Last Call: A story

Angela dreams of airplane disasters. This is usually while she is on an airplane working as a flight attendant. Whenever she gives her take-off speech and instructs passengers how to buckle their seatbelts and prepare for an airline emergency she wants to add some things at the end. In her little fantasy she tells the passengers that she is the one sitting closest to the main exit. That means in case of emergency her salary is not enough to ensure that she helps the passengers safely out the door. She wants to tell them that she will be the first one out the door unless she gets a raise. She wants a disaster to happen so she can abandon the passengers, to leave them stunned and speechless until a passenger finally says, “She wasn’t kidding.”

She wants to leave behind the unruly children and the parents who do nothing to calm their kids down. The older man who made a comment to her about joining the mile high club, he’s on his own. To all of the men who look at her and conspire she wants to remind them that she is wearing a uniform. Not an outfit, not a costume. It is company issued and is in no way meant to be comfortable or sexy. Anyone who has ever looked at her and envisioned some sort of fantasy can find the exit on their own. She will not tell them to stay low to give them extra time in case the plane fills with smoke. She will not tell them that a mad dash to the exit is a bad idea. If an emergency happens and they are on the ground, while they are looking around for their flight attendant to give them guidance, she will be long gone.

Angela thinks to herself, “In case of emergency, I quit.”

The plane eventually lands without incident. The passengers leave the plane, filing out with their carry-on baggage. No one tells her thank you. A child cries at her and a man gives her a suggestive wink. She retains her corporate smile and makes sure that each and every person leaving the plane gets a bye-bye.

Last to leave are Angela, the pilot, and the first officer. If a first officer ever bothers her or tries to flirt she’ll respond with, “What’s a fancy word for co-pilot?”

It’s the end of their day and they walk through the airport to wait for a shuttle. Pilots function like they’re in some kind of fraternity. It doesn’t matter if they’re the new thirty-something or the outgoing sixty year old, they all have the same attitude. They flirt relentlessly with the female flight crew and take unpaid bets on the sexuality of male flight attendants. Angela has found it amazing that so many people get on a plane and put their hands in the lives of men with the maturity level of high school boys.

Waiting for the shuttle to the hotel the pilot and first officer talk and talk like teenage girls on the telephone. Talking about movies, female actresses they’d take to bed. How they couldn’t wait for the trip to be over so they could hit a bar.

Angela wants to tell the passengers that it’s regulation that no flight crew drinks twelve hours before a flight. She wants to tell the passengers that the flight crew takes it as more of a kind suggestion. She wants to say that if they are on the third day of a three day trip, the flight crew is functioning on maybe six or seven hours of sleep total. Add alcohol to that and judgement is slightly impaired. Add an airplane filled with jet fuel and passengers and it’s a lot different then driving the car home after a few beers with the guys. She wants to tell the passengers that they really shouldn’t be so trusting when it comes to putting their lives in the hands of someone else. Especially when that person is on salary.

The shuttle arrives late as usual. The pilots take their chatter onto the shuttle while Angela only looks forward to a hotel room where she can kick off her heels and take off her polyester uniform.

Every step she takes is one more rub against the blisters forming on her big toes. Every step from the shuttle to the hotel lobby where the pilots check them in and get room keys. All three of them get separate rooms. Then there are the steps from the lobby, up a flight of stairs because the elevator is under maintenance, then down the hallway to her room. The first officer walks her to her room. It’s a gesture she appreciates but she knows how pilots are. There will be some pass at her and she’ll give him a polite smile and close the door.

This one must be new, Angela thinks to herself. He takes her to her room, makes sure she gets in, wishes her goodnight and is on her way. One less problem she has to deal with. Not even two steps into the room and the heels are kicked off, flying across the room and falling under a small table. She works the buttons and straps of her one piece uniform, taking it off with quickness but placing it on a hanger with care. She’ll need it again in the morning. Then it’s into something more comfortable, unflattering grey sweat pants and a simple black tank top. She removes her socks and wiggles her toes as if to let them know that they’re free, at least until morning.

On her way in she noticed the hotel had a bar, a rarity she thought. A quick debate went through her mind whether she should risk having a drink or just take a bath and go to bed. Sure, rules are rules, but ever since the airline promised random alcohol testing on flight crew no one has been tested. The odds were in her favor if she didn’t overdo it.

She walked down to the bar, not worried about getting caught. If the pilots came in they’d make a joke about how she’s not supposed to be drinking but then they would order something themselves. They weren’t getting paid enough to make it worthwhile to rat out a fellow crew member. Job security was the last thing they worried about.

The bar looked like some kind of 1940's relic. An open space with a stage, not used for a concert or dancing in decades. The bar looked just as unused, if it weren’t for all of the liquor bottles and beer taps she could have sworn the place was closed down. A young bartender in a t-shirt and jeans stood behind the bar watching sports highlights on television. She took a seat near the end of the bar and it took a moment for the bartender to realize someone had come by. He must not have been expecting any customers at this hour. Angela ordered a vodka cranberry and made an unspoken promise to drink only one. While making the drink the bartender glanced occasionally at the television screen. Angela wanted to ask if he had money riding on one of the games but thought it was better to not get personal.

A few sips into her drink and she found herself watching the sports highlights. She didn’t know the teams, and if not for the clips of game footage she would have no idea what sport they were even talking about. It took her a moment before she realized that there was someone sitting two seats down from her. He orders a beer, taking the bartender away from the television for a moment. A new set of scores comes up and the bartender lets out an audible groan. Angela wanted to say tough break but stopped herself again.

“I’m Henry,” a man’s voice said. Angela was startled to see that the many sitting down from her was now sitting next to her, holding out his hand for a handshake. She met his hand, they shook politely and she said, “I’m Angela.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just not often that people come into places like this. I’m usually stuck drinking alone.” Angela wanted to tell him that just because they were at the same bar they weren’t drinking together. He did seem kind and maybe he was just looking for some drinking company. He looked like the kind of man that would be around her father’s office, the kind of businessman who regret going into the field.

“It’s fine,” she said, picking up her drink, finishing it off. Against her better judgement she ordered another.

“I’m here for a convention. A silly thing where a bunch of medical suppliers set up booths and show off the latest and greatest in enema bulbs and tongue depressors. A whole day of that and a man needs a drink.” Angela found herself smiling. She thought that maybe it was the drink, or that she was happy to have some polite conversation.

“I’m just passing through.” She said. Angela didn’t want to tell him she was a flight attendant and then have him notice her drinks.

“Aren’t we all just lonely travelers. I’m a product vendor for a medical supply company. I travel the country, staying at hotels, attending these silly conventions. Whenever someone comes up to our booth I have to convince them that our bedpans and IV bags are better then the next guy. It’s really silly when you ask me, but it pays the bills so who am I to judge?”

“Well if you’re unhappy why don’t you quit?”

“I have an ex-wife and two boys who would be extremely unhappy if daddy’s check didn’t come this month. The crazy harpy took my kids and now she wants to take all of my money. I’m sorry, I’m getting a little personal here, I don’t mean to be rude.”

Angela shook her head and pressed him to go on. She felt like she was talking to a passenger who wanted to explain himself, like Henry was apologizing for all of the terrible things that passengers have put her through. She’s been on hundreds and hundreds of flights and not a single passenger has opened up to her beyond simple orders or flirtatious comments.

“I can sell things. Anything, really. It doesn’t mean I like it though, in fact I quite hate it. It’s like every day I work I feel like some sort of crook. I sell things people don’t need, I take their money, and then I skip town and go on to the next one. Well what’s your story young lady? What brings you to a hotel bar in the middle of the night? What troubles you?”

Angela was well into her second drink and felt like opening up a little. “Don’t tell anyone but I’m a flight attendant.”

“Flying the friendly skies.”

“With unfriendly people,” she interrupted. “I’m here because all day I’ve been wearing heels from hell, biting my tongue from dozens of passengers giving me small demands, simple things they could either do themselves or do without. No I’m not supposed to be drinking but it’s the only thing that’s going to keep me from trying to bring down the plane myself.” Henry let out a soft laugh, throwing his head back.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I don’t blame you either, people walk all over whoever they get the chance to. If you want a drink you deserve a drink.”

“Have you noticed,” Henry says, “That every hotel is the same. Airport hotels especially. It’s disorienting. You wake up, you have no idea what city you’re in or where you are. You can’t remember if it’s Birmingham or Tallahassee. Then very slowly the brain starts firing up and you remember everything, but that same disorienting feeling happens all the time.”

“Exactly, it’s like they’re trying to remind you that this is not a place anyone would want to call home.” They shared a laugh, two strangers with a common bond.

The bartender came by and said, “Last call.”

Angela went for her pockets to get some cash but then realized that her pants had no pockets. That her purse and her money were up in her room in her suitcase. In a panicked moment she patted her thighs anyway, the place where pockets would be, as if money were to miraculously appear if she tried hard enough. Henry took notice and put his hand politely on her should to ease her out of the panic. “Don’t worry, I’ll get your tab. It’s the least I could do for you keeping me company.” Angela thanked him repeatedly, offering to go to her room and get money to pay him back. He put a hand up in refusal telling her it is perfectly alright.

Henry took a wallet out of his back pocket and produced a handful of bills. He dropped it on the counter and stood up from his stool. Angela stood up as well.

Henry held out his arm toward the exit and said, “Shall I walk the lady up to her room?” Angela found herself filled with an alcohol induced giddiness and began walking. They traveled up the steps and down the hallway. Angela stopped a few doors down from her room.

“I’m right down there,” Angela said, pointing down the hallway toward her room.

“I’m a few down this way,” Henry said, pointing in the opposite direction.

An awkward silence lingered between them, gazes shifting from each other to the floors and walls. Henry broke the silence, “You’re welcome to come to my room if you like.” Directly after the words came out his face changed, knowing he had just overstepped some sort of unspoken boundary.

Angela smiled and said, “No, I’ve got an early flight.” Henry looked guilty and apologized.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it was a pleasure meeting you Henry,” Angela held out her hand, offering a handshake. Henry met it and gave a quick shake.

“Good evening, Angela. Enjoy your travels.” He walked off in a hurry, embarrassed by his comment. Angela turned to walk back to her room but slightly turned her head around to see what room Henry went into. He used the card key, hurried into the room and shut the door. Angela stood at her door, her key card held in the waistband of her pants. She went to grab it and let herself in but something stopped her.

She started walking toward Henry’s room, walking quick but on her tip toes, like some child sneaking out of their room for a midnight snack. She stopped at Henry’s door. Her hand raised up in a fist to knock on the door but never made contact. She was gripped with second thoughts.

He wasn’t a particularly attractive man, and much older than anyone she had ever put any thought into. She was confusing pleasant conversation for something more, something deep. She put her hand down and thought that just because they share the same awful travel arrangements doesn’t mean they have to share the same bed. She waved goodnight to the door and hurried, on tip toes, back to her room. She used the keycard and turned the knob slowly, closing the door behind her with two hands, trying not to make a sound.

In the morning she awoke and had the same confusing thought. She forgot the town, the day. Morning amnesia that gripped her every morning she woke on a trip. Gradually facts came back to her, if they came back any more sudden she might scream.

She prepared herself for the workday ahead. A quick shower, back into the uniform, unwillingly back into the dreadful blister factory heels. A quick check of the room and everything was in her bag and in order. The pilots would be waiting for her downstairs.

They were already in the lobby, waiting for Angela to turn in her key. The pilot said they were running late, that the shuttle would be here any minute. On the way out of the lobby Henry passed by, just coming from the complimentary breakfast set up by the hotel. His gaze met with Angela’s and a slight nod passed between the both of them but they continued walking.

Outside Angela and the pilots waited on the bench. The shuttle was running late again.