Every morning I see this woman walking in to work. She looks like a flight attendant - pulls a wheely rolly bag thing behind her that rattles along the pavement and wears a flowing scarf that ties in an effortless bow beneath her collar. I wonder if she knows that she so heavily resembles a flight attendant. Maybe she is or has always aspired to be one. To me it is mildly unnerving. She sports the bleached hair, gold jewelry and ham smile to boot.
When I was younger I wanted to be a flight attendant, but not a hackjob one. I wanted the pill box hat, a matching piece of circular luggage, pencil skirt, blazer, scarf and neatly pinned up hair. I wanted to see the world. And when I say When I was younger, I'm referring from the ages of seventeen until now. This feeling has not gone away.
The yearning to assist passengers in flight was only escalated when I traveled abroad three years ago. In Germany they still wear the traditional attire. KLM, you are one classy airline.
What is it that so attracts me to serving unruly flyers beverages and meals, fetching blankets and quelling nerves? Is it the overwhelming need to help people? Or is it merely a vehicle to not be grounded - to be a freewheelin' nomad with a foot in every city? I've wanted to travel always. Perhaps this is from a fear of settling, of the anonymity it brings, the excite and intrigue. I wonder if this goes away over time.
In the meantime, I daydream about being in flight, moving, going.
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13 years ago
