So we're flying Delta -- the "flight leader" is one of those ancient flight attendants -- thin and taut and leathery, like a coiled bullwhip -- who has been flying since the miniskirt and jaunty cap days. There's nothing she hasn't seen, no route she hasn't flown. She knows no fear. The other attendant in our section is also older, but more frumpy, and even a little mannish. She looks as if some of the vertebrae in her neck are missing.
The leader attends to the pilots and those in business class. We get the minions, who seem nice enough, if a little terrified, of the leader.
I watch her bustling gracefully up and down the aisle -- I imagine that she studied ballet as a young girl (perhaps she still does?) and dreamed of a career on the stage. But the romance of travel -- and the carefree life of a stewardess beckoned (note: when she started, she was a stewardess. Honest.) Perhaps she flew the European routes, having affairs with handsome pilots, saving up to buy Hermes scarves, bringing home souvenirs for her kid sister. Perhaps she imagined that one day she would settle down -- mary that cute pilot from the NY - Paris flight - but couldn't kick the lifestyle. It's hard to settle down when you've got wanderlust.
So here she is, matriarch of the plane, running a tight ship but spoiling her regulars, just a little. Her kid sister is a grandmother now, so the souvenirs are brought to her great nephew (grand nephew?). But she still wears those gorgeous Hermes scarves.
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