Stuffing The Body Bag

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Stuffing The Body Bag
July 8, 2003

“Holly’s back!”

“She’s alive! She’s alive!”

“Good to see you!” They chimed, off kilter.

“Good to see you guys too.” I said. Glum. That’s how I was feeling. Greatly glum.

“You’re not back to work, are you?” Jess asked.

“Nope.”

“Did you quit?”

“Fired.”

“WHAT?”

“Yup.” I sighed. “Well. I might be fired. I don’t know. Maybe my doctor got that letter written. I’m sort of out of the loop these days. But. I thought that I’d better get my stuff cleared out, just in case.”

“Holly. How can you get fired when you’re on medical leave? You must really suck at being sick.”

We all laughed.

I went into my bunk bedded room. This was going to be easier since I was the only girl around. There wasn’t anyone sleeping or dressing or showering or hanging out. I would be able to collect my things without waking anyone or having a long talk.

I surveyed my lot. How did I end up with so much stuff here? I had a whole dresser filled with clothes, and plenty more hanging in the closet. I had several pair of shoes, and a ton of bedding. Everything needed to get home.

I unfolded my four foot long duffle bag. That bag would make people giggle from New York to Denver when they saw the size of it. Really. It was that big. When it was fully stuffed, it would resemble a body bag. You know. The kind that could be zipped around a dead body. At the airport the guy at security would thank me for dragging a dead body OUT of New York City.

Ok. Fine. I started folding jeans and shirts and sweat pants, most of which would be too big for me to wear anymore. But there was no place to leave them here. Friends back home would be glad to have them

I left my lonely uniforms hanging in the closet. I would have to ask someone else to turn them in for me. When would jetBlue ask for them? Would they expect me to come all the way back to New York to hand them in? Surely they wanted them.

My little blue manual was calling out to me. I ran my hands over the plastic cover. The only identifying mark on the book was my name, neatly printed on the front page with my company ID number. That’s all. Nothing else. I flipped through the various chapters of information that I had memorized for the job.

Emergency equipment. Emergency drills. Safety procedures.

I had taken good care of my book. The pages weren’t creased. I had kept it in a plastic bag so that it wouldn’t get wet or torn. I think they collect it when you’re let go. Well. I slid the book into the top drawer of my dresser. Someone else would have to deliver it to a supervisor for me. Man. I was going to be asking for a lot of favors.

I packed the big blanket that my mother had knit for me to use as a crash pad comforter. I had complained that there was nothing warm and inviting here in this dingy, beat up apartment, so she made me something colorful. It always felt homier after that when I stopped here for the night.

I opened my flight bag. I cleaned out all the wrapped plastic silverware that had been a handy addition for those flights when a customer was willing to exchange a good story for a utensil. Man. I heard some great stories that way. One boy used a spoon to eat some cereal and told the story of how he played Nintendo throughout Disney World because his parents wouldn’t let him eat pancakes for breakfast one day. A college aged girl was having trouble choosing a career path and brainstormed her ideas with me while she slowly ate a raspberry yogurt with one of my forks. I once taught a mother of an autistic son how a blanket and a spoon could calm her boy down so that the rest of us could enjoy the flight.

I shook off my memories and went into the kitch. Ok. Lots of stuff in my cupboard. Most of it was added to the free food shelf, but I packed my favorite box of herbal tea into the duffel. Money was tight. That tea was expensive and would travel well.

As I sadly crammed the last bits of my treasures into the bag and zipped it shut, I wondered why I had such trouble closing this chapter of my life. Why was I trying to keep it open? Why did I care? So what if work wasn’t willing to schedule me. WHY should I fight it? So what if I loved this job. Wouldn’t I love the next job too? I was getting tired. Had they won? What would they win if I gave up and took another job?

I walked into the living room. “I want ice- cream. Anyone sharing?”

Jess jumped up. “I have some in the freezer. But. It’s chocolate.”

“Tonight chocolate will work.” I said, collapsing onto the couch.

He served up a bowl. “Holly. You think YOU have it bad? Let me tell you about what’s going on with my daughter.”

And. When he was done, I had to agree. No matter what… thank God I’m not a twelve year old girl on a cheerleading squad. Man. That little girl? Well, she REALLY has it bad.

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About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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