Always Connecting

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Always Connecting
Apr. 16, 2003

It is one of those times when I know that I have to be one of the best dressed there. It isn’t a choice on my part. It is a requirement. I don’t mind. It’s worth the free flight home. I dress impeccably, apply make up carefully, slip on a pair of heels, and add my airline ID tag. I easily zip up my suitcase, learning long ago how to pack lightly.

Someone has left some fruit out for a share with a note that says, “Bite me.” I pop a few grapes into my mouth as I head out the door. I rush back in; leaving a quick connecting note of thanks for whomever left the grapes. Great start to any day if you ask me. You know. Raisins that aren’t dried yet.

I wheel my company issued roller board suitcase across the uneven sidewalk to the corner of Metro and Lefferts, ever happy to live on the main street in Queens.

“Girl. Where you been?” My favorite van driver, Justin, calls out to me.

“Oh. You been missing me?” I smile, accepting his hug.

When I had just started flying with jetBlue last year, I was suffering terribly from airsickness. I would climb in the van looking as sickly as was possible after flying.

“Holly. You’re killing me. Please. Take a job as a shoe salesman.” Justin would laugh. “Please. Door to door. No flying. It doesn’t suit your complexion.” He would hand me a plastic bag, in case I needed to vomit.

I would hand the bag back. “I would rather get sick without it.”

“Oh. That’s mean. That’s just plain mean.” He would say, putting the bag within easy reach.

I release the hug. “Hey buddy, you driving me to La Guardia today?” I ask.

“Nope. He says. “I’m doing the real airport.”

“Guess I’m walking then, hmm?”

“Girl. Don’t start with me. I need the tips.”

“See you.” I wave, walking to my van.

“Hear you been sick.” He says, quietly.

“You listening to rumors?” I ask, looking back over my shoulder.

“Just from Ralph.” He says, kindly.

“Man. He’s the one making them up. You know that! Don’t trust him.” I say, turning back to my van.

“Get back to work.” He calls after me.

“Maybe.” I smile back.

I don’t know the driver in my van, or any of the riders, since I don’t work out of LaGuardia. I only use that airport to commute home when I’m working. I snuggle into the warmth of my seat and look for a good story. Airline people always have good stories. The pilot next to me is ready.

“You going home?” He asks.

“Sure am. You?”

“Yeah. But. Someone forgot to set the alarm for daylight savings time in the crashpad. And I forgot to check it. So. I missed my flight.”

Everyone in the van lets out a low, communal moan. It is an awful thing to have to trust clocks to other people.

“Don’t you use your cell phone clock?” A senior pilot asks.

“No.”

“Use your cell. Since they set time off satellites, they’re always right.”

The pilot next to me scrunches down in his seat. “I am missing my two year old son’s birthday in Florida.”

“NO!” Everyone in the van screams out. In the airline industry we are all used to missing holidays and birthdays due to scheduling. But. To have to miss out on something when it’s a day off. No way. It is enough to unglue all of us.

With the expertise and routing know how of the different airline employees on the van, we insist on rescuing him.

“You can get on a Spirit flight to Atlanta at 8:30, then take a United flight.” One flight attendant urges.

“Or. Hop on a shuttle to DC then fly to Ft. Lauderdale.” Another throws out.

“No. Then he would have to wait an hour.”

“Try the jetBlue flight at 9:00, but that’s from JFK.”

“How about the flight to West Palm, then back track to Jacksonville?”

Before we reach the airport, the new guy has a flight plan that will get him home in time for the party. Sure. There has to be an empty seat on the plane for him to make it, but it just might work.

I know. I know. The reality of flying for free isn’t nearly as good as the fantasy of free flight. But. It could work. We are all pulling for him, and he knows it.

It is such a strange occupation that we have, to always be surrounded by people we don’t know. To be constantly searching for connections with strangers, so that even when you are far away from your friends and family, you aren’t alone.

The pilot jumps out of the van, pays his fare and runs off with a thank you and the parting phrase that you hear from time to time.

“Hey. Next time, I buy the chocolate!”

Cause. You know. Connections don’t just happen in airports.

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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