Flying by the Seat of My Pants: Flight Attendant Adventures on a Wing and a Prayer
Read Flying by the Seat of My Pants: Flight Attendant Adventures on a Wing and a Prayer Online
Authors: Marsha Marks
Tags: #General, #Humor, #Religion, #Inspirational
Praise for
Flying by the Seat of My Pants
“As a frequent flier who has accumulated enough air miles that the pilots often come ask me for directions midflight, I am very aware of the funny (as well as the not-so-funny) things that can happen to any passenger! Marsha’s book gives us a behind-the-scenes look. This is a fun and honest read that humorously helps put life into perspective.”
—B
RAD
S
TINE
, comedian and author
“Few of us get to realize our dreams. Fewer still write about the experience. And truly rare are those who do so as captivatingly as Marsha Marks has done in
Flying By the Seat of My Pants
, by sharing a personal look at her life in the air and on the ground.”—D
AVID
M. R
OWELL
, publisher of
The Travel Insider
newsletter and Web site
“Marsha Marks is witty, entertaining, insightful, and basically herself. Her writings are a breath of fresh air.”
—J
OHN
L. H
OH JR
., author of
Silent Meditations for a Silent Night
“Laugh out loud funny. Marsha Marks gives an outstanding voice, sense of humor, and personality to the folks so many of us know only as, ‘Excuse me, Miss!’“
—S
USAN
F
ARREN
, inspirational speaker and author of
The Fireman’s Wife
“Flying by the Seat of My Pants
is that rare sort of book that has me giggling helplessly. Marsha Marks is a winning combination of wacky class clown and quietly perceptive observer. You will
love
this ride!”—S
HAUNTI
F
ELDHAHN
, author of
For Women Only: What You Need to Know About the Inner Lives of Men
“Flying by the Seat of My Pants
is laughter at thirty-thousand feet.”—J
OYCE
D
IXON
,
Southern Scribe
This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever flown a commercial flight or anyone who has ever wondered what it is like to be a flight attendant, but especially it is dedicated to my first four wing-sisters: Tracy Frame, Susan Evans, Sally “Blackie” Bartlett, and Melanie Feddersen. If you are interested in what happened to these former flight attendants after they left their careers, turn to the afterword, where I list what they are all doing today
.
3.
The Beverly Hillbillies Without the Beverly
4.
Getting the Job of My Dreams
6.
Training
8.
The Omniscient Flight Attendant
9.
The Most Embarrassing Thing
10.
The Former President of the United States, the Secret Service, and Me
13.
What Do You Have in This Bag?
15.
Marry Me, Fly Free—on a Seat-Available Basis
16.
Flying Free
17.
Becoming Pregnant Just Before Joining AARP
18.
The Dream of Becoming a Spud
19.
Saving Lives
20.
Packing
22.
Flight Delays
23.
The Day I Was Deemed a Security Threat
27.
Landing in the State of Confusion
28.
Hot Towels?
29.
Dreams of Sleeping in the Ice Bucket
33.
The Strangest Thing That Happened on My Flight
34.
Suzy New Hire
36.
Wally—Who Was Eighty-Seven Years Old
IntroductionA
s you read these stories you might ask, “Are these true? Did this really happen?”
The answer is yes—to most of the stories.
I really did get evicted from an apartment. I really did live in a tiny camper in the front yard of a friend of mine for a few weeks. I really did call up the airline and pitch myself to them in the third person, I really did work in a size 2 uniform once when I wore a size 12, and I actually have a photo of me in an overhead bin. And both the wig story and the toupee story really happened. But you should know right from the onset that I did change some details in certain stories in this book to protect both the innocent and the potentially embarrassed.
HAPTER 1
I
f you can’t be Miss America and you can’t be a model, then you become a flight attendant.” The flight attendant sitting next to me was explaining why she decided to go for this job.
She was a former Miss Southern Some-Kind-of-Fruit State, she said. And when she didn’t get crowned Miss America, her daddy said, “You need to get away and grieve the loss.” He thought travel would help. So he called up his good friend, the president of our airline, and said, “My little Peaches here needs a job.” She went on and on with the details. “Since I wasn’t ready to marry Mr. Frank Barnell Jeffreys III…quite yet, Daddy
said this job was a good one for a girl who was pre-engaged. He said it would keep me busy so Mr. FBJ would not grow tired of me before the wedding.”
I could understand that. I was growing tired of her, and we had only just met. I was also hoping she wouldn’t ask me why I took this job.
“Why did you take this job, honey?” she said, leaning into me as she bit a piece of celery without it touching her lipstick. “I mean”—she pointed the celery at me—“with you being so old and all.” (She was twenty-one. I was thirty.) “And…so big.” She used her celery to draw a huge circle of air around me.
She was five foot two and wore a size 0. I was six feet tall and wore a size 10. My shoe size was double hers. I felt like a Siberian work dog being taunted by a toy poodle. But I was too intimidated to bark at her, so I decided to tell her the truth.
“I’m trying to get over a loss too,” I said.
“Honey, what do you mean? Did you lose your husband?” She held the celery directly under my mouth and moved in closer, like it was a microphone and she was the media.
I grabbed the celery and started speaking into it. “Well yes, you could say that. My fiancé left me for a younger woman.”
Then I told Peaches the story of my life in a few sentences: how after college, I wanted to be a writer but instead became a recruiter for the fast-food division of a dog food company. And how I couldn’t find true love until age twenty-seven. Then
I got engaged, and a few months before my wedding, my fiancé left me for a twenty-two-year-old. But he wasn’t right for me anyway, I realized, and not just because he wasn’t tall enough for me.
I could see Peaches loved the drama of my life. After my speech, she grabbed the microphone and bit it. Then she gave me a warning. “It will be hard for you now, being over thirty. The chances of you ever meeting anyone…well, you know… anyone with teeth, are just, honey, not good!” She stood and walked out of the galley, holding her hand near her hair as if adjusting an invisible crown.
I was left alone to ponder my fate.
She was right and I knew it.
I was doomed.
There was no hope.
I had lost my job, lost my fiancé, and lost my apartment. Now look at me, a big old work dog in flight attendant clothing.
