’t seen him throughout the night as he had only come out of the cockpit once,
to use the lavatories. At that time, I was at the back with Becky, putting carts away. When I heard the bell reserved for the use of calls from the flight deck, I suspected that one of the pilots would be coming out into the cabin. I couldn’t imagine myself leaving all my tasks behind in order to run to the front just to find out whether or not it was my pilot coming out for a little chat with the crew. Especially since Becky had no clue that I found one of the pretentious pilots potentially interesting. She probably would have laughed at the irony and would have made me swallow my pride. Therefore, I had chosen to remain at the back, continuing with my tasks. Anyway, I would see John after the flight; I just had to be patient.

  We were now all calmly seated on the bus. Strangely, the pilots were coming to Paris with us. Often, once at our destination, they get separated from the rest of the crew. My captain, for example, could very well have spent the night in Zürich and continued on to another destination in the morning. That day, though, it wasn’t the case and I was thrilled to see that John and his first officer would follow us to Paris. However, the next day, they weren’t operating the same flight as me back to Boston. They were flying to New York instead, with a different crew. Still, I was pretty happy at the thought of maybe having the chance to talk to him a little.

  Once at the train station, we all made our way to our designated compartment. I sat across the aisle from John, to his right. Becky had spoken with the first officer for a few minutes and then had fallen asleep. She appeared to know him. Perhaps I had an alibi. Other crew members were chatting away while I was discreetly observing my neighbor from the corner of my eye. He was watching the green countryside passing by the window. I thought it strange that I was attracted to him as he was far from my usual ideal. None of it made sense. Where had my attraction for tall, dark, nicely built, and outgoing men gone? Out the window I guess, since John was mostly quiet, keeping to himself. His hair was a light brown and he wasn’t very tall, nor muscly, although he still emitted a strong virility. His hands were massive. Surely strong, powerful even. My imagination was already running wild. His gaze was dark and deep, yet seemed as gentle as a lamb. I was captivated by his charisma, his presence that maybe only I could perceive. He must have been in his late thirties. I was fantasizing about a man. A real one.

  He looked exhausted and hadn’t even noticed me. In reality, we hadn’t exchanged a smile, nor even a look, since the very first time I had seen him in Costa Rica. I really felt like I didn’t stand a chance to even talk to him. It was about time I got some sleep. I thought, Once in Paris, I won’t let any chance pass me by.

  ◆◆◆

  As planned, a driver was waiting for us at our arrival at the Gare du Nord. We got on yet another bus, impatient to finally get to the crew hotel. I abruptly woke up when the bus stopped at our destination, off a street by the Seine river. Exhaustion had won me over without me even realizing it. I had remained seated up straight but my head had fallen to the side and had rested on the windowsill. My relaxed jaw had dropped, allowing my mouth to open slightly. As for my cheek, it had happily taken the shape of the corner of the window it had rested on. Waking up, I could feel a large and deep dent on my cheekbone. Being a flight attendant is very glamourous. Oh, so glamourous! I thought.

  I must admit that before working in aviation, I had never known utter exhaustion. Of course, I had spent a few sleepless nights partying with friends before, but that hadn’t been extreme fatigue, not even close. After a flight, and especially after a night flight, aka a red-eye, I can fall asleep in the blink of an eye. I don’t even need a pillow, let alone a bed. Just some sort of headrest.

  Being a flight attendant is accepting the fact that we can be so tired that even when someone shakes us up we don’t wake up. Often, the crew plans to meet up for dinner but unsurprisingly, some crew members don’t even turn up to the meeting point. Not that they don’t want to see us, nor that they don’t want to eat, they just sleep through, unable to wake from their deep sleep.

  As I was trying my best to erase the deep mark from my cheek, I started thinking about a plan to get closer to my pilot. John was at the hotel front desk with the chief purser, helping him get the room keys. That’s when I noticed Becky was still chatting with Philip, the first officer. I moved closer, listening in to their conversation, still rubbing my cheek. All of a sudden, the perfect opportunity came up.

  “Are you guys planning on eating out tonight?” the first officer asked my charming friend Becky.

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said, unsure as to what she should answer; knowing that she and I would be eating dinner together but assuming I’d probably not be interested in sharing a meal with a pretentious pilot.

  Therefore, she quickly glanced in my direction, hoping to read an answer from my facial expression. I slowly nodded in agreement. As I suspected, Becky was quite surprised at my open-mindedness and my welcoming of Philip among us, so she asked me directly:

  “Scarlett, what are our plans tonight?” She said this with the sort of smile that meant, It’s up to you, but I’m interested and would really like him to come with us.

  “Well yes, we could have dinner together. I suppose the captain would come too?” I swiftly and innocently asked.

  “Yes, of course. We had already agreed to meet in the lobby at six p.m. Would that suit you?”

  “That’s perfect with us! See you at six, then. Have a good nap!”

  I looked at Becky to make sure she was okay with this. She seemed very happy that I had accepted the offer but I also saw in her eyes the many questions I’d have to answer about my sudden open-mindedness.

  We each got our respective room key and made our way to the elevators. Becky waited for me and got on the same elevator.

  “So, what was that all about, Scarlett?” she asked, all secretive, hoping I’d confide in her.

  “You’re gonna laugh at me if I tell you,” I said, laughing myself.

  “No, I won’t! I’m no fool. I know you don’t normally like to eat with pilots but today it didn’t take much convincing at all. What’s going on?”

  I remained silent, which started to frighten her.

  “Are you interested in Philip by any chance?”

  “No, not at all! He’s all yours. I’m more interested in the other one,” I finally admitted.

  “Whoa! What’s happening with you? Are you going mad? You, a pilot? Are you turning into a Suzie!?” she said, obviously kidding.

  She couldn’t believe it. There was no way I, Scarlett Lambert, could be interested in a pilot. Was I suddenly possessed by Suzie, our Suzie-Flirt-With-Every-Pilot colleague? Becky was cracking up in the elevator. At the very least, she was amused by my confession. The elevator doors opened on my floor and I quickly ended the conversation before the anticipated evening.

  “Listen, Becky, I don’t even know him and have never even spoken to him. I’m interested and I don’t really know why, so please, I’m asking you to not mention anything about this tonight. We’re gonna have a nice evening and then we’ll see how things go. Maybe after he says a few words I’ll no longer find him attractive anyway. Okay?”

  “Of course, Scarlett, you can rest assured I won’t say a word. I’m definitely not going to spoil one of the rare times you’re actually attracted to a man. Go have a nap. Everything will be all right. I’ll see you in a bit!”

  I thanked her and went straight to my room.

  When I entered, the air conditioning was on maximum. As I was already frozen from fatigue and the cold air on the aircraft, I quickly turned it down. Then, I proceeded to the most important after-flight task of all: having a shower. I threw my suitcases onto the desk and luggage rack by the wall. I made sure not to put anything on the floor apart from my heels. The carpet might have appeared to be clean but it probably wasn’t. I then hurriedly took my uniform off and hung it up to avoid creasing.

  I jumped in the shower. The hot water made me feel better and, once again, with the little energy I had left, thoughts came
flowing. I thought about the evening that was about to happen. I was looking forward to talking to John and finding out more about him. I kept thinking about the upcoming evening until I got into bed. I shut the curtains to keep the bright Parisian daylight from entering the room and adjusted the alarm on my phone for four p.m. Sleeping for four hours seemed reasonable as the longer I stayed in bed, the harder it’d be to fall asleep again at night. Comfortably wrapped in the white bed sheets, I let myself fall into a deep sleep.

  ◆◆◆

  “Quack-quack! Quack-quack! Quack-quack! . . .”

  The little duck woke me up. Now, how could one not open their eyes when hearing that ringtone? I had to set my alarm to duck mode in order to wake up as soft harp music or the likes would go unnoticed.

  “Come on, get up,” I said out loud.

  With great difficulty, I pulled my heavy legs out of bed. I felt drugged on fatigue but I knew that a half-hour jog would sort me out and give me all the energy I needed to make the most of the evening. I quickly got dressed and started my Parisian routine.

  I’ll always remember in my interview with Americair when the interviewer asked me why I wanted to be a flight attendant. Among all the answers I provided, there was the fact that I didn’t like routine. Surely, that made the job perfect for me.

  Yet, every human, no matter how fickle, needs some sort of routine. Our body requires it after a while. As if to offer us comfort, some of life’s components, as simple as breakfast for example, repeat themselves. In Rome, I have a routine, and in Vancouver too. Same for Paris. I appreciate it. I need it. And that is why, when possible, we keep the same crew hotels for a long time. That way, we can feel somewhat at home while away from home.

  That day was no exception to the rule. Our hotel was located in one of the most beautiful neighborhoods of Paris, Saint-Germain-des-Prés, and I couldn’t complain. So, I went for a run by the Seine. It only took a few minutes to feel revived. Becky didn’t want to come along; she preferred yoga. When I got back, I jumped in the shower again, put some comfortable clothes on, went down to the lobby, and enjoyed a nice espresso. Then, I went for a walk around the neighboring streets to run some errands. I only had an hour to get everything done so I had to be efficient. I stopped at the bookstore Taschen on Rue de Buci. I love their books. Some list the greatest photographers’ work on large prints, while others talk about quirky subjects such as big breasts. I had to allow for a quick stop.