The Glamorous Life… without love, it ain’t much

If you read my blog, you know I’ve been sidelined for the past 6 months with an injury. But I am pleased to report that I’m flying again! October was my first month back, and it turned out to be an unusual month. Unusual because I flew “new” routes with mostly “new” flight attendants. 

Like everything else in my industry, schedules are based on seniority, which I have a fair amount of. However, I missed the window to bid for my schedule, so I had to pick up “open” or uncovered trips. You can imagine the types of trips that were uncovered. My choices included early check-ins, long duty days, short layovers, multiple legs (flights) with sits between them. I’m sure you can also imagine who typically flies these lovely trips -reserves. Our most junior flight attendants are reserves on call. Last month, I had the privilege of flying almost exclusively with our flight attendants in the reserve pool. It was a delight, and I think we both taught each other some things. 

First of all, I had no idea I liked Florida. Previously, I didn’t have a good impression of Florida. I remember torrential rain and the sky being the wrong color. But after spending several layovers, up and down the state last month, I’ve changed my mind. The sky is, in fact, blue. Unless it’s orange-pink.

Another thing I learned last month was gratitude. I am so grateful for my seniority. Yes, I’ve earned it, but I don’t take it for granted. The trips I flew in October were difficult, and not just because I’m not 20 anymore. I have stamina. In fact, sometimes, I was running circles around my younger flying partners. But in all fairness, my junior colleagues have to fly these demanding trips month after month, not just week after week, as I did. Reserves don’t have the luxury of planning ahead and mentally preparing themselves because sometimes they don’t get assigned a trip until the last minute. And often, the assignment comes in the middle of the night. I remember those days when the crew desk was calling me at 3:00am.  

To add insult to injury, they’re broke. They don’t make much money, and that’s an issue if you’re based in San Francisco. An SFO based reserve most likely lives in a crash pad. Crash pads were never meant for full-time living. They were meant for commuting. But nowadays, reserves can’t afford a proper apartment even with roommates, resulting in many reserves literally living out of a suitcase. Sometimes they live with over 20 people in a crash pad -renting either a hot or cold bed. A cold bed means that no one sleeps in it but you. A hot bed is shared and, of course, cheaper.

Allow me to explain. Flight attendants aren’t home every night, so some crash pads rent beyond capacity, gamboling that everyone won’t show up on the same night. For example, a crash pad may have 6 bunk beds or 12 beds total. But to make the rent cheaper, instead of renting to 12 people, they will rent to 16 or more. That’s a hot bed.  

Hot or cold, I think we can all agree that it sounds awful. So, I’m sure many reserves look forward to their layovers and private hotel rooms. But a layover is more than a room of one’s own. It can be fun, maybe even adventurous. And for some (me), it can be expensive.   

When hanging out with junior flight attendants, it’s customary for the senior flight attendant to pick up the tab. Our layover hotel in Miami has a rooftop bar. At $20 a drink, I wasn’t loving this tradition. BUT I was grateful. Grateful to be meeting new people, going to new (old) places (Florida), and grateful to be back at work!

I’m also grateful that it’s November, and I’m once again, flying senior trips!   

P.S.  When I was a new hire,

I had 6 roommates. However, our apartment had 5 bedrooms. 

While I was in training, my girlfriend called and asked if I wanted to share a room with her in San Francisco. She had found an apartment in the city across from The Presidio. The catch: we would be renting the formal dining room (pocket doors providing privacy) with 5 construction workers from Boston. I don’t know how she hooked up with these young Irishmen, but I said, “YES!” 

I knew I would be based in San Francisco, and I needed a place to live. We were in our 20’s, starting out, up for anything. Only… not really. Not me. I was starting my dream job, and I wasn’t only on reserve; I was on probation. And I did not want to mess up. The crew desk was routinely calling me in the middle of the night. I was both exhausted and stressed, which made me the un-fun and un-cool roommate.

I felt like I was living in a Frat-house. My five construction worker roommates enjoyed a parade of girlfriends who routinely used our female-designated bathroom. Not to mention, their girlfriends helped themselves to all of my expensive products (which I could barely afford). This fact alone made me disgruntled. But the parties they threw every single weekend did me in. After one trip, I came home to find my towel in the living room following a bachelor party …with strippers! My products were one thing, but my towel?! Yuck! It went straight into the garbage.  

During one of their many parties, I retreated to one of my 5 roommate’s beds (farthest and hopefully quietest from the festivities). I was desperate to get some sleep. But while lying there in his bed, wide awake, I came to the realization that I had to move out.  

However, looking back, at least I can say that it was affordable: $250 a month to share a bedroom across from the Presidio. These days, new hires would die for a similar situation. 

Actually, millenials with high-paying tech jobs would die for a similar situation.