Samantha

It’s sort of a thankless job, being a flight attendant. Crap, I’m tired of the “PC” people, just call me a stewardess anyway.

No one makes eye contact with a stewardess, except for horny males looking to score a flight attendant and brag to their friends about joining the “mile high club.”

Let me tell you a little something. It’s not physically possible to have sex on an airplane. I’ve busted plenty of people trying it. Next time you get on a plane, go to the bathroom and try and envision yourself in there. It’s not possible.

That’s beyond the point though. When I first started the job, right out of college, people used to care about what the flight attendant said before the plane took off. Nowadays, it’s eyes on books, on the seat ahead, or continuing a conversation with a business partner or family member.

I guess I really don’t mind. But as much as I might ask 60 people what they want to drink during a flight, it’s really a lonely job.

And after a while, it got really, really drab.

Don’t get me wrong, occasionally you’ll have the mid-level celebrity that can’t afford their own timeshared jet. Sometimes you’ll get a pair of newlyweds that will merrily tell you about their engagement – but that just brings you back to the harsh reality – it’s tough to maintain a relationship in this line of work.

Of course, when the whispers started – it became a whole new ordeal. Members of the opposite sex started to engage each other, ask each other’s names. More importantly, handsome men wanted to know what my name was. The downside was seeing the frown when the name wasn’t even close to that whispered in their head – but at least it opened up communication.

I typically fly a boring loop – the pain and pleasure of seniority after so many years means that I get to set my schedule. My boring loop? Houston to Kansas City to Chicago and then back to Houston. Not exactly the beach, Europe, or an amazing travel destination.

One of the strange things I do, I guess because I had a fear of planes before I started this job, was to count the amount of flights. That way, I could mark milestones that I had accomplished – 500th flight, 1,000th, and so on.

Today, on my 1,458th flight, I became thankful for my job. You see, these people that hear these whispers, I’m not sure if all of them are going to come across the name they hear. It may just be a temptress – to make you think that life is going to be fine and dandy…until you hit 70 or 80 and realize that life was crap and you’re all alone.

Anyway, my job puts me in the face of a lot of people and today I’m thankful. Robert Smith, it’s a scary normal name, there are hundreds of Robert Smiths out there. This Bob Smith though…he has to be my match.

You know sometimes, before the whispers started, a girl could get by daydreaming about her potential soulmate. She could dream about what he would drink, what he would eat, his tastes, etc. Well, I held onto that, even after all this crazy whisper talk. I always envisioned my soulmate drinking a clear soda. A Sprite or a 7-Up. Even a Ginger Ale. It’s sophisticated without saying I’m so grown-up that I just want a coffee.

In the flight attendant business, we can read you like a book by your drink order. It might not be spot on for your whole life, but we can tell how you are feeling that day.

A water says that you are a chronic allergy sufferer, you have fear of the recycled air on the plane or you’re a skeptic that thinks we’ve sabotaged the drinks. An alcoholic beverage on a plane? That means you either truly have an alcohol problem or that you are nervous about plane wrecks to the extent that getting a bit loopy will calm your nerves.
A soda? You’re in a hurry to get where you are going, you are usually obese, or you are a teenager that just doesn’t know better. A juice? You are a health freak, a child, or have medical issue. There are other variations to the rule, but that’s a good baseline to go buy.

Bob…Bob was a Ginger Ale man. It told me he was successful. It told me he was above the fray. It told me he was the one.