1
ASHLEY
“Noooo!”
Ashley slammed her hand against the glass of the hotel in frustration as her Uber just drove off. Her phone chimed seconds later, indicating the ‘No Show fee’ – and then promptly chimed again.
Low Balance Alert
The word that came flying out of her mouth wasn’t pretty at that moment as she quickly requested yet another Uber. The hotel was near the airport, and she could jog it, but in her uniform and rolling her bag behind her wasn’t ideal in the slightest.
She was running behind – sorta.
It was more like, ‘I’m paranoid, and now my buffer is gone’kind of morning since her phone didn’t charge and her alarm didn’t go off. Her phone was currently plugged into the USB port on the lamp base in the hotel which was much too expensive for what it was. Her paranoia won the day, though, because the hotel’s wake-up call was what roused her from bed at four in the morning in Houston.
Now, she just needed to make her flight – and her ride.
An hour later, Ashley was walking through the airport, rolling her bag behind her, and mentally singing Disney songs in her mind to calm her down. This was the second gate change for the incoming flight, and she knew the pilot vaguely.
If she was right, they were in for a fast take-off and a hard landing, with a few bumps along the way. He wasn’t one of the kinder crew members who liked to make small talk or get to know the team before the flight. Nope, this captain was business-minded, and if it was arranged for him to pull from the gate at six-oh-five in the morning, you better believe that was happening. They would be loading passengers thirty minutes ahead of time, because this captain would become irate if the door to the plane was still open.
Six-oh-five meant that the doors were closed at six -sharp.
Ashley checked her phone again, which was currently attached to the somewhat-charged battery pack, putting it at eighteen percent according to the display. No matter, she’d plug it in and charge it on the flight. As she walked up to the gate, she flashed her badge, scanned it, and greeted everyone before entering the door that would lead her to the plane. Her hollow steps on the ramp echoed her heartbeat before boarding and quickly stowing her things.
“Where’s the other one?” the grumpy pilot tossed over his shoulder. “I hope he’s dragging his butt in here within the next few minutes, or it’s going to be a long flight for all of us if you get my drift.”
“Good morning, captain,” Ashley said calmly. “May I get you a coffee?”
“Yup. Fire it up and get us ready,” he tossed curtly, and she saw the first officer look back at her, smirking. Yup, he knew the dude was a jerk, too.
“Of course, captain.”
Ashley went about prepping the cabin, looking over things, doing her counts, and getting ready to face the two hundred needy faces that would be watching her like a hawk.
Soda? Cookies?
Can I have a pillow?
This is my seat. No, this is my seat!
Crying kids, dirty diapers, the occasional vomiter (because in her head, that was utterly and equivocally a word that should be in a dictionary).
Vomiter(vom-eh-ter) pronoun – a term used to describe someone who upchucks at the slightest turbulence during a flight, usually creating, as a result, a panicked scuffle mid-flight that was sure to give any attendants with anxiety a case of heart failure.
Not to mention her pay.
Ashley might be here, but her ‘clock’ didn’t start running until the plane left the gate. Delays, boarding, disembarking, and the rest of the time were not considered part of the flight. Her last flight had someone refusing to give up a seat, recording it on their phone, and making a scene. They endedup getting security to drag the man off the plane – but that whole twenty minutes of backtalk was on her dime.
She liked her job.
She loved seeing the world.
She just wished she was a littlelesspoor and a whole lot less stressed.
If her grandparents hadn’t left her the cabin, she would have been up a creek without a paddle – and her canoe would be sinking. See, everyone thought that being a flight attendant would be a glamorous, high-paying, elitist job – but in reality, it was anything but that. ‘Full time’ was no more than 95 hours in a month, whereas another job could have you earning 120 hours in a month – and let me tell you:those ninety-five hours were hard-earned.
No, her job involved racking up a ton of points on her credit card for hotel rooms she couldn’t afford, utilizing hostels, Air B&B, or anything to get a cheap place to sleep for the night that wouldn’t leave her cringing or wondering if she picked up something awful.
