Welcome Aboard!

"Welcome"
"Welcome"
"Good afternoon"
"Welcome"
Blah blah blah blah.

This will be my 843rd short-haul flight in 1.5 years. Hard to believe, huh? Time flies when you're having fun. (See what I did there?). The pay isn't great, but the benefits are good. And hey, my parents will make out like bandits in the event I perish in a crash.

I stifle a sigh as the passengers shuffle through the cabin on their way to their seats. Of course, they stop temporarily to block the aisles and jam their oversized bags into the overhead bins, obstructing the path of the other passengers. If I'm lucky today, I won't have to break up a fight between these high strung high flyers fighting over the overhead bins. Ah yeah. Another day, another dollar.

As the passengers settle into their seats, it's really my time to shine. I mean, who doesn't fucking LOVE watching safety demonstrations? Looking all hot n' shit, showing you how to buckle your seatbelt and escape in the event of an emergency, and where to drop a deuce. Well evidently Old Creep loves them, because he's got his eyes locked on my legs, peeking out of my unflattering corporate pencil skirt, paired with my practical 1 inch navy blue square heels with Dr.Schols insoles. Other than that, no one watches, clearly more absorbed in their Skymall magazines, iPhones and e-readers. In the event of an emergency? FUCK EM.

It's right about now that Facelift Lady NEEDS to know when the beverage cart is coming around. Clearly so she can guzzle her Chardonnay to better chase down those Ativans. ONE FUCKING MINUTE, MA'AM! Jesus H Christ I haven't even put away my safety display bag!

Beverage cart is the worst part of the job, no question. The absolute fucking worst. It has all the glory of being a waitress, but without the tits or tips. As I push the cart along with my colleague Perky Patty, handing out snacks and wondering who the hell actually likes tomato juice, I just wait for Drunk Guy to start complaining about how much vodka I poured into his glass. HEY FUCKFACE, IT'S PRE MEASURED. TAKE IT UP WITH THE GOVERNMENT.

Sigh. The one good thing about these short haul flights is that once beverage cart is done, all I need to do is pick up the trash and we've basically landed. So yah, all the glory of a garbage man, but without the pay. Smells like cheap cologne and ass in here already.

As we begin our descent, I remind Teen Mom that her child needs to be strapped into the seat next to her, tray table in the upright position. And yes, that includes crayons put away. After a bit of stink eye, she grudgingly obliges. Hey sister I DONT WANT YOUR BABY GETTING A FUCKING CRAYOLA IN THE EYE, even if It means she screams all the FUCKING WAY TO THE TERMINAL. Goddamn these people!

And then, almost as quickly as it began, it's over. I get to sit down and have a minute to myself before it's time to herd the humans through the deplaning process. There's always one jackass who ruins it for everyone. WE GET IT, YOUR BAG IS VERY FRAGILE. Now get off my plane.

And yes, it's 15 degrees in Chicago. Slight breeze out of the Northwest. Flight number 843 complete.

"Thank you"
"Thank you"
"Have a nice evening"
"Thanks"
"Goodbye"