Not that I have a huge readership, but I've decided to mosey on over to tumblr for a slightly easier blogging experience. You can follow my adventures at http://greengrassbluesky.tumblr.com/ , otherwise, I'll see you in the sky.

There seems to be a perception that working in the service industry is something to be ashamed of.

I enjoy my job, which is more than most people who work in offices can say. In the past month I've handled two medical emergencies and helped a young mother with an awful fear of flying run away from an abusive, drug abusing boyfriend.

There's nothing wrong with enjoying what you do and there's nothing wrong with enjoying being a stew. I have many, many friends in the industry with degrees in various fields (business admin, urban studies, and multiple nurses). Finding fulfillment is about more than having a big title to brag about.

Furthermore, I DO have other ambitions. This job gives me plenty of time to write and read and I want to get my pilot's license. Plus, I get to take trips all over the world for pennies, which is pretty damn cool.

I mean, I appreciate the sentiment. I get that I'm working in the service industry and I could probably find something better paying with a more important title. But on the other hand, most of my college friends are working low paying jobs at retail positions, so it's not like I'm doing that much worse than the rest of them. I'm glad to have any job, much less a job that lets me fly the planet on a whim.

I am eating instant oatmeal out of a cup that I made in a hotel bathroom with an instant coffee pot. Who said the airline industry isn't glamorous anymore?

What's wrong in American politics

In Washington DC for the "night" with a whopping 4 hours of rest period.

Shower status: cold cold cold cold cold cold OH GOD MY SKIN IS GONE HOT HOT HOT frostbite.

I think I've solved the political gridlock in our country, guys. First order of business: more warm showers for all.

liars, dirty liars

I know it's been a long time since the last post. It is of course this restlessness of spirit (a fancy way of saying that I have a short attention span) which makes my job so perfect, but proves a challenge to my blooming career as a blogger.

So what could quell this flight attendant's flightiness? Why, being stranded in an airport during a blizzard, of course! Today happens to be the first major snowstorm of the season in Detroit, and I am so lucky as to be sitting on airport reserve. Airport reserve means hanging out in the airport in case of unforeseen emergencies with another assigned crew, such as a flight attendant getting injured at the last minute, traffic delays on the way to the airport, or the always likely food poisoning from Taco Bell. So basically, I'm here in case something bad happens and mostly just have free time to wander the airport and daydream. 95% of the time, you don't get called to fly.

Days like today are especially interesting or infuriating to spend people watching. It's no wonder so many sitcoms use the "stuck in the airport near a holiday" trope, because nights like tonight really bring out the crazy hysterics in people. Unfortunately, unlike in sitcoms, real airport delays don't end in warm and fuzzy moments of insightful family togetherness. Instead, they end in bitter fights over travel pillows, arguments over whose turn it is to watch the luggage, restless sleep on airport benches, and hateful stares at the gate agents, flight attendants and pilots who so clearly wished this discomfort upon them.

There are no moments of family togetherness when airports are shut down for weather, unless one unified hatred for the airline industry and all its representatives count as bonding.

Let me elaborate. Though today is expected to be the biggest storm so far for Detroit, we haven't actually seen a single flake yet. Therefore, everybody here is furious that their flight has been delayed or canceled.

"What do you mean, delayed due to weather?!" incredulous passengers always rage, "it's perfectly clear out there!"

"I'm flying with ________ Airlines next time, this is ridiculous!"

"It's just a little snow!"

"My brain doesn't work right and I don't understand basic geography or physics! I'm so angry, I'm going to go suffocate my feelings with a Cinnabon, though I may need to rest on the moving sidewalk along the way."

Okay, so the last one is clearly an excerpt from my imaginary narrations, but the point is valid. It's not snowing here or in a lot of the destinations, but airplanes aren't like bus routes. One plane doesn't just fly back and forth between two destinations like a bus or a subway car. A plane flying to Louisville, Kentucky might have come from Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesota, then fly to Detroit then Kennedy, back to Detroit and then to Florida.

So, just because you're going from Detroit to Florida doesn't mean a storm in Minneapolis won't cause a delay. If there's no other spare plane/crew that can be easily thrown together, you'll just have to wait.

It's not as if airline employees are sitting in the back rooms of the airport cackling and counting the bonuses we get for canceling flights as the passengers attempt to form suitable bedding from the contents of their suitcases, nesting up like hamsters in cedar. We're just as tired, just as frustrated, just as abused by the prices of airport eateries, and just as stranded as our passengers. We want to go home too.

I realize it's incredibly frustrating to be delayed or canceled, but when I walk through the airport in my uniform on nights like tonight, I can't help but notice the expectant glances and angry stares. I try to smile as passengers find it cathartic to approach me, at best making overplayed jokes about airline reliability and at worst, shaking with rage and their insistence that they'll fly another, more competent airline next time.

I try to bite my tongue and smile because that's what they want, not a lesson on weather patterns or geography. I try not to tell them that Richard Branson is already moving into space and if any airline is going to acquire a weather machine, it'll be Virgin.

But until Richard Branson completes his world domination (my estimate is 2023), you'll just have to trust that a weather delay is legitimate, even if it looks sunny where you're sitting. I don't expect you'll use the time to form introspective bonds with your travel companions, because that just happens in sitcom airports. For the rest of us, there's always sudoku.

the little things

I feel like there a few joys so simple and yet so wonderful after a 12 hour day on a plane as discovering that your hotel room has a microwave.

Slam.

Click.

Ireland was lovely, just plain lovely. We had pretty fantastic weather, considering we were going to Ireland in the end of September/start of October.

On the advise of a rather charming old Irish man we met in a bar, we took a day trip to Bray. We had been promised a miniature Irish Coney Island, go-karts, arcades, and candy galore.

Of course, it being the waning days of September, this summery seaside resort had all but shut down. Some sparse lonely ice cream and sweet shops remained open but the few tourists meandering about clearly had no interest, as the saltwater breeze forced all jackets closed and faces down to avoid the wind.

Not to be deterred, we set our sights high.























Although we were woefully under prepared for such a hike in our dresses, tights, and ballet flats, we decided to go for it anyway. The path starts nice enough with a paved road to follow. The pavement soon turns to stone, and the stone into stone steps. We thought we were in for an easy and relaxing stroll, but it soon turned from pavement to dirt and from dirt to mud and loose rock.

Bre and I were feeling pretty mighty as we huffed and puffed up the side of the hill, until a man of almost 70 passed us with a cheery, "Good mornin' girls!" (though in our defense, the area we come from is flatter than Keira Knightly, so such a climb is not an every day trip for us).

We finally made it to the top, our tights torn from the brush and our Midwest butts burning from the unaccustomed feel of any type of geographical incline whatsoever.

Remember that tiny little cross? Yeah, not so tiny.



















But an incredibly beautiful view.

Photos are property of Bird in Boots.