I bought a pair of Naturalizer heels.

I wish I could blame the emotional trauma of having to do this on why I haven’t been writing lately, but I cant. Flight Attendant training turned out to be more intense than expected, and my days were filled with First Aid training and Emergency Evacuation procedures.

There were lists to be memorized, Brace Commands to be screamed and my only reprieve was Domino’s Pizza and The Bachelorette on Monday night. 

Riveting stuff.

But yeah, I own a pair of Naturalizers. I wore them on my training flight, and my feet were grateful…I guess. They go against everything I stand for, fashionwise, but there they are lined up in my closet.

So I’m sorry for the delay in blog posts, but I’ve been spending the last 7 weeks trying to come to terms with my new identity as a flight attendant, and trying to ignore the question that keeps popping up in my head…

Is this seriously happening?

*** 

We graduated from training on a Wednesday, and our instructor Danny said there was no way that we would get called for our test flight before that weekend. No way. There was paperwork involved, checkairman to be figured out, we definitely had the weekend off.

I was driving down to the beach that Friday when I got my call. 

I started screaming “NO. No no no no. NOOOO!” and my best friend Katie looked around in panic, certain that we were about to run off the road or get in some sort of car accident.

I calmly answered the phone and was told that my training flight would start Sunday. I would stop in Madison, Wisconsin and have layovers in Syracuse, Burlington, Vermont, and Charleston, South Carolina.

All I could think about was how I had NO IDEA where Wisconsin was on a map.

I spent that Friday night practicing my safety demonstration at Jack’s Waterfront Bar, while my parents scrambled around Raleigh ironing my uniform and buying an all black suitcase. 

I drove home the next morning slightly hungover, but mostly in shock that my training flight was happening so soon. 

                                                                                             ***

The thing about training was that we learned how to do everything once on the plane. I know how to open all emergency exits, how to check all emergency equipment. Need to unlock the bathroom door from the outside? I can do that.

But do I know where the crew room is in the RDU airport? No. Do I know how to check in for a flight? Nah. Do I know my Delta ID number? Absolutely not.

After many calls to my checkairman and the Scheduling department, I was finally on a flight to meet my team at LaGuardia. There were two sassy male flight attendants that let me follow them around, and told me how easy the test flight was. I was feeling confident…then a man had a heart attack as we began the descent into LaGuardia.

This is definitely not on the list of “GOOD OMENS” to begin your test flights.

We landed at LGA and medical personnel came and saved the day. Needless to say, I was a little freaked out about what was to come.

*** 

My first couple of flights went by in a blur. I was following Deb, my checkairman, around as she checked emergency equipment, marked things off lists I had never seen before, and generally operated a tight ship.

Finally, it was my turn.

I started as the main cabin flight attendant, which involves performing the safety demonstration and serving drinks to around 50 people in a 30 minute time slot.

So there I was, standing at the front of the plane, pretending to put an oxygen mask on my face when I start dying laughing. Not just a little smile or giggle, but a forceful “HA!” that burst out of my mouth. I tried to control myself, but continued to laugh for the duration of the safety demonstration.

I was scared of Deb's reaction. I made sure the demo equipment was properly stowed, and made my way to my seat. I kept my head down, only making eye contact with her when I was at the very back of the plane.

“You did GREAT!” she said, with a huge smile on her face. 

Definitely not the reaction I was expecting. 

***

As the plane took off, I sat there thinking about what made me laugh in the first place. Mainly, what am I doing?

Like I said in previous posts, I never considered being a flight attendant. Ever. It was a completely random, spur of the moment decision that – 2 months later – has turned into a dead serious job. I just finished weeks of training, and started dying laughing during the middle of the demonstration.

And that’s exactly what’s making me laugh – I’ve never put myself in the category of “flight attendant.” I’ve said this a million times, but in my mind FA’s are all 50-something relics of the PanAm days, slightly hunched and grumpy.

So I’m standing up there, and I’m worried what these 65 strangers think about me. I wanted them to know that I ignore the safety demonstration when I fly, too, and that I don’t know how I ended up here either. I want them to know I, too, think I look terrible in my uniform, and have no idea how to tie a scarf around my neck without looking like a complete wanker.

I’ve always wanted to be one of those people that doesn’t give a shit what people say about them, but I’m just not. In 6th grade I cried and cried when Whit Albritton called me gay for decorating his locker on his birthday. Seriously.

And everyone has told me what a cool job this is. They say they’re jealous, or that they think it’s awesome that I’m doing something so different. But I have a sort of stigma against my new job, and am having trouble moving past it. 

*** 

So I continued to laugh my way through my test flights, and in the end passed with flying colors. It’s official: I’m a certified flight attendant.

My last flight ended with passengers giving me high fives as I made my way down the aisle. 

“Why’d they like you so much?” my mom asked when I got back.

“Probably because I’m not 50 and a huge bitch like all the other flight attendants they’ve encountered. Laughing hysterically throughout the flight might have helped, too” I responded.

I’m going to continue to laugh my way through the job – that’s the only way I’m gonna get through it.  

And I agree it’s completely ridiculous that I’m a flight attendant.

 So I’ve taken out all of my earrings, and have a Frequent Buyers card for the Belk Hosiery Department. I have a collection of brightly colored lipstick, and can now find Wisconsin on a map.

And I wear Naturalizer heels sometimes.