The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,16

policy. Because we spent so much time in small spaces, you really had to be a certain height and weight. It was probably a good idea if you knew how to swim, too, just in case our flight became a cruise. But other requirements were far more subjective and cosmetic in nature. Makeup, but not too much. No visible tattoos. Only one pair of earrings, and they had to be in your ears. A hairstyle no more than three inches in fullness—nothing too extreme in volume. A pleasing complexion—no acne or facial scars.

The woman in 3B—Anissa—stabbed at her salad. “Did you know that flight attendants were the first group of employees to use the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission to file grievances against their employer? In the 1960s and 1970s, flight attendants were typically let go after they got married, were pregnant, or had their thirtieth birthday. Among other things, Title IV of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 prohibits sex-based discrimination.”

“Wow,” I marveled. “That’s an impressive bit of trivia.”

“It’s part of my job,” she deflected. “I’m sure you have all kinds of airplane trivia or insider knowledge that the typical flyer doesn’t know.”

“Don’t drink the water,” I mumbled around my next bite of salad.

“Huh?”

“On the airplane, don’t get water unless you see a flight attendant pour it from a plastic bottle. The water taps on the planes are notoriously dirty—they hardly ever get cleaned.”

“Is that why you spilled my water on yourself?” She leaned forward in her plastic chair. Her generous lips ticked up in a teasing smile. “Were you trying to save me from dirty water?”

“No,” I defended, “that was me being a klutz.”

A broad smile, almost mischievous, spread across her lovely face. “Your airline is like Sea World; they should put signs on the front seats that warn ‘You May Get Wet.’”

I snorted and continued to stab at my salad. “Been thinking about that line for long?”

“I just used up all of my best material,” she laughed as she settled back in her seat. “I’ll have to come up with something new for you next week.”

“I can’t wait,” I said, rolling my eyes.

In truth, I probably wouldn’t be able to wait. I could easily see myself looking forward to every Wednesday if only to have the opportunity to briefly interact with this stunning woman.

I looked at my watch—a nervous habit, not one out of boredom.

Anissa noticed. “Do you have another flight soon?” she asked.

“I’ve got some time,” I decided.

My layover in Philadelphia was only two hours—long enough to get a meal, but not long enough to get into trouble. It wasn’t economical for the airline or the crew member to have a layover much longer than that. The airline was actually contractually required to provide us with a hotel room for layovers longer than four hours.

“Do you actually get to see the places you travel to or is it just the insides of airports all the time?” she asked.

“Mostly the latter,” I confirmed. “But that’s only because I try to pick lines that don’t have days-long layovers.”

“How does that work?” she asked, looking interested. “Are you flying all the time? Are you away from home often?”

“It depends; I have a new schedule each month. Once the flight schedules are made we get to bid on the schedule we like the most. People with the most seniority get first pick. When you first start out you’re a reserve flight attendant and you’re basically on call all the time. But now I’m on the line, which means I have a pretty regular schedule, although we still have to be flexible. Delayed and canceled flights impact us as well.”

Anissa hummed in thought. “I never thought about that.”

“Where are you flying to next?” I assumed Philadelphia wasn’t her final destination since she was hanging out in the airport food court.

“Miami. The one in Florida—not Ohio.”

“There isn’t a direct flight to Miami out of Detroit?” I wondered.

“There is,” she confirmed, “but it’s a cheaper flight with this layover, and my employer is notoriously tight-fisted when it comes to my travel budget. It sucks up all of my free time, but at least it’s only for the duration of my current job.”

“How long is that?”

“Only a couple of months.”

“That still sounds like a headache,” I sympathized.

She shrugged noncommittally. “My dad always says you can endure anything for a year.”

“Funny. My parents said the same thing to me about college,” I mused.

“This is probably rude of me to say,” Anissa qualified, “but I didn’t realize