He’d ignored her, as was his wont. You go to your cubicle or whatever and the HR rep is new every day, the company president is new, and the receptionist is new. And they’re all different each day. Can you imagine? The world would be in flames, Ava. FLAMES.
So she wasn’t at all surprised to see the familiar faces, which in this case
“Forget about my wife’s cousin,” India said as he handed over her paperwork. “My wife’s other cousin is a cop, and now he’s dying to meet you.”
was a mixed blessing.
“All of you stop bugging me and go straight to hell,” she commanded. “Not you, Becka. You’re fine. What’s our load, India?”
“Full flight, eight oversold. Weather’s good, should be a straight shot to Logan. And no live animals this trip, thank God.” To Becka, who had been a flight attendant less than a month: “Much less stressful. For everyone, really. Especially now they’re cracking down on fake service animals.”
“It’s why we can’t have nice things,” G.B. added. “Also, how dumb do the geese* think we are?” It wasn’t a rhetorical question. The answer: extremely dumb. “Who ever heard of a service boa constrictor? What the hell would a service snake even do?” To India: “Make one Snakes on a Plane joke. See what happens.”
India, wise for his years, raised his hands and took a step back.
“To be fair, it was little. Barely three feet long,” Ava pointed out while G.B. shuddered so hard it looked like a brief seizure. “And it didn’t bite anyone. Just wanted to keep under the guy’s sleeve. I think it was cold.”
“That checks out,” Becka announced, looking up from her phone. “Also, there’s no such thing as a snake service animal.”
“Oh my God.” G.B. breathed, staring at her. Becka looked up and was startled to see several people giving her the “slash across the throat” sign. “Scourge!” he declared. “You’re holding the scourge of mankind right there in your palm.”
“Uh,” Becka replied, slipping the phone in her pocket.
“You really aren’t,” Ava assured her. “And it’s a sliding scale anyway. Last month the scourge of mankind was Netflix.”
“Do not get me started on Netflix!”
“Next month it’ll probably be the uniforms again,” India added.
“Never!” G.B. actually backed away from them, as if Ava and India were going to strip off his uniform then and there. “They finally don’t suck. I’m happy, relatively speaking. My mom’s letting me put in a gym!”
“Hey, that’s great! And the uniforms weren’t that bad,” Ava said, looking up from her preflight lists. “At least we don’t have to wear high heels anymore.”
That snapped him out of it. “Of course not. Management isn’t entirely insane, and they don’t think it’s 1955, either. But you have to admit, the old reds were a disaster. Bad design, bad material, bad color, bad execution, bad everything, just all around bad, a boatload of bad.”
G.B. had a point, though the big lug looked good in anything. The old uniforms were bright, screaming-red, with screaming-red flared pants for the men and screaming red A-line, knee-length skirts for the women and bright white dress shirts—totally impractical for flight attendants, who by the end of a shift were nearly always decorated with coffee at best. These were paired with screaming-red box-cut jackets that swallowed figures and flared sleeves that swallowed wrists and anything the person wearing the jacket was trying to pick up. Entire cans of ginger ale had disappeared up those cuffs. The white belt and white scarf were mandatory.
We looked like walking stop signs. Angry, self-aware stop signs.
The new ones, designed by Wisconsin native Lisa Hackwith, with final sketches voted on by employees, weren’t just an improvement, they were stylish and practical: comfortable khaki pants and skirts (elastic waists and loads of pockets). Short-sleeved button-up tops in navy blue or cream—dealer’s choice. Short-sleeved button-up empire dress in navy blue. Reversible fitted jacket—navy on one side, khaki on the other—and through some sort of dark sorcery Ava didn’t understand, even more pockets than the pants. The khaki and navy blue sashes and scarves were optional; the belt, mandatory. No one really knew why, but they didn’t fight management on the belt issue, as they’d gotten more than they’d asked for.
“Um, I know it sounds dumb and shallow,” Becka began.
“Oooooh!”
“You have our attention,” India prompted. “Let your pettiness out.”
“… but I didn’t apply here until I knew the uniforms were gonna change.” She patted her bright, bright red hair self-consciously. “I mean—my God.