Travel Is Sweet & It Hurts My Feet

I BECAME A FLIGHT ATTENDANT. I wrote that in all caps to get your attention. And because I’m obnoxious.

And it’s official; I’ve been a flight attendant for two weeks. I’ve jet-setted to Washington DC, Seattle, Las Vegas and well…OK-Lansing, Michigan and Madison, Wisconsin. So far, I’ve shacked up in two hotels. And I’m really beginning to get crazy for this lifestyle. The pompous side of me totally loves how passengers look at flight attendants in airports-or really, wherever you go dressed up like it’s Halloween every day (blazer, pencil skirt, nylons and chunky heeled loafers). Since my mother has been a flight attendant for 23 years, I’ve never noticed the allure of stewardesses until right now.

We have a job straight out of 1960’s allure and fantasy, kind of like a a ring girl in a circus. We travel, do things no one can imagine (i.e. jump in a giant tube to hit 40,000 feet into the skies every day), we dress in costume-like garb, and see the world. Traveling is essentially, a heightened luxury-as it always has been. Although throughout the years, people have turned airports into dark places where hangovers are nursed and they wear PINK sweatpants and high buns, it’s still different. Flying is not something every person in the world does every day.

For that, I feel pretty special. But one of the very best parts about being a flight attendant, isn’t even feeling like a pompous asshole while walking through the airport and right through security like a high class pro.


We get our own room, and since two beds don’t need to suffocate the space-there is one triumphant sleeping haven. The bed takes nearly one side of an entire wall. And the sheets always smell like clean heat. The first thing I do is check every crevasse in the room to make sure a murderer isn’t lingering in the shower. Then, I tear off my nylons, hang up my uniform and turn on the TV. I explore what the hotel has to offer for free. Sometimes, there is a cute little bag on the bed full of lilac bed spray, eye mask or complimentary mints and tea. There is always a lovely bar of face soap that smells like herbs and honey. And if you’re extra lucky, (and staying at the DoubleTree), you get a warm chocolate chip cookie.

I do a spin and change into comfortable clothing. And then I make a deliberate mess. I take a shower and let water dampen the floor everywhere, throw my towel on the ground, wash my face and splash cool water all over the marble. I lay in the bed and let the covers crumple and bunch on one side of the bed. I write notes on my complimentary hotel pad of paper and toss it into the garbage and miss…don’t care.

Mind you, I’m not shitting on the floor and smearing it around. I do not need a hotel maid to deal with gag reflexive disgusting things. But I WILL make an innocent mess just because I can. Just because I’m not worried about cleaning it up. And just because the carelessness of feeling like I’m in 4th grade again makes me feel youthful and free.

When I come back from exploring the city, I jack up the air conditioner fan so I can sleep in the cool. I make Wolf Gang Puck tea and snuggle under the covers (after removing the comforter because I know the last time anyone washed that was the 80s). My feet are tender from walking all day, so I stack them up on pillows or soak them in a bubbly tub bath. I watch whatever I want, I drink sweet tea from the vending machine outside of my room. I keep my blinds open a slit so the sun can seep in come morning. I position myself diagonally in the bed. I do everything…JUST BECAUSE I CAN HERE. It’s WONDERFUL.

I fall asleep whenever I want, feeling oddly safe and alone. I don’t talk to anyone, unless I want to. Then I call them. I fall asleep like an angel, waking up once throughout the night to realize I have 5 more hours of sleep to endure. I turn over, nuzzle my head in the sweet, stark white pillow and flutter into a careful rest. In the morning, the shuttle will be there to pick us up. I don’t have to worry about scheduling anything. Only when to press ‘Brew’ on my complimentary coffee. And to remember taking the extra face bar soap home.

I wake up feeling like a power ranger. Charged and alive. I feel slightly organized and set to go once I neatly pack my suitcase. And I wheel my little life out of the room and waltz to the elevator. My feet feel rested and unswollen from my long walk down the Vegas strip the previous day. Life is effortlessly simple. My pressed blazer and clean nylons aren’t the only things that express it.

My face looks taught and fabulous from contentment and that herbs and honey soap.

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Categories: Read


University of Saint Thomas graduate. Minnesota-bred and happy to talk about the weather any time you’d like! Strongly believes any situation can be bettered by a slice of generously buttered toast or Phil Dunphy. Would get arrested to touch Justin Timberlake’s face. Always trying to be a better person by not wishing horrible karma on people driving slow in the fast lane. Hear more: @twitter @instagram


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One Comment on “Travel Is Sweet & It Hurts My Feet”

  1. October 18, 2011 at 1:07 pm #

    Well, now you have more exciting things to write about on your blog, and I can’t wait to read them!

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