Around the World in a Bad Mood! (2 page)

E
VEN THOUGH THE LIFESTYLE,
free travel, and possibility of living in New York appealed to me, prior to February 20, 1985, I had given very little thought to the actual job of being a flight attendant. It was just another day, and another interview. But as soon as I walked into the waiting room at “We Apologize for This Inconvenience Airlines” (WAFTI) and saw the other candidates wearing crisp blue suits, perfectly coiffed hairdos, and phony smiles, it quickly became apparent that this was unlike any other job interview I'd ever been on. It was more like a cross between an audition for a major motion picture and a beauty pageant. Everyone looked so perky, so attractive, and so approachable, but behind those painted smiles and cemented bobs, I could sense that none of the candidates would mind too much if I fell backward down a flight of stairs. That would automatically disqualify one from the job, and thus increase the others' chances of getting that strangely coveted career of “flight attendant.”

At once my competitive streak kicked in. Seeing how much everyone else seemed to desire this position made me want it also. I hadn't wanted it when I woke up that morning, but now it was as though I
had
to be selected: I was going to be a flight attendant or die! I had had a lot more confidence when I didn't want the job. Now that I found myself actually wanting it, my confidence began to falter: “What if they don't pick me? How humiliating to be turned down by WAFTI. Everyone else is so put together and so tall. They probably won't pick me. . . . I should have written neater on the application. . . . I should have worn a different suit. . . . God, I hope I get it. . . . I really need this job.”

Just as I was about to burst into my own rendition of “A Chorus Line,” a tall, officious blond woman with red nail polish called us into a small fluorescent-lit room and asked us, or rather told us, to have seat. The chairs were in a semicircle and there were no windows in the room. It was warm and I began to feel as though there were not enough oxygen in the room. We sat down in the order in which we had entered. Facing us were two other women and a man, all of whom had that steely, efficient, crisp demeanor that personifies the term “professional.” They took turns talking about how the interview process would work and what we could expect in the event we were “invited” (as in “invited to a party,” but this had no resemblance to a party) into a training class. One got the distinct feeling WAFTI did not need you, but you needed WAFTI and you were just damn lucky to have the opportunity to meet them and simply set foot on the premises.

The officious blonde spoke, “You must be willing to work nights, weekends, and holidays. If you are selected you will attend a seven-week unpaid training program and will be required to live in the company-arranged housing for training candidates. You must be willing to relocate to any of our bases throughout the United States; unfortunately, we do not know where we need you, so we will not be able to tell you where you will be based until the final day of the training, should you make it that far. We will, however, give you a one-way ticket to your new base. You are required to purchase your uniform, which must be properly maintained in accordance with company standards at all times. The cost is seven hundred dollars. We do realize that you will probably not have this sort of money when and if you complete the
unpaid
training, so we will give you the uniform and payroll will deduct the cost from your paycheck until it is paid in full. When you start out with WAFTI you will be on reserve status—that is to say that you must be available twenty-two days out of each month for a trip assignment. We will always give you as much notice as possible, but since “reserves” fill in for flight attendants who have called in sick or cannot make it to their flight for some reason, sometimes you'll have very short notice—maybe as little as an hour. We expect that you will be prepared and able to get to work in this allotted time period. After all, WAFTI will be counting on you, as will our passengers. We cannot stress the importance of your dependability when you are on reserve, therefore we have put certain regulations in place to ensure that you are available for an assignment. First of all, central scheduling will contact you by phone, so you must have a telephone at your contact residence, which must be within a one-hour radius of the airport. Second, you are not allowed to have a beeper or pager; we expect that you will be home by the phone with your bag packed and your uniform cleaned, waiting. This seems harsh, but everyone has put their time in on reserve and eventually you will have enough seniority to hold a set schedule.”

What she failed to mention is that when you finally do get off reserve—after about four years—and you begin holding a set schedule, it will be a schedule that no one else in their right mind would want: six legs a day, followed by a ten-hour layover in a fleabag motel about two hundred feet off the runway in some dismal, dirty, depressed city. And thanks to the length of your layover (or rather lack of it) and the fact that it will be dark the entire time, you will not have the misfortune of actually seeing your surroundings. However, after years on reserve you will welcome the predictability of these horrid schedules and the fact that you no longer have to be tethered to the telephone, waiting for a call that comes at 2:00
A.M
. informing you that you are going to Buffalo at 5:00
A.M
.! Yes, the day a flight attendant is finally freed from the shackles of reserve she knows the true meaning of the word “liberation.”

I was beginning to wonder about those
benefits
—so far it seemed as if there weren't too many—but before I had an opportunity to raise my hand the blonde informed us that it was time to introduce ourselves to the group. We were to go around the semicircle and stand up one by one to tell our names, where we were from, and why we wanted to be a flight attendant. This gave the WAFTI panel of experts an opportunity to evaluate our poise, our appearance, and whether we were intelligent enough to string a few words together and form a sentence. As each candidate stood and addressed the group, the panel was taking fast and furious notes. This was the part that was like an audition and it really didn't intimidate me too much, but what bothered me was the lack of originality in the responses of the candidates.

“I am Susie Glutz from the great state of Texas and I want to be a flight attendant because I just love people, I am very service-oriented, and I am a team player!” Followed by a big, fake smile.

“I am Yo' Vinnie, originally from New York, and I want to be a flight attendant because I love to travel and I want to see the world.” Even bigger fake smile, but with missing teeth.

“I am Mary, Mary Quite Contrary from Kansas City, and I want to be a flight attendant because I just love people, I love to travel,
and
I love to smile.” Big, big fake smile
and
batting eyelashes!

Had I known then what I know now I would have said: “My name is Rene and I am hoping to find a job that allows me to deal with emotionally and physically abusive passengers in a confined space. I am looking forward to spending a minimum of four years on reserve, having absolutely no life outside this job. But most important, I have a particular fondness for picking up trash, germs, disease, and other assorted garbage from hundreds of people from all over the planet and then saying ‘thank you' with a big smile on my face! I feel I am qualified because I have the ability to converse with utter strangers about meaningless subjects while I'm suffering from a headache, hangover, sleep deprivation, or jet lag. After working a ten-hour day I can eat my dinner—which often consists of leftover food that no one else wants—in five minutes or less, standing up in a galley filled with all the trash I just collected.”

But what did I know back then? I was young and stupid, so I merely responded: “I'm Rene and I, too, love people and love to travel.” Trouble with the fake smile.

It went on like this until everybody had their fifteen seconds of fame and then we were ushered back into the lobby to wait. I would have given anything to have been a fly on the wall in the conference room. There they dissected us while we were in the lobby, sweating it out while trying to look calm, approachable, and not too competitive. After thirty-five minutes they emerged and informed us that everyone would now be called in for a one-on-one interview. There was a collective straightening of the spine as the phony smiles immediately returned to the faces of weary candidates. I was hoping I would be called first, so I could get it over with and go have a cheeseburger. Of course, I was not first, or second, or even third. I was second to last. “Rene Foss!,” called a voice. I looked up expecting the officious blonde, but was relieved to see a younger, mousy woman who had a very limp handshake. We walked down a corridor making idle chitchat about God-only-knows-what until we reached a dreary office. With my handwritten application in her hand, the interrogation began:

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Is this your present address?

R
ENE:
Yes.

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Are you currently employed as a waitress at Hamburger Harry's?

R
ENE:
Yes. I'm also currently performing in a play at . . .

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
We'll get to that in a minute. I am required to verify certain information first. Now, have you ever been convicted of a crime, misdemeanor, or felony?

R
ENE:
No, I don't think so.

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Well, you've stated on this application that you have not. Is that true? Or is there anything you need to tell me?

R
ENE:
Yes.

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Yes? There is something you need to tell me?

R
ENE:
No, yes, it is true! I mean, I haven't committed any crimes.

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Fine. Do you recognize this as your signature? And is everything on this application true?

R
ENE:
Yes . . . to both.

It went on like that for quite some time. She would ask a question about why I wanted to be a flight attendant or how my current coworkers would describe me, and I'd enthusiastically respond, and then she would return my enthusiasm with a blank stare and move on to the next question.

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Are you willing to relocate?

R
ENE:
Absolutely, I'd love to be based in New York or . . .

M
OUSY
L
ADY
(interrupting): Are you willing to work nights, weekends, and holidays for the rest of your natural-born life?

R
ENE:
Uhhh, yes, I guess.

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Good, now let me give you a mathematical problem. There are twelve people in first class, but only three meals. What would you do?

R
ENE:
Gee, could that really happen?

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Yes, that's how we make a profit. What would you do?

R
ENE:
Well, I guess I would serve the first three passengers the meals that were there and then tell the other nine passengers that they were shit out of luck and how sorry I am, and then I would hide in the bathroom the rest of the flight.

After twenty minutes I was fairly certain that I had blown it big time. I was getting ready for that cheeseburger when she informed me that she would like to send me over to the WAFTI doctor for a pre-employment physical that would include (she raised an eyebrow here) a drug test. (Damn, I knew I shouldn't have visited that opium den last night with my friend Lou. He promised me it would be out of my system within twenty-four hours. . . . He better be right.) She said I should also be prepared to provide them with my complete medical background. It was at that point that I saw a glimmer of what resembled a smile.

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Very good. Oh, I almost forgot: Would you be willing to cut your hair?

R
ENE:
Excuse me?

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Cut your hair. We have very strict grooming guidelines and our appearance experts will be evaluating you early on in the training program. They make suggestions to the candidates about how they can improve their appearance and style to better fit in with the “company personality.”

R
ENE:
Gee, I guess I'd be willing to cut my hair. I mean if I'm going to be working nights, weekends, and holidays for the rest of my life, I guess it really doesn't matter what I look like!

M
OUSY
L
ADY:
Very good, then it's off to the clinic for you.

I was only here to look for a job, to keep peace in my family, and to get some
benefits
and maybe get a few free trips. Now, in addition to all that, it seems I would be getting a new personality and a new hairdo. How fabulous! Well, no time to linger and ponder the new me, it was off to the clinic! I wondered if the doctor would be performing a lobotomy along with the drug test. Maybe he'd be doing my hair as well.