The Chef

I’ve always been a fan of great food, especially expensive, high quality food I couldn’t often afford, so dating a chef had always been an appealing idea. I just wasn’t sure how to meet one. I mentioned this one day to my friend Mary who worked for a high end, fancy hotel. Mary is the type of person who is blunt, to the point, and gets things done with no fear or shame. When she told me she would find me a single chef, I believed her. Sure enough, she called me a week later and told me she’d spoken to not just any chef, but the head chef at the hotel, who happened to be single. I was thrilled. Until she said, “but there is just this one thing…..” uh-oh. There always has to be a “but.” She told me he was a little on the older side. I asked her if by older she meant a few years ahead of me or had he gone to high school with my grandfather. She said she wasn’t sure, but if she had to guess, he might be 50.…possibly older. I told her I was past the “date someone old enough to be my father” phase and 50-ish was too old. She talked to me more about it, trying to change my mind over the next couple of weeks. She’d apparently told him all about me and he was dying to set up a date. He’d already left a message for me, to which I hadn’t yet responded. I explained to Mary I didn’t see the point in starting something that clearly wouldn’t go anywhere. She said he looked young for his age, expressed to me again what an exceptional chef he was, and mentioned that some of the staff had run into him on the beach while he was surfing (hmm, a surfer, that doesn’t sound like a grandfather.) They’d told her he had a great body and that he seemed so youthful and fun. Well, maybe I could give it a shot, I wouldn’t want “dating a chef” to end up on my bucket list.

I decided one night while I was pretty tipsy (always when I make my best decisions), that I would call him and tell him I’d love to meet for dinner. He sounded thrilled to hear from me and said he’d love to meet up. So we scheduled a date.

We decided to meet at a sushi restaurant he recommended. I started to get excited, thinking maybe this fancy chef who surfs, has a hot body, looks young, makes a great living, and can whip up a lobster dinner for me might just be a great thing. Maybe I’d been too judgmental about the situation. Then I saw him. Maybe not. We said hello and sat down. I had seen only one picture of him from his hotel’s website. He did not look like that picture. He wasn’t terrible looking, but his face had so many more wrinkles then the deceiving picture had shown, his hair looked like a small child had cut it using a weed whacker, and his teeth were a little too big for his mouth. But I was determined not to judge at first glance. I told myself the wrinkles were from all of the surfing he does. Then when I asked him about his surfing, he looked confused and said he’d never been on a surfboard in his life. Apparently the surfer chef was one of his employees. I wondered if that chef was single, while I silently cursed Mary for all of the misinformation. I decided to make the best of the situation. As we chatted I found out he had been divorced not just once, but three times, and had a child from each marriage. Wow. So at least he didn’t have any baggage. More sake please.

After 3 shared bottles of sake, a glass of wine, and a shot of tequila, I was actually enjoying my night with the old, divorced, funny haired chef. He asked if I wanted to continue the night at a nearby bar which had a live band. I said sure, why not. We talked more, drank more, danced a little, then went back to his apartment since it was right near by. He said he was going to use the restroom and would be right back. I sat on the bed which is the last thing I remember before the sake and tequila infused buzz took over.

The next thing I know I’m waking up in a bed, confused as to where I am. I’m fully clothed at least, and I’m laying on someone’s arm. It’s hard to remember who at first through my hazy hangover. Damn you tequila. I looked around and started to remember. Chef looked at me and smiled, and I asked what had happened. He said he came back from the restroom and I was out cold on the bed, so he just let me sleep. He said he wasn’t used to anyone sleeping in his bed, but it had been nice, and told me to rest while he went to get us muffins and coffee. He was wearing outdated looking glasses, and I watched him put on a ridiculous looking visor and Hawaiian shirt (which were both things my dad wore growing up) and as I listened to the 50’s music playing on his radio, I realized this just wasn’t going to work out. After he came back with coffee and muffins I said I needed to get going. He kissed me goodbye and told me how excited he was to spend time with me and said he couldn’t wait to see me again. I didn’t want to burst his bubble so I just smiled and said goodbye.

Chef called the next day to ask when I’d be free so he could make me dinner, and while tempted to see what amazing dish he’d whip up, I said I was busy all week. I figured I’d just slowly blow him off and he’d eventually get the hint. He didn’t let me off that easy. He called again the next evening and lured me in with the promise of a fancy homemade meal full of things like filet mignon, mussels, and homemade dessert. I finally agreed to dinner that weekend. I thought, why not get at least one great meal out of it before I move on. He did seem like a nice, normal man after all. That is until the next evening when he called again, and he seemed pretty intoxicated. He wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, he kept calling me baby and slurring , and was acting lovey-dovey and a bit too serious. I decided it would probably be best to cancel the “harmless” dinner date. While I tried to figure out how to get out of the date, he proceeded to not only call me often, but also email me as well. More often then not he seemed drunk and out of it. I realized this could quite possibly be the reason he’d been divorced 3 times. He may have been an amazing chef but, it seemed, a closet drunk as well.

After procrastinating until the morning of our date, I finally called to cancel. I told him I wasn’t feeling well and was so sorry I wouldn’t be able to make it. He seemed really disappointed and told me he understood and looked forward to rescheduling. He then called later to leave a long, drunken message telling me about the fancy dinner he’d had to eat alone, and mumbled some other things I couldn’t quite understand. After that I started avoiding his many calls, and he finally left a message one day saying, “Hey Parker. So if you don’t want to see me anymore, or if this isn’t working out for you, then just tell me. I mean, just call me and tell me. Let’s just be honest with each other here.” Be honest. O.k. You’re an old, thrice divorced drunk who has hair like a chia pet, teeth resembling a rabbit's, and you dress like my dad. You came on way to strong and you’re acting like we had a relationship even though it was only one date. One date, on which, I had to get liquored up in order to enjoy, and I can’t remember the end of the evening because I passed out on your bed. Oh, and since we’re being honest, I only agreed to go out with you, despite your age, because I’d been given false information and thought you were someone else who was supposed to be younger, hotter, and more fit. You should change the picture on your website because you don’t look like that anymore and most of the time I don’t understand what you’re saying because of all the slurring. That's what I wanted to say. What I actually said to him was that my life was very busy at the moment and if I had any free time in the future I’d let him know. He finally stopped calling after that, though Mary told me he’d ask about me from time to time. I heard recently that he is still single (shocker) and still seeking wife #4. I do still have an appetite for delicious food, but I decided it may be best to pay my compliments to the chef from afar.

The Inflight Boyfriend

It was on a flight from California to New York that I met Miguel. I had claimed him during boarding as my I.F.B. or “inflight boyfriend” (which is a term flight attendants use to describe the boys or men we find attractive and secretly hope to flirt with during the flight.) He was tall dark and handsome, and dressed in a suit, (which was a bonus since I’m a sucker for a man in a suit.)

After we’d taken off, I was disappointed to see that he was completely knocked out. He was so fast asleep that when I walked through the aisle, and accidentally kicked him in the leg so hard I was certain I must have broken a bone, he didn’t even budge. Then, when I walked through later, his long leg was once again in the aisle and I accidentally kicked it again even harder. Oops! I opened my mouth to begin apologizing profusely but he was still out cold.

An hour later, while walking through the aisle, I saw that my I.F.B. was finally awake. I asked him if his leg was sore, and when he looked confused I explained the encounter I’d with his leg while he’d been passed out. I told him I was shocked he hadn’t woken since I’d kicked him so hard…twice. He laughed and told me he wouldn’t hold it against me. I asked if I could bring him a cocktail as a peace offering for roughing him up, but he declined. He said he’d had quite a bit to drink at the wedding he’d just come from and needed to recover. I told him, in my most flirtatious tone, to let me know if he changed his mind.

A while later I was in the galley chatting with my coworker about my I.F.B, and telling her it was a shame I'd more than likely never see him again. While there were plenty of attractive men on our flights, most of them didn't usually ask us out. Just as I was complaining about this fact, my I.F.B walked up right behind me. My coworker stifled a giggle and made an excuse to leave us alone. He formally introduced himself, his name was Miguel, and then he proceeded to ask me out to dinner. I was thrilled. I said I’d love to and gave him my number.

A couple of days later Miguel called and we made dinner plans for the following evening. We met at the restaurant and I almost didn’t recognize him out of his suit. He still looked cute, but in his t-shirt and flat rimmed ball cap, he appeared to be about 10 years younger then I’d originally guessed he was. When I asked, he told me he was only 23, but said he truly felt age was just a number. I wasn't completely sold on his 'age is just a number' theory, but he was charming on our date, and a gentleman when he paid the bill. We ended up having a great evening and we even made plans for the weekend. His friend was having a party and I told him I’d bring my single girlfriend Taylor.

On the night of the party, Taylor and I got decked out in our party dresses and heels. I told her there should be some cute single guys there to mingle with so she was excited. That is until we got to the “party.” We walked in and my first realization was that we were ridiculously overdressed. Miguel’s original suit attire had been deceiving, because he apparently had a uniform of a t-shirt, ball cap, and sneakers. As did everyone else there, (and when I say everyone I’m referring to the 5 other people that attended.) Miguel greeted me with a kiss and I introduced him to Taylor, who was shooting me a look that said: I cannot believe you dragged me to this, you owe me big. (I’d known Taylor for years and we’d become very good at having full conversations without speaking a word.) I shot her a look back that said: I know, I’m so sorry, we won’t stay long I promise.

Miguel asked if we’d like a drink, and in unison Taylor and I too quickly said, “Yes please!” (One of the other things I loved about Taylor was our mutual appreciation of alcohol, especially when it was needed to assist in an undesirable situation such as this “party.”) Miguel had us follow him to the backyard where he pulled 2 cans of Bud light out of a cooler, which was located next to the beer pong table. Oh holy f*ck, I’m at a frat party. And really beer in a can?! Sigh. I refused to make eye contact with Taylor, who was now pinching my arm, since I knew exactly what her look was going to say. I was determined to try and make the best of the situation, so I finished my can of beer and dragged Taylor with me on a hunt for some real liquor, while Miguel was busy setting up for beer pong. We found a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen and proceeded to down enough to make us forget we were about to play beer pong in heels.

After the night of the "party," I decided Miguel was just too young for me and I was going to blow him off. He didn’t make it quite that easy. He could tell I wasn’t thrilled with his age, the party, etc., and insisted I let him take me to dinner again. He was very persistent so I finally agreed. I began to think I may have been wrong to judge, that perhaps despite his age and attire, he was a guy worth giving a chance to. Then I met him at the restaurant he suggested for our date, and walked into a “Taco Tuesday” themed night where the tacos were 3 for a dollar, and drunk people were already spilling their beers on me as I walked by. When I found Miguel he gave me a hug and introduced me to his friend from work, who was apparently joining us for dinner. Umm, first of all, tacos aren’t dinner and not only does inviting a friend from work make this no longer a date, but this friend was a female who had the most obvious crush on him. Really?! Why did I agree to this and why was the double shot of tequila I’d ordered not here yet?! After enduring as much as I could take of feeling like a third wheel on my own date, I told Miguel I had to get home. He looked slightly surprised and told me he’d call me later.

Miguel did try calling but I never called him back. I decided I’d prefer to carry on solo in my journey of finding a man who: A) doesn’t look like he rides a skateboard to work, B) agrees that 5 people playing beer pong is NOT a party, and C) who understands that a date is not an appropriate place to invite a female coworker who clearly wants to see you naked.

The Kiwi (Part 3)

As I landed on the ground I felt horrible pain in my leg, so I was pretty sure I was alive, but was convinced my leg must be broken. Ted came running over asking if I was o.k. I couldn’t respond with anything other than a moan. Ted’s dad wasn’t quite as sympathetic. I heard him say, “Give her a minute, just give her a minute, she’ll be fine.” When I finally opened my eyes, all I wanted to know was what happened to my leg. Despite the fact that several men were standing all around me, I stood up and said, “I’m sorry, but I need to see what happened to my leg,” as I proceeded to drop my pants. I was reminded then, by the breeze hitting my ass, that I had chosen to wear thong underwear that day. The men quickly turned their heads away, and I heard the farm hands snickering, but my focus was on my leg which did not appear broken. Thank God. There was a huge lump and bruise forming which, as the day went on, turned black as night and covered my entire thigh. Needless to say the horseback riding was done for the day. Ted’s dad drove us back towards the house, stopping along the way to herd in a few sheep. Not only did he seem unconcerned about my leg, but he had Kylie and I help guide a few sheep into their proper place. I wasn’t the biggest help with the huge limp I’d now adopted, but we were guests on the farm, so I didn’t want to be rude.

Over the next few days Kylie and I decided to go off on our own for 2 weeks without Ted. I figured I owed her some girl time. She’d been such a good sport about the new relationship I was devoting most of my attention to. We rented a car and mapped out the towns we would stop and stay in. The first destination we’d picked was a pretty far drive. We decided we’d save money on a hotel by driving straight through most of that night and sleeping in the car for a while when we got tired. When it got too dark on the roads (which didn’t have street lights) we decided to pull over, park, and try to sleep. With the car off it was absolutely freezing. We must have put on every piece of clothing in our suitcases, and about 5 pairs of socks each, but it barely helped. We concluded if we wanted to stay warm without leaving the car running all night, we’d have to cuddle. So that’s what we did, and through chattering teeth we swore to never again discuss this night. We also promised we’d book hotels for the rest of our trip.

When I woke up in the morning, I sat up to see where we’d parked, and saw children peeking in to look at us. Oh crap, where the hell were we? I saw the sign and quickly realized we were parked in front of an elementary school, not in the parking lot, but right on their front lawn. I woke Kylie up and started the car. We drove off just as the teachers were walking over to reprimand us.

Over the next 2 weeks, I called Ted often and we discussed how much we missed each other. When the 2 weeks were finally up, we joined Ted again, this time at his friend the Reverend’s house. Kylie warned me that if the Reverend turned out to be boring and preachy we were leaving again on our own. I agreed. The Reverend turned out to be a blast. Before we’d even put down luggage he was handing us stiff cocktails. By the end of the evening he had started a living room dance party and encouraged us to follow suit as he skinny dipped in the Jacuzzi. He was already an excellent host in my book.

The next day Ted had to go visit with his daughter. He kissed me goodbye and said he’d see me later that night. When Ted returned I instantly sensed the change. He was cold and distant. When I asked what was wrong, he said he’d had a conversation with his ex he didn’t feel like discussing, but that nothing was wrong. Liar. The next few days became torturous. The Ted that adored me never returned. He continued to pretend nothing was wrong, yet he wouldn’t make eye contact, or kiss me, or do any of the endearing things I’d grown accustomed to. I was completely heartbroken. Kylie tried talking to him and, though he wouldn’t tell her much either, she concluded it had something to do with his ex and his daughter. That maybe she'd heard about his new relationship and perhaps wanted him back, or made him feel guilty. Kylie also thought he seemed scared about his developing feelings since he knew we’d be leaving soon. I knew it would have been tough to maintain any type of relationship, being from opposite ends of the earth, but I was willing to do whatever it took since I believed I’d found what I was looking for with Ted. I didn’t want to show my hurt and disappointment, while he seemed to be managing just fine, so by day I pretended to be happy and at night would cry myself to sleep. Kylie knew how I truly felt and suggested it might be time to head home. I gladly agreed and we set up our flight.

Our last day in New Zealand was spent at an annual wine and food festival the Reverend insisted we go to. I decided I wasn’t going to let Ted ruin my last night in this beautiful country and made sure I drank enough wine to pretend I didn’t notice all the girls he was flirting with. Kylie and I had a blast with the Reverend, and even managed to encourage him to get a tattoo at one of the booths. He agreed and decided he’d get it on his ass, since he could hide it that way if he wanted to. He even let us pick it out. I suggested a dove holding an olive branch, since it was holy. I told him if Reverends in America were more like him I’d probably start going to church.

Towards the end of the festival, I sat by myself and watched the sun setting over the gorgeous green hills, and reflected back on the adventure I’d had here. I decided maybe it was for the best Ted had shut me out. While this country was stunning, I enjoyed living where there were more people than sheep, and I realized I deserved a man who would care enough to be there for me in a way Ted was obviously incapable of doing.

The next day we said our goodbyes. Ted pulled me aside and apologized for the way he’d acted, told me he'd been scared of the feelings that had developed since I lived so far away. He asked if he could keep in touch. I told him I would’ve appreciated this apology a lot more if it had been a week earlier, and that it was probably best at this point if we went our separate ways.

On the flight home Kylie asked how I felt about everything. I told her I felt great, and it was the truth. I would always remember this as one of the most amazing and memorable trips I’d ever taken, and Ted was a part of it all, so I’d always be thankful for that. I did, however, decide from then on that if any kiwis were going to be in my future next time I’d stick to the fruit.

The Kiwi (Part 2)

The next morning Ted picked us up bright and early and, when he saw our luggage, said he wondered if we’d left anything back home in America since it was obvious we’d brought nearly everything we owned in these suitcases. To avoid any further sarcastic commentary, we didn’t tell him we had 3 even larger suitcases we were temporarily leaving in Auckland at the place we’d been staying. He stuffed them into the back with his assortment of pots and off we went.

We drove south and the drive was stunning. I had never seen so much green. Or sheep. New Zealand had more sheep then you could possibly imagine, far more sheep then people. It was borderline disturbing. We stayed each night at a hotel on the way down to the farm, courtesy of Ben’s pot selling job. We all had a blast together, and Ted and I really started to connect. We became sort of an instant couple. When he began to feel really comfortable with us, he shared some important news. He had a 3 year old daughter from his ex-wife. And there it was: The baggage. I knew there had to be something wrong with my seemingly perfect-thus-far kiwi. (You’d think living on opposite sides of the world would have been enough for me not to let myself get attached, but apparently I was oblivious to red flags.) I decided I was o.k. with it since he seemed like a good father and we were so smitten with each other. I was having the time of my life. At one point Ted and I were discussing the topic of love and he told me I was someone he could definitely fall in love with. Uh-oh, now he’d done it. I was officially falling for my kiwi.

We finally made it to his father’s farm, which was different then any farm I’d ever seen in the states. When we first arrived, Ted took us for a ride out into the picturesque green rolling hills and stopped in the middle of one. He told us to be quiet and look to our left. We did and saw a pack of wild horses running right by us so close I could’ve reached out and touched them. It was stunning and I couldn’t help but gasp while Ted smiled at me and hugged me tightly. I was in heaven and already wondering how I could commute to my job in the states after I’d moved to New Zealand.

Later that day Ted’s dad was taking us horseback riding. When he asked us if we’d ever ridden a horse before Kylie quickly said no. Thinking it’d seem impressive to Ted, I unfortunately decided to be cocky and say that I’d done it many times before, and was a great rider. I had to mention that when riding I’d always liked to gallop ahead of everyone else because I loved riding fast. This was true but I’d only done this on trail horses, horses that were used to strange people riding them constantly, and it had also been years since I’d even sat on a horse. Me and my big mouth. I found out later that the horse they gave me to ride that day was known to be crazy and mean. The only reason they let me ride him was because: A) they thought I was a skilled rider and: B) they thought the horse was tired out from a long day and therefore wasn’t as dangerous as he normally would have been. They were wrong on all accounts.

Kylie got onto her horse, which was safely contained inside of a round fence, and was content just riding her horse in slow circles. Ted helped me up onto “crazy horse” and asked if I was o.k. I told him of course I was, that I just needed to get my bearings since it had been a while. Before that could happen crazy horse immediately sensed I had no clue as to what I was doing and panicked. He started to trot up the hill quickly. I began feeling a little nervous and tried to guide him back down. He wouldn’t listen to me, all he knew was that he wanted this foreigner off of his back. We were now at the top of the hill looking down at Ted, his dad, a couple of farm hands and Kylie trotting around in circles. Then it happened. Crazy horse started galloping down the hill towards them all as fast as he could with me on his back, my arms flailing wildly in the air, bouncing around trying desperately not to fall off, and screaming in a high pitched way that was more than embarrassing. We were getting closer and closer to the fence and crazy horse was not slowing down. Oh holy f*ck, he’s going to jump the fence. As we got to the fence I braced myself and closed my eyes, but at the last second he made a sharp right turn and stopped suddenly, sending me flying off of his back, onto the fence, and then onto the ground.....To Be Continued

The Kiwi (Part 1)

The first 10 months of my flight attendant career were spent on reserve. This meant that I was on call and had little to no say over my schedule or my life. After almost a year of this my closest flight attendant friend Kylie and I were extremely tired of being on reserve to say the least. Our airline was coming up on their slowest months of the year and, in order to avoid paying more of us then they’d need to, offered what they called R&R. A rest and relaxation period of 1 to 2 of months unpaid vacation. Kylie thought we should request the 2 months off and leave the country. I reminded her we wouldn’t be getting paid and asked how she figured we could live for 2 months without a salary. She said we’d get a job that paid us “under the table” and that we’d make it work. It took about 3 days on her part to sway me into agreeing to this crazy idea. We put in our request for R&R and waited to see if it would be awarded to us.

The following week Kylie called me ecstatic with the news that we’d gotten approved. We’d have the next 2 months off and would be heading out of the country. She suggested we go to Australia and I agreed since I’d always wanted to go there. One of our roommates was from New Zealand and told us that, if we were going that far, we had to stop in her hometown on the way. She set us up with a place to stay in Auckland and 2 weeks later we were on a plane heading to the other side of the world.

Our first night in Auckland, New Zealand, we weren’t too impressed. It just seemed like another typical city. We agreed that perhaps we should leave in a couple of days and head on over to Australia. That is until the next evening.

We stepped into a random bar to have a beer and were standing next to a couple of cute New Zealand men who, when they heard our American accents, asked if they could buy us a beer as a welcome to their country. We thanked them and began chatting. The one I found attractive introduced himself as Ted. We began flirting a bit and it turned out he was as charming as he was handsome, and while I could only understand about every 3rd word he said with his thick accent, I found it irresistible nonetheless. He asked if I’d ever met a Kiwi before I’d come to New Zealand. I was confused since I wasn’t sure why he was asking me about fruit, and he explained that “kiwi” was a slang term they used to describe natives of New Zealand. I told him that other than the delicious kiwis I'd come across in my fruit salads, no, he was the first. He gave me an amused smile and told me I was in for a real treat then.

We discussed our occupations, told them what we did, and then Ted told us he sold pots. My initial assumption was that he sold marijuana, which I was shocked he was promoting so freely, but turned out he actually sold pots. As in pots that hold plants. I couldn’t believe that was an actual job but apparently he did well selling his pots. He had the perk of getting to travel around the country while being put up in hotel rooms and also made a decent living. When I asked if they might hire two American girls to sell pots “under the table” he just gave me a look I took to mean fat chance silly American. He then turned to Kylie and I and abruptly asked, “How would you two Yanks like to see the real New Zealand? We’re leaving Auckland tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. sharp and heading down to stay on my dad’s farm with a few stops along the way. You’ll have a free place to stay as long as you’re with us. What do you say?” Kylie and I took a moment to look at each other and knew what our unanimous decision was without having to say a word. I knew we were both thinking the same thing. How often do you get a free tour, plus accommodations, in a foreign country?! I was also secretly thrilled because I had a crush on our hot tour guide Ted and this would give me an excuse to pursue that as well. We told Ted we’d love to go.

I wondered what we had in store for us and hoped it was more adventure then trouble but, with my luck, the latter was more than likely to occur............To be continued

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.

The Flight Attendant (Part 3)

My ex-boyfriend pulled up to the airport to drop me off, got out to help me with my bags, and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. When he stepped away from me, to get back into his car, my stomach dropped to the floor as I saw who was standing just a few feet away. Staring at me, looking crestfallen and like he’d just seen a ghost, was Ben. Damn, damn, damn. Really with my luck?! I stood there for a moment, debating whether or not to run as fast as possible in the other direction, but seeing Ben’s sad face I knew I had to deal with this situation. He came up to me rattling off questions I didn’t know quite how to answer, such as: What the hell is going on? Why wasn’t I out of the country like I said I would be? Who was the man that had just dropped me off? Did I realize how confused he was and that I was breaking his heart on his birthday? Oh my God…it was his birthday! Shit, shit, shit…I completely forgot! I’m a terrible, horrible person. I could not for the life of me think of how to rectify this situation. I told him I was so sorry that I was ruining his birthday, I'd never meant to hurt him. I tried explaining why I hadn’t called, trying to help him understand it was because I needed time to sort things out. Then I told him I had to go if I was going to catch my flight back to New York but we could talk later if he wanted to. He said he couldn’t believe that he had to feel this way for the next 5 hours without being able to talk to me more about it. I tried to give him a hug, which ended up being one sided since he wouldn’t hug me back, and boarded my flight feeling horrible about hurting Ben.

When I landed in New York, Ben had already left me 2 messages sharing some of his thoughts and insecurities which had now developed, and asked me to call him as soon as I landed. I procrastinated that conversation until I was back at the crash pad sipping a double vodka on the rocks. Ben and I proceeded to talk and argue for about 2 hours straight, the end result being I thought we needed to end things, and he was heartbroken about it.

Since we worked for the same company, and obviously had a good chance of running into each other, we remained as friendly as possible under the circumstances. That is until a couple of months down the road. Ben had a layover in New York and asked if I wanted to meet up for a drink while he was there. I met up with him and made the mistake of kissing him at the end of the night. To Ben this apparently meant we were back together. I heard through a mutual friend that’s what he was telling people. Since it was clear we couldn’t be just friends, I began to avoid Ben’s calls. I’ll admit, it wasn’t the best way of handling things, but I was out of ideas and avoidance seemed like the most appealing option.

I also began to rekindle a romance with the previously mentioned ex-boyfriend, the one who was present during the accidental birthday encounter. I had a California layover and invited him to come stay with me. I happened to be flying with my good friend Vince on that trip. Somehow Ben had heard I would be there, and decided he’d show up to confront me, since I wasn’t responding to his messages. I found this out while I was laying in bed next to my on-again-ex, and out in the hallway I heard my friend Vince on his cell phone, asking someone if they knew what room I was in. I pulled a sheet around me and peeked my head out the door. Vince saw me and asked me in a whisper who I had in the room with me. I told him who was in there and asked why we were whispering. He shook his head and told me Ben was down in the lobby trying to find out what room I was in. My eyes widened in slight panic but Vince told me not to worry. Ben had been trying to get the front desk to tell him my room number to no avail, and when he’d seen Vince had looked relieved, thinking he would point him in the right direction. Ben didn’t realize Vince couldn’t stand him and that there is no amount of money that could have swayed his loyalty to me. Vince had looked at him with a smirk, and told him it would be against the rules to give out that information, which frustrated Ben even further. Vince told me if it had been anyone other than me he would’ve loved to have given out the room number, grabbed a bowl of popcorn, and pulled up a chair to watch the show. I thanked him for fighting that cruel urge and not throwing me under the bus. I went back into my room and the hotel phone started ringing relentlessly. The front desk wouldn’t give Ben my room number, but they obviously had no problem connecting him to my room over and over again. After making up some sort of lame excuse to my on-again-ex about the disruption, I unplugged the phone.

After that day, Ben finally stopped calling. I heard about him from time to time through mutual friends, mostly about him hating me, and eventually that he had left the company. I was glad that we wouldn’t be running into each other at work anymore, but was also a little sad that we couldn’t have remained friends. He was part of a huge turning point in my life, and I would be forever thankful for his assistance in helping me find my new career. But it was time to move on to bigger and better things, because as it turns out, sometimes size does matter.