The Pilot

One of the first rules I was taught in my earlier days as a flight attendant was to stay away from the pilots. I was forewarned that many of the pilots, who were more often than not married, would try to prey on the young attractive girls who didn’t yet know better. The rule was simple, basically stay away from them while off duty, on a layover, and especially while intoxicated. Unfortunately following the rules had never really been my strong suit.

It was one of my first layovers in San Francisco, and we’d had an extremely long day, the kind that made you desperately long for a cocktail by the end of it. So that’s what our crew collectively decided to do. There were two crews that got in at the same time to the hotel and we were all disappointed when we found out that the bar was closed. One of the pilots said he was going to have the hotel driver take him to the nearby liquor store and buy some beers for us, and told everyone to meet him down in the lobby in 10 minutes. We changed out of our uniforms and met down in the lobby where the pilot had set out not just beers for us, but also the biggest bottle of tequila I’d ever seen. Uh oh, this was definitely going against the rules. We all had a great time (how could you not after several shots of tequila,) and by the end of the evening things were beginning to get a bit fuzzy for me. The last thing I remember distinctly was standing on the table singing some song from a musical, which couldn’t have been a very pretty rendition after that much tequila. The rest of the crew were doing an equally terrible job singing backup for me. I also realized I was being a little too flirty with the cute-but-married pilot so decided I should at least attempt to follow the rules and head off to bed…alone. I knew I wouldn’t get away easily from the drunk crew and that they’d attempt talking me into staying up longer, so I decided I’d be sneaky and tell them I just needed to get something from my room and would be right back. That’s when the tequila blackout must have happened.

The next thing I knew I woke up in my hotel bed, which wouldn’t have been as disturbing if I hadn’t felt a foreign arm around my waist. Damn you tequila. I racked my brain and tried hard to remember anything at all from the previous night, anything after the point when I’d retreated to what I’d thought was the safety of my room. Blank…nothing…can’t remember a thing…DAMN YOU TEQUILA! I wasn’t in the same clothes I’d worn down to the lobby, I had apparently changed into just a t-shirt at some point. I still had no idea who was attached to this strange arm which was spooning me, oblivious to my panic. I decided there was only one way to find out. I turned around to look and, as I’d feared, there was the cute-but-married pilot smiling at me. I groaned and turned over, told him I was feeling ill from the drinking when he asked what was wrong, not sharing that I was actually feeling ill because I couldn’t believe this was happening. I decided I needed to know how this had come about and he may have been the only one who’d know. So I asked.

Here’s what allegedly happened after the tequila had thrown a dark blanket over my awareness. After I’d left the cute-but-married pilot had wondered what was taking me so long so he’d called my room. I answered the phone and told him I was staying up in my room and not coming back down. He asked me what room that was exactly and then I’d given him my room number. Brilliant idea. He’d come up to my room and knocked and apparently I’d let him in. After he’d finished the recap I asked if anything else had happened, and wondered when I had changed into the t-shirt (secretly hoping it wasn’t when he was in the room.) He told me I had already changed before he’d gotten to my room, (at least I had that going for me) and that while he’d hoped for more to happen (ew) he was a little disappointed that I’d passed out almost immediately (thank God for that.)

I told him I needed to go back to my room and recover from this hangover on my own. He reminded me we were already in my room. I told him in that case I needed him to leave my room so I could recover on my own. He looked insulted and a little pouty but he got up to leave. He sat on the bed and looked at me before he left and said, “I like you Parker, and I just have to tell you…” I prepared myself for the I’m married so don’t expect this to go anywhere speech I’d heard about from other flight attendants, and hoped he’d hurry up about it so I could nurse my hangover in peace. “I’m not looking for just a fling, I’m looking for a relationship.” He can’t be serious. I looked at him with a smirk ready to laugh but he actually was serious. “But, um….you’re married.” He told me he was “basically, for the most part” separated for now. I told him that when he was “basically, for the most part” divorced maybe we could have a different conversation but for now I really needed sleep. He stormed out, clearly not happy with my response.

I realized in that moment why the stay away from pilots rule had been put into place. I decided from then on I’d avoid tequila on layovers and make sure I wasn’t followed to my room by any cute-but-married-but-basically-for-the-most-part-separated pilots in the future.