The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,8

York LaGuardia and back to Detroit—so I would have to accomplish most of my seat-specific challenges on those days. Gemma and I were tag-teaming a regional jet on Thursdays, which gave me a second opportunity.

I doubted that any other pursers with whom I would be working that month would be as accommodating as Kent to let me work First Class in their place. I normally didn’t mind working in the Village though. In my experience, passengers tended to be more high maintenance and self-entitled the smaller their row numbers. Economy class were my people—especially the poor, single riders who got stuck in the middle seat.

Once the gate agent gave us the go-ahead, Kent, Gemma, and I gathered our wheeled luggage and other belongings and boarded our morning flight. Meeting up with the other crew members for pre-flight checks included making sure all emergency equipment is present and operational. We go through the cabin to make sure it’s clean, and we check the galleys to make sure drinks and snack numbers are appropriate for the flight. After that, we give the okay to the gate attendants in the terminal that the plane is ready for boarding.

Kent and Gemma staggered themselves in the middle sections of the plane while I positioned myself in the front galley. It allowed me the opportunity to greet our first passengers while simultaneously getting ready for pre-flight beverage service. My airline provided an extra round of beverage service to passengers seated in First Class. While the rest of the plane boarded, our premier passengers received a complimentary glass of water at the same time that I recorded their first beverage request.

I easily balanced in one hand a tray of short plastic glasses, each filled to the top with bottled water. I’d waited tables in my hometown during summers when I was in high school. Going to college was supposed to be my ticket out of there—my escape to make sure I didn’t have to go back to waitressing in my small town. College had been a bust, however, and now I was basically a waitress in the sky. But at least I got to travel, even if I typically didn’t get to see much of the country beyond the insides of different airports and hotel rooms.

I had decided to conquer a relatively simple, seat-specific bingo-card challenge that morning: to make it appear as though you’ve accidently dropped a beverage on a passenger’s lap. I started from the back of my section and worked my way towards the front of the plane. Since I had been assigned the seat 3B on my bingo card, it made better strategic sense to spill on that passenger when I was near the end of my water service instead of the beginning. I would have less eyes on me. And if I dumped water on this person at the beginning of the flight, they still had the entire trip to Philadelphia to clean themselves up.

I bent slightly at the knee as I delivered each glass of water. Few passengers acknowledged me as I routinely pressed the plastic cup into their hands. They were already hooked into their noise-canceling headphones or were finishing up last-minute phone calls, emails, and texts. First Class passengers were typically commuters, traveling for business, rather than honeymooners who’d splurged on their once-in-a-lifetime tickets. Flying for these passengers was old hat, routine, like what riding the subway during morning rush hour was for some people. I was part of the scenery, like a piece of the airplane. Aisle seat. Oval window. Landing gear. Flight attendant.

My tray was nearly empty by the time I approached seat 3B. I kept my eyes on the seatback, keeping my target in sight. I couldn’t see much beyond the top of a woman’s head. She was compact; nothing else spilled beyond the perimeter of her assigned seat. I bent at the knee to drop myself closer to the passenger’s level. The woman’s attention was concentrated on a tablet she held in her left hand, away from the aisle.

I noticed her lower body first. Her heels were higher than mine, but she also didn’t have to be on her feet all day, or so I assumed. My attention raked next over the slender, naked ankle. Dark grey dress pants. No noticeable wrinkles or creases although the material appeared to be linen. I thought it was a bold choice considering how poorly the fabric withstood traveling, but at least after I poured water into her lap,