Around the World in a Bad Mood!

This book is dedicated to my parents,

Robert and Maxyne,

with love

Contents

 

 

I
AM A FLIGHT ATTENDANT
and the world is my oyster. And what an oyster it is! Oversold flights, weather delays, air traffic control delays, center seats, crappy food, air rage—it's so glamorous! Kind of like a Greyhound bus in the sky.

Recently I have been wondering: Perhaps I made the wrong career choice? There I was on my last layover, curled up in the fetal position on the bathroom floor of a Motel 6 in downtown Flint. I said aloud to my bottle of Jack Daniel's, “Jack, what will ever become of me? Am I destined to push a meal cart up and down an aisle for the rest of my days? Politely telling people—who are so crammed into their seats that major portions of their bodies are spilled over the armrests—to watch their elbows, feet, and other assorted body parts? And asking if they would like chicken or beef? When I'm seventy-five will I still be hiding behind a fake smile (if I have any teeth left, that is), breathing recycled air, demonstrating to the suffering sea of humanity how to operate a seat belt? Oh Jack, this is not what I had in mind. Where did I make the wrong turn that led me here?”

This was not an easy question to answer. I have made a lot of wrong turns in my life. I had to think this through. Fortunately for me, time was on my side: What else is there to do in downtown Flint on a fifty-four-hour layover, but think about your pain? I'd already been to Denny's. So I removed the noose from my neck and I began to think. Why not tell the people of the world, most of whom are probably in bad moods of their own, about my bad mood, and my journey thus far? So here's a story about air travel, flight attendants, and me! Fasten your seat belts, raise your tray table, and stow your bag. . . . The journey is about to begin.

Welcome to my nightmare!

Y
OU MIGHT BE WONDERING
why I became a flight attendant in the first place. I ask myself that very question every day. A lot of people think that because my mother was a “stewardess” for eight years in the golden age of air travel, the 1950s, that I chose the flight attendant profession to follow in her footsteps. Not true. Frankly, I had no interest in the airline industry whatsoever. I had other things in mind: SHOW BUSINESS! I can't remember ever wanting to do anything else but be in show biz, preferably in front of the camera or an audience. And starring roles only, please. I loved to be the center of attention, to sing and dance, and to dramatize everything that happened. People have told me throughout my entire life that I have an overactive imagination and should try to put it to positive use. Show business was the natural choice, a logical progression, and there was no one who could tell me otherwise. I wanted to be a star, and once I make up my mind about something, it is pretty difficult to sway me. Of course, there were naysayers. The ones who tried to deter me, to discourage me, to stop me. Ha! Let 'em try, I had it all planned. I was going to take classes, read plays, get head shots, and make contacts. Then I was going to New York City to suffer for my art, and after a fair amount of suffering, someone would discover my natural ability and send me off to Hollywood, where I'd be in pictures and make oodles of cash. What plans I had! And I wasn't that far off, either. After all, I was playing the jumping mouse (the lead!) in my high school play.

It went on like this throughout high school and college, and looking back on my youthful aspirations I'll be the first to admit that my enthusiasm was incommensurate with my actual theatrical talents. But when you're twenty-two, with a heart full of hope, there is very little that can stand in your way. Except maybe your dad.

My dad, Bob, thought it was charming that I was so interested in the theater until he began to realize that I was serious. Then he began to rein me in. I was living at home, waiting tables, and going to auditions for theaters that didn't pay. This was not acceptable for a college graduate. It was time to get serious, grow up, and get a job with
benefits
! Starting immediately after graduation, my father took every opportunity to speak about the joys of gainful employment.

B
OB:
Say, I heard Susie Smith from your high school class just started working for IBM.

R
ENE:
Oh, that's nice. What is she doing?

B
OB:
She's a secretary to one of the big shots over there.

R
ENE:
The last thing I would want to do every day is work nine to five in an office.

B
OB:
But she's making good money and she has terrific
benefits
! She's also moving into her very own apartment.

R
ENE:
Dad, how many times do I have to remind you? I'm going to New York City to work in the
theater
. . . .

B
OB:
Rene, how many times do I have remind you that no daughter of mine is going to New York City to work in the
theater
. Got it?

At that point I would change the subject or leave the room. His mission to rein me in was not confined to our private conversations. No way. I can remember one time he attended a play in which I performed at a very fine, well-established local theater. I had a central role, but no actual lines. Believe it or not, the play was well received—and so was I. In the lobby after one performance, people were congratulating me and saying hello. I was there with my father who, despite his aversion to my career choice, was secretly beaming about my small success. A family friend approached.

F
AMILY FRIEND:
Oh Rene, it was wonderful! You did such a fine job. I couldn't take my eyes off you—what presence you have onstage! Bob, wasn't she wonderful? What did you think?

B
OB:
I couldn't believe she could keep her mouth shut for ninety minutes. You know acting is a risky thing, and not very steady. I think Rene should keep it as a hobby—like golf—and start concentrating on finding a job with
benefits
.

I was getting tired of hearing about
benefits,
but I was living at home (his home) and he had a point about not being paid for the work you do. I was also getting tired of waiting tables (although I was an excellent waitress, and was one of the best at the restaurant). But mostly, I was getting tired of being at odds with my dad. We had always been so close and had a lot of fun together, and I missed that. So in order to keep peace in the family, I began the job interview process. When you want to be an actress, it's difficult to sell yourself to a brokerage firm, a communications company, or a commodities corporation. Needless to say, I wasn't getting very far. Then one day my dad (we were friends again now that I was selling my soul to corporate America) burst into the house after work with a newspaper in his hands:

B
OB:
Rene, the airlines are having open interviews this week. You can go over to the airport and pick up an application!

R
ENE:
An application for what?

B
OB
(smiling): To be a stewardess.

R
ENE:
I think they're called flight attendants these days, Dad.

I reluctantly took the newspaper as he handed it to me and read the ad:

After I saw the words “New York” things started going in slow motion. It began to make sense that I would become a flight attendant. I would go to the New York base, find an apartment, make some money, travel around for about six months, and then quit the airline to pursue that acting career.

R
ENE:
What a great idea, Dad! I love it, and I'm sure they would take me. They'd be lucky to have me! I mean, I
am
one of the best waitresses at the restaurant—the customers love me.

A look of surprise came across my dad's face at this point. I guess he was expecting a smart-ass comment instead of enthusiasm.

B
OB:
That's right, you're perfect for the job! The pay is great and so are the
benefits.
But more important, your mother flew for eight years so be sure to mention that in the interview. Also be sure to ask about medical insurance and the retirement package . . . blah, blah, blah.

The sound of his voice began to fade and I could hear only music in my head, like the soundtrack to a film at a very dramatic moment in the story. I had a feeling this was one of those defining moments in life. My dad was happy, and I was actually getting excited about this idea of becoming a flight attendant. All those travel benefits! I wouldn't mind taking a few trips to see the world, but most of all, this was my ticket to New York City. That was it: The next thing I knew I was off to the airport to pick up my application to become a flight attendant. Not exactly my first choice of a dream job, but how bad could it be?