I LEANED AGAINST a column in front of the Marriott Manhattan and watched the mass of people going in and out of the one of the largest high rise hotels in the city. So many people. I sighed and sipped my iced latte.

Since I'm not a fan of people in general, I generally avoid Midtown like the plague, what with its people and shit. Maybe Alex was right, I mused as I chewed on my straw. Maybe I shouldn't even bother with this. Then I noticed a Sephora across the street, and my doubts were washed away by the fact that I needed some eye cream. I vowed to go there after my interview.

Anyway, Alex was true to his word; he got me an interview. I had a 1 pm meeting with a group of TransGlobal Flight Service recruiters at the Marriott Manhattan. I wasn't surprised; ever since I told him I wanted to break up, he'd been completely solicitous. It made me want to puke.

I'll admit, however, that it seemed a bit odd that my airline interview was taking place in a hotel, especially since TransGlobal headquarters were now down at the new World Trade Center complex. So this morning I called Jenny and Blaine to find out if that was normal, or if I could expect to be thrown into the stream of human trafficking or organ theft. They both assured me that it was normal. Apparently, airlines do hold interviews in hotels.

"This is so awesome, Siobhan!" Jenny gushed. "I heard that TransGlobal's uniforms are designed by Tory Birch! Omigod, you have to tell me all about it."

"Will do," I told her. "Just as long as I don't lose a kidney."

"Siobhan, you're so funny. Why would you lose a kidney? I don't get it."

Conversely, Blaine was significantly more informative.

"Okay, Red, it's like this. They're going to have you try on the uniform because they can't weigh you anymore. Anyone who takes a uniform over size 8 is not invited back."

I whistled. "I don't really know what size I am."

"You're a four in the skirt, a six in the top."

"It's so scary you know that," I told him.

""I'm gay," he said, like that explained anything. "As I was saying, they'll take a picture of you and decide if the uniform favors you. If it does, you'll go to the group that does the pee test. If they don't, you don't get the pee test."

"Ew. Pee test? Really."

"It's FAA," he replied. "The Federal Aviation Association requires a drug test before a flight attendant can be hired. You'll also have random drug tests throughout the rest of your career."

"That sucks."

"It does suck. Anyway, after the pee test, you'll be asked three questions that will involve moving to, or living in, New York, long haul flying, and work ethics."

"That's a little broad, Blaine. Can you break that down for me?"

"Smile, look pretty, and say as little as possible."

"Got it."

I talked with Blaine for a few minutes after that - he was rapidly becoming my new bestie - and then got dressed for the interview. I chose one of my blue lawyer suits because it seemed appropriate.

When I came downstairs, Alex was sitting on the couch with the dog across his lap. He stayed home so he could be supportive, or to bear witness, either way.

I twirled for him. "What do you think?"

He nodded approvingly. "Very flight attendanty." He snapped his fingers at me. "Why don't you go get me a scotch, neat, baby?"

I crossed my arms. "I'm going to get this job, Alex."

"That's the spirit." He tipped his beer at me. "Now why don't you take that fine ass and find me a pillow and a blanket?"

"Unbelievable. You're still laughing at me."

"I'm not laughing," he laughed and tried to hide it by drinking his beer.

"I am," said the voice of my brother Sean. I whirled around. There he was, Face Timing on the big screen. He waved. "Hi Kitten. I am laughing. In fact, the whole office is laughing." My brother Colin stuck his fat face in the screen. "Hi sis. I'm laughing, too."

I responded by flipping them the double bird.

Sean and Colin clapped approvingly. "That's exactly what that Alliance flight attendant did when I asked her for a bag of peanuts," Sean yelled. "You're perfect, kitten."

I didn't even answer that. Asshats.

Alex pushed the dog off his lap and stood up. "Come here, FlyGirl," he growled and straightened my jacket. "Just remember to smile, baby. You already look pretty, but just keep a smile on." He cupped my face, "And baby, try to answer all questions using as few words as possible."

"Thanks, dad."

He bent to kiss me, but I turned away. "Stop. You'll muss me."

"Don't muss her, Alex," yelled Sean. "She's going to need all the help she can get."

I double flipped him off again. I thought being disavowed meant I'd never see my family again. So why do I keep seeing my family? Whatever.

I left the house to the sound of the three of them singing "Come fly with me" at the top of their lungs.

Fast forward forty-five minutes. There I was, standing in Times Square and waiting to interview for a position as a flight attendant. What the hell, life?

I looked at my watch; I had five minutes before I had to be there. So I tossed my latte, sucker punched an Elmo who tried to grab my boob, and marched inside with the mass of people.

TransGlobal Airlines posted several signs that directed me to a surprisingly crowded conference room. I saw a registration table was on the side of the room, manned by aggressively pretty black women. I walked up to her with a fixed smile.

"Hello, and welcome to TransGlobal," she greeted in a posh British accent. "May I have your name?" Beautiful, immaculately dressed, and British on top of it. So we be classy all up in here.

"Siobhan McIver," I told her.

"There you are. Siobhan...that is a beautiful name, by the way...here's your paperwork. Now, if you please report to conference room A, you'll be fitted for your uniform." She carefully pointed towards the left. I noticed that her nails were painted a soft pale pink.

"Lovely nail polish," I told her.

"Thank you," she smiled. "I had my manicurist paint a coat of Essie's Ballerina Shoes over OPI's Atlanta."

Well, then. "I don't know why I didn't think of doing that myself," I replied.

She smiled and wrote something down. "We also ask that you hand over your cell phones, so they won't ring during the interview process."

I dutifully handed over my phone; in turn, she gave me a claim check. "Good Luck," she told me with what sounded like genuine sincerity. I wondered if that was something you learn at flight attendant training.

Anyway, I walked out of the crowded room and found 4A, where a gnome in a flight attendant uniform stood waiting for me. "I'm Hector," said the gnome, "and I'll be doing your fitting." He looked me up and down. "Aren't you a tall drink of water? Are you Siobhan."

"That'd be me."

He kind of smiled. "I'm thinking you're a size 4 skirt, size 6 top."

"Sounds right. What if I was like a size 10 or something?"

"We don't carry anything above an 8, mommy." He pulled the clothes off the rack and handed them over. "I always tell the size 6 girls they might want to think about losing weight. Get down to a size four to give yourself some room to breathe."

"If I did that, I'd pass out. I'm 5'11 and I weigh 128 pounds."

"I wouldn't say that out loud. What's your shoe size?"

"Eleven. So what happens when somebody comes back here who takes a size ten or larger?"

He shrugged. "I tell them we only have sample sizes and that we will fit them with their uniform at corporate if they're selected for training. Here's your clown shoes, mommy." He placed the shoebox under my arm with the cast. "Dressing room's in the corner. So what's up with the wrist?"

"Skiing accident." I went to the dressing room and tried on the outfit.

"It's September," he called out.

"Water skiing."

"Ah."

Once I got the uniform on, I had to admit, it looked good. I came out and whirled in front of the gnome. "Check it out, Hector. I look awesome in your corporate uniform."

"The uniform favors redheads," he told me, like he wasn't surprised.

"It's not the hair, papi." I winked and kicked my leg back. "It's the curves that make it pop."

Hector smiled while he took my picture. "I like you, mommy. You got personality." Then he sighed. "Which means you probably won't get hired. Now strip, mamasita."

"You're a bossy little gnome," I told him as I walked back to start stripping.

"Did you just call me a gnome, puta?"

"Did you just call me a slut, gnome?" I asked as I handed him back the items. "Hector, between you and me, do you hire anyone who doesn't try on the uniform?"

"At TransGlobal Airlines, our flight attendants represent the highest level of professionalism." He paused, then whispered, "That's a fancy way of saying no."

"How do you feel about that?" I asked him.

"Real women got curves, mommy." He winked at me. "We need you, chica. Try to get hired."

"Doing my best here, papi. Got any tips?"

"Smile, look pretty, and say as little as possible." He pointed at the door. "Now go wait in the main room. Group interview's next."

I made my way back to the main room. Everywhere stood frantic people in blue suits with looks of frantic, aggressive friendliness. Purgatory, I thought. This is how it's going to be in Purgatory. People are going to be acting on their best behavior and hoping they make the cut.

Fortunately, I was late so all the cliques were already formed. I went ahead and meandered to an amenity table on the far side of the room, which was stocked with water, soda, and coffee. As I picked up a bottle of water, I noticed three women standing in the corner.

I had to give them credit. They weren't trying too hard. Hell, they weren't trying at all. That could be because they fit TransGlobal's demographic: they were tall, thin, and exceptionally good looking.

Yo, yo, yo. Mean girls in the house.

The shortest one addressed me as I grabbed a napkin for my water. She had very dark hair, very light skin, and very blue eyes. She was also built like a brick shithouse. Girl was like a pornographic Snow White.

Looking at her made me remember to break up with Alex again when I got home.

"You know they're marking down what beverage you select, right?" she told me.

"Then I guess I better not ask for a scotch on the rocks," I answered, all blasé, while I checked out her rack. It would have been awkward if she wasn't checking out mine.

"So where you from, Red?"

"Chicago by way of Iowa. You?"

"Kansas. I'm Frances." She twirled a lock of hair around her finger slowly and bit her lower lip.

Damn. This girl was sex on a stick. "Siobhan," I told her with a half-smile, my eyes glued to her amply displayed cleavage.

"What kind of name is Siobhan?" she asked.

"Irish."

"Huh." She did another once over on me. "So, you red all over, Siobhan?"

I shrugged. "My eyebrows."

She smiled. "This is Chelsea," she nodded at the tall blond who continued to look at me like I was a maggot with diarrhea, "and this is Valentina." She nodded at a stunningly beautiful brunette.

I nodded at them while I carefully opened the water. The cast was a pain in the ass.

"What happened to your wrist?" the blond asked with a curled lip.

"Hunting," I told her. "Damn rifle had a kick back."

"What were you hunting?" asked Snow White.

"Grouse," I said.

"Of course," Snow replied. "I immediately thought grouse."

"What's a grouse?" asked the brunette. I noticed an accent. Spanish, but not from Spain or the Caribbean. Maybe Peru? Ecuador?

"It's a bird," I told her. "Where are you from?"

She smiled at me beatifically, like she had practiced it for hours. "I grew up in Argentina, but my family's from Italy."

"Huh. And how about you, Blondie?"

"Texas," she replied curtly. "Is that real?"

"Is what real?"

"Your ring." She pushed past Snow and the Argentine. "Oh. My. God. It is real." She stared up at me. "You're engaged to a man who's rich enough to give you a ring like this?"

"What ring?" asked the Argentine, who leaned over. "Dios mios. That's a vintage Van Clef & Arpel!"

"Why are you here?" demanded the blonde, glaring at me. "You've got the ring. Why work?"

"I'm bored."

"Why not have a baby?"

"Then I'd be bored with a baby."

She rolled her eyes. "Midwesterners."

Before I could respond in kind about Texas, the British chick from check in interrupted.

"Pardon me," she said, gently clapping her hands for our attention, "We are now starting group conversations. Look in your packet to find your group number."

I dug mine out. I was in group 3. So were my new best friends.

"Groups 1,2, and 4, please accompany, Mariel to the left. Group 3, please come with me."

The three of us waited until the other groups got organized. When they left, Group 3 consisted of about 10 people, all of whom I would rank high on looks. So I made the pretty crowd. Whoppee. Too bad they're all bitches. Except for Snow, but that was only because she wanted to do me. Not that I minded so much. I've always been a bit fluid when it comes to gay/straight identification.

Anyway, we all followed the British chick up an escalator and to a completely different set of rooms. She stopped in front of a table and gathered us around her.

"I'm afraid that FAA regulations require all flight attendants to submit to random urinalysis testing," she said, her accent making urinalysis testing sound super classy. "We'll ask each of you to use the restroom one at a time. For the ladies, I will be in the restroom with you. For the gentlemen, Christophe will be accompanying you. There's water available for those you find you may not be able to go right away."

She paused and smiled cheerfully. "Who would like to go first?"

I raised my hand. "I'll do it."

"Excellent." She handed me a plastic bag with a plastic cup.

Fun times all around. When I was done, I was directed back into another conference room.

Snow came in soon after.

"Okay, I got to ask," she said, nodding at my chest. "Are your boobs real?"

I looked down at them. "Yes. Are yours?"

"No," she replied sullenly. "I got them last year, and I think the doctor made me a cup size too big." She pulled her shirt tight across so I could fully see. "Do you think they look tacky?"

"Not if you're a stripper. Besides, guys like big tits. So who cares?"

"I know. I just hate looking cheap." She let go of her shirt and tossed her hair. "So what's your real story, Red?"

"My real story is I'm supposed to marry this old guy and I'm bored out of my mind. What's yours?"

"My boyfriend supports me, but it's not like I can write that on a resume." She yawned and stretched her arms, placing one behind my chair like a guy, and added, "And it would help to have a W-2."

I looked at her arm and then looked at her with a smirk. "Very pragmatic of you."

"I think so. You have gorgeous hair."

"Thanks. So you thinking about getting married?"

"Not really. His wife would be against it."

"Ah."

By that time most of the group had sauntered in. I noticed the Blonde sat with another Blonde and the Argentine sat with two gay boys.

"So what's the deal with the blonde?" I asked.

"Who, you mean our very own first runner up in the Miss Buttfuckegypt contest?" she laughed. "She wants to marry rich and be a Glam SAHM."

"What's a glam Sam?"

"Glam S-A-H-M. A glamorous stay at home mother. They're women who are married to rich men and do nothing but raise the kids and take care of the property."

"Ew." I shuddered. "Sounds very feudal."

She nodded. "Same concept. Now the Argentine wants to marry well, too, but she's set her bar significantly lower. She wants to marry a pilot."

I turned to her, confused. "Is that marrying well? I mean, I know what we pay our pilot, and it's okay for one person, I suppose."

"To each their own," said Snow. "I don't judge." She moved her arm. People were starting to notice.

Before we could further continue discussing everyone else - who were, no doubt, discussing us - a walking Ken doll dressed as a flight attendant entered the room and clapped his hands. "Hi everyone! I'm Christophe, and I'm going to be hosting this round of group conversation." He pulled up a chair and sat down. "Now, don't think of this as an interview, think of this as a time for us to get to know you."

I waited for him to say, and for you to get to know us, but alas, it was not to be.

He continued to smile, his too bright teeth almost causing me retinal damage, and said, "Let's get started. Now here's a question I want each of you to answer. TransGlobal is headquartered right here in the Big Apple, New York. Are you all willing to pack up, move, and start a new life here?"

Unsurprisingly, everyone said yes. I did too, because hey, I live here.

"Wonderful!" cheered the walking Ken doll. Since I forgot his name, I decided to call him Tad.

"At TransGlobal, we require a two year commitment to be based here in New York. After that, you can transfer to any one of our other bases, but only if seniority and staffing permit." He paused, took a drink of water, then continued. "Next question. TransGlobal flies to a number of faraway destinations that route us over war zones like Chechnya and Ukraine. Any thoughts on that?"

Everyone else thought it was great. I thought it was borderline negligent and dangerous that TransGlobal didn't invest in routes that steer away from hot zones. Instead I said, "I'm sure the Company knows what it's doing."

Tad nodded enthusiastically, so I guess I nailed it. Score one for me! "That's right, Ms. McIver. At TransGlobal, we believe that deterrence is the first step in air safety."

I would have thought airworthy aircraft would have been the first step in airline safety, but I was starting to get the hang of this whole quiet thing.

"Now, I have one last question for all of you," he said as he clapped his hands. "Then we'll be all done! Isn't that great?"

We all agreed that was great.

Tad dropped his smile and became all frowny. "Now, just for a moment, I want you all to think back to the last time something made you really angry. Tell us, what did you do to defuse the situation?"

Gee, Tad, the last time I got really angry, I lit a whole bunch of vodka bottles on fire and threw them at my pedophile brother and his pimp BFF. Wait, I also threatened my future sister-in-law with a fork...

"Ms. McIver?" said Tad. "How did you defuse the situation the last time you were really angry?"

"Well...I'll admit I do have a bit of that Irish temper in me." I smiled sheepishly. "But I also know that anger, when inappropriately expressed. can lead to hurt feelings and, sometimes, even, fractured relationships." I shook my head and looked as downcast as possible. "So I always try to take a few minutes to cool down a bit. Sometimes I'll even count to ten. And when I'm really angry, I'll count to ten in French."

Tad nodded and grinned so broadly I thought his face would split. "That's excellent. Just excellent!"

Another right answer. She shoots, she scores! Whoo Hoo!

"Ms. McIver raises an excellent point," continued Tad. "We all can get angry, but if we don't control it, anger can fracture relationships." He stood up and held up his hands. At TransGlobal, we're all about relationships. We don't build walls." He held his hands in front of him, like he was miming a wall. "We build bridges." Then he reached his arms out in front of him like he was miming a bridge. This guy even brought visuals. How awesome was that?

"Say it with me, folks. At TransGlobal, we don't build walls. We build bridges."

We said it with him.

"So, when you find yourself in a situation that might be getting your Irish up," Tad finger quoted with a wink at me, "take Ms. McIver's advice and count to ten. Why don't we all do that right now? Ms. McIver, would you lead?"

I clasped my hands together and grinned happily. "You bet, Tad! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!"

Tad threw up his hands and then wiped imaginary perspiration off his forehead. "Whew! I don't know about you, but I feel better already! Now, please. Gather your stuff together and let's head on out back down to the lower level."

As I got my purse, Snow whispered to me, "Who's Tad?"

"The interviewer."

"His name's Christophe."

"No, it's not."

"I like you," she stated, not bothering to hide the lust on her face. "After the interview, do you want to come upstairs to my room? I've got an amazing view."

"I love amazing views," I smiled as we headed downstairs. "I especially like amazing views when I'm naked."

For some reason, this made her run into a post.

Not that anybody noticed, because when we reached the conference room, all the interviewers stood around an airplane shaped cake.

"Congratulations!" shouted Tad. "You've all been selected to attend TransGlobal's next training class, starting October 1."

Confetti and balloons appeared out of nowhere.

Holy Shit. I was a flight attendant.

_____ * _____ * _____ * _____ * _____

She got the job!! Yay!!

Now will Alex let her keep it?

Thank you so much for taking time to read Siobhan's story! I look forward to your comments, and if you liked it, please remember to vote!

©Copyright Liz Charnes May 2018

This work is protected by copyright and cannot be copied or used in any way without my express consent. Please don't steal it. Thank you!