Month Three. Reserve. #SEA.
The past few days have been a blur of sunshine, beaches, mountains ...and, of course, planes.
Saturday afternoon I wake up late, throw on some cut-off shorts and an old tank top (AKA I've been on reserve for three days and still haven't been called yet to work and oh, yeah, it's 90 degrees in Seattle), and head over to Capitol Hill to meet fellow flight attendant Chase. Before I head out the door, I decide to grab my tiny Reserve Bag, which is basically the bare essentials in case I get called up.
I spend the afternoon hanging out at the cafe my boyfriend works at, working on e-mails, chatting with Chase and soaking in a lovely Saturday afternoon in Seattle. Giving up on working at all, I check my phone for the forty-seventh time. And then it rings.
Crew Support is like an unhealthy, needy relationship. When you don't want them to call and bug you, they're all like "Where are you?! I need you!" and when you really want some attention, they ignore you for days. Sometimes they give you an amazing trip just to take it back hours beforehand. They might call you on your days off and suddenly all the anger melts away when they sweetly beg you to take a trip. But when you call and beg them for a favor, they are suddenly cold and distant. And yet you are stuck with 'em, for better or worse.
Today Crew Support is good to me. I'm getting a three-day, two-leg (yup, only two flights total!), 33-hour-layover in beautiful Colorado Springs. I laugh as a hang up the phone, realizing that my Reserve Bag only has my manual, ID, crew badge and one outfit in it. Oh, well.
Heading off to a new city is always an adventure. Wish me luck!