a letter to a memorable flight attendant

Dear Michael,

I know you are a trained flight attendant. Good for you. I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I was to hop your flight today. You greeted me with the news that in fact your flight did not have wi-fi as advertised and that my tiny carry on would be taken below due to limited over head space. Glad I went through the hassle of squeezing my liquids into a sandwich sized zippy for security. Flying across the country has turned into one of my all-time favorite things since becoming a mom. I actually look forward to lugging an extra-large breast pump bag with me. I know it looks great on me. Almost as great as those black orthopedic shoes you’re wearing right now. It’s super fun for me to sit in this window seat too, a seat that makes it extremely convenient for me to get to the bathroom from. I always count down the minutes before I have to tap the leg of the snoring man next to me, who has to nudge the comfortably seated 85 year old grandma next to him, just so I can awkwardly maneuver myself out to the aisle with the bag I know so many women watching are envious of. As if that wasn’t fun enough, I now get to walk into a space fit for a 4 year old that half the plane has already wiped in today. Once inside, it’s thrilling to coordinate all of my “equipment” too. The options of where to set things down is endless. I’ve got a sink the size of a measuring spoon, and a counter space smaller than the one in Barbie’s dream house. I am happily standing on used toilet paper, while I watch myself in the mirror do things only farm animals probably look forward to more. Living it up in here, my friend, is the high light of my day. Oh wait, that came when you pounded on the door twice to tell me that there was a long line outside the door waiting to get in there. Michael, I know intuitively you have to be thinking I’m having too good of a time. I’m obviously enjoying the smell of forced freshener, all that “space”, and fluorescent lighting a little too much. I get it. It’s an easy place for your brain to go. My bad for thinking you saw the gigantic bag I took in the bathroom with me. I must be the first woman to ever have to pump on “your” plane. It wasn’t at all embarrassing for me to come out of the bathroom, only to face the group of people you shouted at me in front of. You’re authority and instincts are really something.

And to think, all those nerves I had around pumping on a plane for nothing, all thanks to you. Wear those wings proud, Michael. I can tell, even in the short time we’ve known each other, you understand the needs of your customers and just what to do to make them feel right at home.

No need to thank me for my choice to fly with you today. The pleasure was all mine.

Respectfully Yours,

Jordan