Qualifications For An Airline Hostess !

The Royal Treatment... Eastbound!

It had happened so fast!

In the space of two years, my American Dream had become a wonderful reality.

USA had proven to be just like I had envisioned the land of opportunity.

Never abandoning my goal after the first turn-off, I had returned to a new audition which was not a surprise for the interviewers and later I had succeeded through all “obstacles “.

Fully appreciating the true glamour of the job which was to be able to enjoy hours on board, in such an intimate and subdued atmosphere of a Boeing 707’s cabin, a melting pot of cultures, with the world as my playground, and the luxury of First class.

On this particular evening, since my arrival in Boston as a Mother’s helper, I would travel again, for a second time, as a passenger on a transatlantic flight but, this time, sitting in First class, my gold wings safely tucked away…to show my “family-in-waiting”.

However, when I had boarded TWA’s flight 800 bound for Paris, although I had set forth this mission of surprising my family, I had decided to enjoy the exquisite prospects of being treated as a Royal in First class!

My window seat was on the last row, its back forward the dividing curtain, separating both classes of service. Out of twelve seats, eight were occupied and no passenger sat next to me. I was enormously thankful to be alone with my thoughts.

Taxiing out, on the ground, my colleague working the First class cabin smiled at me but didn’t acknowledge my status for the other passengers. I was now her guest and would be catered with the same deference …

After take-off, shades had been drawn down, cabin lights softly dimmed, giving an imaginary candle light environment, but with enough clearness to perform cabin’s services.

Cocktails had quickly been served in First class, not from a liquor cart, but individually concocted in the galley then elegantly placed on a small tray on the armrest table...and I had continued with my “pre-take-off “Cordon Rouge … drinking it with tiny lady-like sips.

For dinner, I unfolded the tray in front of me and it was directly set by the hostess with white linen and napkins rolled around real silverware.  Crystal glasses had joined the artistic lay-out.

The first serving cart had been quietly but efficiently filled in the galley…with the bountiful hors d’oeuvres which delicately shared the top tray with a non-metallic bowl nested inside a larger bowl filled with crushed ice.

That was the designated place for the Beluga caviar. It rested coolly, garnished on the sides, with hard-cooked eggs (yokes and whites chopped separately) and minced onion. Finally iced-cold vodka or Champagne was to match the sturgeon eggs with perfection….

I had followed, watching and observing each gesture… like a happily fed copy cat…in silence…and at the same time, relishing through each second of this first event of luxury in my life!

The first course had ended…and the cart had reached the galley to be undressed…for the next chapter.

It was wheeled out ago a few minutes later.

The Purser, leading it down the aisle with the hostess opposite him serving directly from her side, both personally addressing each passenger by their names, was solely responsible for slicing the exclusive piece of meat which had been grilled at high temperature and at the last minute, in the ovens of the galley, and then placed in front of him, on a wooden carving block.

From where I sat, I could see the steam moving upwards from the top shelf which had been adorned with a most delicate pre-charcoaled Chateaubriand Sirloin steak and hunger twisting anxiously in my stomach, I let my nostrils happily accepting the fumes of gravies, mixing harmoniously with the steamed vegetables own scent and the Gratin Dauphinois…and all of these impressions were making me drowsy with extreme pleasure!

The gentle doze off …with my head …after one (etc…) flute of Champagne, anyone would have arrived at the natural assumption that I had now reached a certain stage of inebriation?

You assumed wrong... and let me tell you why!

Forgotten were the industrial and arrogant odours of an airplane…

Disappeared were the fears that my heart had encountered for this mission…

Lost in space the Mumbo jumbo of my English tongue…

As I was returning naturally to my birth language after two years…

 All these elements were balancing, juggling around in my head…and along with the high altitude, I had reached the highest spirits of happiness …truthfully and completely...and I may have appeared “tipsy “to any insensitive soul!

Again... no, my lovely...

Because…you see...life events had made me stoned and, for fear of being exposed, sleep had mercifully fallen upon me!

Whether the First class dessert service had been disturbed by a passing turbulence or not, I would never have witnessed the damages…except the calories …on my body!

Good Night !

Going West ...!

The last time I had flown as a passenger, on a transatlantic crossing, had been two and half years before, on my way from France to USA.

When I had at last translated my young girl’s dreams into reality.

Remembering the feelings I had been filled with, I can still and with precision bring back the images. How I had parked the nervous butterflies of excitement deep down in my heart as I was leaving France and exchanged them with the controlled purpose fitting into the adult world…when I had landed at Logan International airport in Boston.

Yes, I had jumped over the first serious stepping stone in my life and it felt good.

From the clothes I had been wearing, a light blue hand-made coat-dress, a burgundy coloured pill-box hat with matching handbag and shoes chosen by me, just like my idol Princess Grace of Monaco, who had been my true inspiration as a child entering adolescence.

I didn’t see myself as a tourist or an academic…like the French young man who was my neighbour on the flight.

I played Madame Nonchalance but at the same time, clutching my handbag from time to time, just to remind me of its exclusive contents:

A contract attesting my position as a Mother’s helper for a family living in Cambridge, Mass. and a period of one and a half years…whose duties were exclusively laid out to care of a young boy, six years old. I would earn $50,- a month, minus the reimbursement of the one-way flight ticket my American family had advanced for me.

In addition, a French driver’s license I had earned which had been a condition to get this post and finally, the most important documentation of them all…the Green Card which gave me permanent residence in the USA.

Upon landing in Boston late afternoon, a bout of tension had slowly but surely made its appearance with its tickling around my belly button.

I recognized the signs.

The anxieties of not knowing what was ahead… were letting insecurity move in anew and stress my nerves.

However when brutally and literally my flying machine had landed on the American soil, I had quickly composed myself into a relative calm and had awoken to the real world.

I was definitely on my own now…

I hadn’t rested nor slept during the eight hours flight…and poked distractedly on the airline food which I tasted frugally, careful not to mess up my appearance.

 Upon landing, I had been deeply engrossed in my own thoughts and oblivious to my surroundings.

It was such a surprise really when it all happened so quickly, so efficiently!

After having gone through U.S. immigration and Customs, here I was standing, alone, with my suitcase, in the arrival area and looking at the many happy faces that were impatiently waiting for loved ones.

What to do now, I thought?

How or where would I meet or find my employer who had kindly offered to pick me up at the airport?

Acting as always on an impulse, I had come about a brilliant idea!

I had decided that I would first look around for a possible “candidate” who would match her portrait I had imagined, be cool and with my usual cheeky way, go to this lady and ask if she was (by any chance) Mrs. E. . .

I had been in a way profiling her in my mind, given parameters in advance about her background, age; profession etc… and I thought I would use such hints to guide me forward.

If not, I would then go to the information desk and ask them to page her.

So decided so done!

My eyes intently observing the many faces…as I was slowly making my way around.

 I approached a tall and elegant woman, with demure politeness and a lively, but deferential way, and asked in a rehearsed French-English:

 -“Excuse me but are you Mrs. E.? “

 My Guardian Angel had been working overtime because the first woman I go to answers me with the most positive word of the English language:

YES!

There and then, as bizarre as it may have sounded each time I have told this story, I had begun my American Dream with quite a strange piece of luck.

                         “Intuition is a suspension of logic due to impatience…”

                                                - Rita Mae Brown -

A Feather Of Luxury ?

To get this special assignment or to be able to choose, I understood rapidly that working the cabin in First Class had certain flair of excellence…and importance!

 It wasn’t difficult to know why and those who had a real choice were the most senior'-esses"...

During my three-month term of probation, I had been chosen to it and only once by the Purser on duty. Part of the training was the assessment of my performance, working all classes of service…as previously mentioned.

In a Boeing 707 First class section, there were mostly three categories of passengers: the rich, stressed business men or women or famous people or… airline employees either deadheading or on a non-revenue ticket at vacation time.

It was much later in my flying career, and only once when I did work on a full flight, from New-York to Madrid, that our flight carried on board three very special passengers sitting in Coach, rich celebrities as they were.

This party of three sat uncomfortably crammed into the narrow three-seat row of the Coach Cabin! Uncomfortable, yes, because their well-trimmed and large strong bodies filled each inch of the space they had purchased!

USA’s Senator from Massachusetts Ted Kennedy (Bless His Gentle Soul…) was flying with his two grown-up nephews, making no fuss about it, behaving like the normal human being we all were.

Although whispers were heard as I walked down the cabin , before take-off, by admiring passengers and awed crews, Ted Kennedy nodded to the recognizing smiles and continued to converse gently with his family…thus quietening the initial seconds of excitement and, as I couldn’t help observing… thinking this was a show of real Class!

When we had reached our flying altitude, the service had begun and we all went back to our own business of caring all and without making further ado about it.

All passengers were treated equally and with respect.

That was my determination.

One gets used to celebrities and quickly the job takes over and forgets who’s who!

Some of us chanced the autograph begging. I could never do that…and have never done …during all my airline careers, in the air and on ground.

(I have all my life…felt a deeper love for the kind anonymous ones who treated me with respect…and gentleness!)

My one and only assignment at the very beginning tending to First Class passengers’ needs had not the expected impact upon me because it all went so fast…as I was working.

The moment when I truly experienced how high class TWA’s First Class service dawned upon me when I organized my own personal journey visiting my family in France, after months of silence and was sitting as a passenger.

With the kindest attention given to me, a rookie, by the TWA check-in agents at JFK-I , who were now my colleagues and later to become my best team-mates,  I had bought my first non-revenue passage between New-York and Paris…and had been given a seat in First Class!

It is not difficult to understand how I felt, as a First class passenger out of uniform, not only being honoured by such royal treatment, but also deeply touched by the secret emotions of having accomplished such feat which made me positively glow with pride…!

I had shoved fast and away the forebodings that might have glimpsed through my conscience because knowing I was not only the bearer of success for my family, but also the exposition of my true and genuine character witnessing I had fought for myself…and won, I couldn’t help but feeling what an awesome baggage I was bringing back to them, after two and half years in the USA!

It might have been, for some…in my world, fluttering with a soft feather of luxury, but for my parents, my siblings and my maternal grandmother, it would become an exceptional act of…endurance (?) which represented for them…fame and recognition …in their own slow dimension in time they were living in…

“Always bear in mind that your own resolution to success is more important than any other one thing…!”

                                                -  Abraham Lincoln  -