She's the kind of person who I wouldn't be surprised to hear went jet skiing with Shaq O'Neal on a yacht off the coast of St. Barts one weekend. She's just all over the place. She's definitely a "verb" kind of person and I love her supercharged personality which knows no strangers; only potential friends.
She also inspired me to get an Instagram account for this blog—she takes pictures of everything she thinks is interesting or awesome and is the absolute queen of the anti-gravity self portrait shot. I tease her that she'd take a picture of a child's barf on the seat of the plane, add a lens flare and sepia tone filter and caption it "flight attendant life SMH LMFAO!"
Getting to work with Miss Pitt was a dream-come-reality after making it through the program and following each other's exploits via all the popular social media. She came from the north, and I from the south, so its likely we would have never seen each other our entire lives had we not ventured into the unknown in Phoenix together. For this, and many people like her, I am eternally grateful.
[caption id="attachment_137" align="alignnone" width="300"]
Miss Pitt and I in one of her famous Instagram self-shots[/caption]However, there are also occasional times you have a less-than-pleasant experience when meeting new crew members. For example, on the beginning of this same trip, I was the B flight attendant and was working in the back galley getting the ice, drinks and coffee machines ready for the in flight service. From somewhere behind me I hear a strongly New York accented voice,
"Hey, I'm Chester*. I'll be the C flight attendant with yous guys on this flight. May I assist yous with anything?"
Without turning around, because I had an arm full of Pringles cans for inventory, I thank him and assure him that I've got it under control for now. He starts asking the usual questions, making light introductory conversation as flight attendants tend to do before boarding when there is nothing else to do. As he's narrating some story boisterously, I noticed a strange smell. It wasn't the lav—I had just checked it and everything was kosher. I decided to just ignore it until I turned around and the full force of it hit me in the face like bad shellfish cooked with mustard gas. It was his breath.
Now, don't get me wrong. Over the course of this trip, Chester was the most cheerful, helpful guy you could hope to fly with. But when he came back to the galley to talk to me or help with a service, I had to make a very concerted effort not to gag. He loved to talk so much that he'd eventually fill up the entire back end of the aircraft with the noxious fumes. Maybe because I was raised to be polite and considerate of traits people can not help about themselves such as excess weight or a lazy eye, but I got along with the guy just fine. Sure I could feel my hair curl when he'd lean in and say something in my ear over the noise of the turbines, but I didn't let it get in the way of my opinion of him.
Miss Pitt didn't go to such lengths to restrain her nausea. Since she was the A flight attendant, he had to sit up front with her during take off, taxi and landing. I leaned into the aisle a few times to see what was going on in the forward galley, and saw him animatedly talking to her while she had her nose covered with her shirt collar. I couldn't help myself; I busted up laughing back there a few times.
We had an overnight in New Orleans that trip, and I got some tasty jambalaya and fried chicken. I'm turning into quite the foodie on this job; there's so many places to try different dishes in their natural habitat and I'm very enthusiastic about getting my taste buds around all things yummy. For the sake of making a point about the importance of being polite and as understanding as possible with one's coworkers, Chester bought me that New Orleans dinner, and commented how he appreciated "my ability to put up with him talking my ear off all this time." Manners, ladies and gentlemen. Manners. They'll get you far. Thanks mom and dad!
Not long after, I ended up staying in New York City and not drinking for Cinco de Mayo. While we're on an overnight, we can't have alcoholic drinks after 12 hours before a flight. The FAA will have their mitts on you before you can say 'holy blood alcohol content, batman!' A good friend of mine lives in New York, and made sure we got to hang out and get some cheap tacos. As it usually goes with him, "let's you and I hang out" translates to "let's hang out with everyone else I know who is free this evening." So, I was surrounded by tipsy 20-somethings who were determined to fit as much lime flavored ice and booze down their gullets as possible. They thought it was hilarious I couldn't touch any of it. Not even a teensy weensy harmless widdle drinky-poo. The moments when it occurs to you that you've really reached adulthood mentally as well as physically are few and far between, but this was one of them. I love this job too much to be a dumbass.
In other news, I just recently got my parents put on my flight benefits, which means sooooper reduced cost to wherever their whimsy takes them. I'm very excited to see how this pans out, because they are both about to be empty nesters when my little brother scuttles off to college this Fall. So, they'll have a considerable amount of newfound free time. I hope they go somewhere Caribbean or European and just enjoy themselves while clandestinely being glad they gave birth to me.
Anyway, Darcy just made some devastatingly delicious looking banana pudding that I'm now going to help myself to.
Ta-ta for now.
Until next time. Catch me if you can!
—Carmen
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