March 7th, 1990

March 7th, 1990

At home

I can’t wait to get back to work tomorrow! Well, when I say work, I mean stepping onboard the Boeing 747 and preparing the cabin for hundreds of passengers who will eat and drink their way across the Atlantic, all with hopefully little or no incident.

After we land at JFK, the passengers will disembark and go on their merry way, while we, the crew, will take a nicely appointed “bus” to Manhattan, where we’ll check into a hotel with at least a four-star rating.

In the plush hotel lobby, along with our room key, we’ll receive an envelope containing cash (aka allowances, always in local currency) to cover the cost of breakfast, lunch and dinner at the hotel, none of which will be consumed there; not when, for a fraction of the cost you can eat at the deli across the street.

In my room, I’ll kick off my shoes and wait for my suitcase to be delivered (always a $1 tip) before taking a shower and heading out. Depending on what Christopher is up to, I’ll either spend the evening with him (my first choice) or my crew.

At the end of the evening, I’ll slip between the high thread count sheets and stay in bed until I feel like getting up, with no alarm necessary. If I can’t be bothered to venture out, I’ll pick up the phone and order room service.

When it’s time to leave, I’ll put my uniform on and do it all over again, only this time heading back to London. At the end of the duty day (around eight am) I’ll get in my car and while I drive home, I’ll think about how I’d like to spend my days off.

Work? Yeah, right!

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