The Stewardess

Not sure why...

But as I sit on my balcony tonight, I can't stop thinking about a very nervous stewardess I once witnessed on a flight to Atlanta.

Her voice was shakey as she read the pre-departure regulations over the intercom from a piece of paper; clearly indicating she was fresh on the job since she hadn't memorized them yet. She made many mistakes when reading from the paper, and each time she made a mistake, she was painfully aware that all of the passengers heard her blunders. Once airborne, it actually seemed as if she was afraid of flying. She was also the only stewardess on the plane- which added to the pressure, anxiety, and fear she clearly felt. It seemed that she was on the verge of a nervous meltdown.

I remember watching her from my seat.... and I felt so sorry for her. I could just feel her fear and how hard she was trying to push through it without bursting into tears. I knew what that kind of fear and pressure felt like. The last thing on my mind was "oh wow, she is making so many mistakes... she really stinks as a flight attendant." I saw how much she was trying, even though she was afraid, and it made me want her to suceed and feel like a pro.

It was a short flight, and towards the end of it, I could tell that she started to feel more comfortable doing her job. I got a kick out of the fact that she spent most of the flight preparing trays holding little plastic cups of ice cold water... and by the time she started passing them out, we were starting to descend (this is typically the time that beverages and trash are collected, not passed out). She barely kept her balance as she tried to pass out the cups without spilling, and then collect them moments later after she realized it was time for her to get back in her seat.

Once we landed and started to de-plane, I said to her on my way out, "excellent service." She gave me a nervous, surprised smile and said thank you. I wanted to tell her to hang in there and that in no time she's going to get it.

That was perhaps one year ago...  and tonight as I sat on my balcony, I thought about her and smiled at the fact that either she is a pro by now, and has those regulations memorized like the back of her hand- or, she realized that being a flight attendant is not for her, and she's off to new ventures. Either way- she won, because she tried, regardless of her insecurities.

Most importantly, after remembering the stewardess, I contemplated the likelihood that when we truly make an effort with something, even though we are afraid, other people care more about seeing us succeed than labeling us as failures.

A Sweet Memorial Day Surprise...

I witnessed a beautiful tradition in Washington DC's Reagan National Airport (DCA) last year on Memorial Day that I will never forget.

I remember going through security at DCA and standing in line with all of these anxious people wearing matching t-shirts who were so excited about something... but I couldn't figure out what.

They kept saying to eachother, "Have they landed yet?! Do you know what gate they are coming into??!" "Ooh Ooh! I heard they just landed! Hurry hurry!"

I'm thinking, what is going on and why are these people going through security with me if they are clearly waiting on an arriving plane? Oh well.

After going through security and heading to my gate, I noticed off to the right a crowd of people standing in one particular gate area. There were balloons... and a band... and lot's of miniature American flags...  There was clearly something signifcant happening and I wasn't about to miss it so I turned and asked someone "what is going on?!"

Their response nearly brought tears to my eyes.

 

180 World War II Veterans were arriving on an aircraft from Charlotte, NC to visit the WWII Memorial in DC for the first time. They had no idea that when they arrived at their gate, they would be greeted by family, friends, and a bunch of strangers at the airport welcoming and cheering for them as they each walked one by one off the jetway and through the airport.

They especially didn't know that there would be a band in their gate playing songs from that era such as, "Hooray for the Red, White, and Blue!",  "The Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy", and a military medley of each theme song of the Armed Forces. (Click here to hear).





(You can just barely see the band in the background of this picture)

The veterans were overwhelmed with emotion and most of them burst into tears as soon as they walked into the gate and saw the crowd of people clapping for them. A number of them were in wheelchairs. As they walked through the aisle that the crowd had created, they shook the hands of strangers.... strangers, who said "thank you" with tears streaming down their faces.

After tearing up with a bunch of other random travelers (who weren't so random to me in that moment), I eventually headed to my gate, feeling so fortunate that I witnessed what I had- otherwise, I likely would have carried on with my business and travel anxieties without pausing to even think about the meaning behind the holiday. 

That being said, I would encourage anyone reading this, to make the effort this Memorial Day to talk to simply one person in your family or circle of friends who has fought in or experienced a war involving our country. Whether that be a grandparent with WWII, a parent or uncle with Vietnam, or a friend who has served in Afghanistan. Ask them about their experience. Ask them questions. Don't hold back and don't be embarassed with what you don't know. Get a sense for the reality that people die to protect your way of life. While difficult to wrap my head around, that thought is ultimately very empowering to me... and makes me want to think twice before allowing myself to get too stressed out over stupid things. <- Such as getting yelled at by security for illegally riding my bike around and around the fountain below. But that's a blog for another day! :)

WWII Memorial in Washington DC

Mother's Day Maintenance

Tonight on my US Airways flight from Myrtle Beach to Charlotte, we were delayed taking off because one of the overhead bins in the back of the plane wouldn’t close.

One of the flight attendants, who had joyfully announced that he was retiring in a month, exclaimed to his peers “why don’t we just duck tape it and get the hell out of here??”

I like this guy, I thought.

About 5 minutes later, a maintenance man comes on board with duck tape and says “thank God for United.”

Yes, thank God for United.

Eventually we take off. The old man sitting beside me wasn’t too creepy so I engaged in the conversation he struck up with me. When we got on the subject of what we do for a living he told me (no joke) that he “takes companies that have basically become piles of S#%@ and transforms them into successful organizations.”

“Is that your official mission statement?” I asked. J

We chit chat and are in Charlotte in no time (must have been real fast for him since he drank two vodkas on the 35 minute flight).

I get to my gate in Charlotte- no time to stop and get dinner due to the short connection. Once at the gate, the flight attendant announces that we can’t start boarding because one of the seats in first class is broken, and the maintenance man is on board fixing it. “What is up with the maintenance issues on Mother’s Day?!” I say to myself.

“It should be just a couple of minutes,” she announces.

I think to myself, “Yeah…… right... just a couple of minutes..."

It always annoys me when airline crews say that when we all know that “just a couple of minutes” really means “we have no idea what the heck is going on and how long this is going to take so by all means... talk amongst yourselves.”

Why don’t they just say, “Realistically we are not going to resolve this issue within the next 10 minutes, so if you would like to go get a smoothie or a personal pan pizza, then you have plenty of time to do so.” After all, this is what everyone in the gate is wondering anyway- whether or not they have time to go to the bathroom or sprint to Starbucks and back.

Knowing full well that I have plenty of time to go grab a smoothie, I head to the main concourse, thinking along the way, with my luck, the seat broken will be mine.

Please don’t be 1D, please don’t be 1D…

We eventually start boarding, and all is well. Once seated, I look to my left, and would you know, across the aisle I see that it is 1C that is broken. PHEW.  

The gentleman seated beside me doesn’t start any conversation. And since the cardinal rule of airplane chit chat is that if it doesn’t start within 30 seconds then it’s pretty much guaranteed you won’t be talking the whole flight, I feel relaxed that I can just enjoy the silence.

Silence that is, until this gentleman (who is wearing Bose soundproof headphones) orders his beverage of choice:

“CRANBERRY JUICE PLEASE!!!” he shouts.

I chuckle and start typing this story on my laptop to pass the time. I had intended to write a Mother’s Day blog in appreciation of my mom who has helped get me through a very difficult past 16 months. But intentions are frequently interrupted where travel is involved…

So I will dedicate this post to her- Thank you “Marmie” for always answering the phone when I call… talking me through late night car rides to help keep me awake… talking me through day time car rides to keep me company… for celebrating my successes, and supporting me through my failures (which you would never consider failures)…

But most importantly, for passing on to me, your sense of humor which allows me to laugh at each day, no matter what it brings… thank you! I love you! Happy Mother’s Day.

At least I'm not a Lobster...

It was a very tough week:

Washington, DC-> Houston, Texas-> Alexandria, Lousiana

Alexandria, Lousiana -> Atlanta, Georgia-> Pensacola, Florida

Pensacola, Florida-> Atlanta, Georgia-> Norfolk, Virginia

Norfolk, Virginia-> Pawleys Island, South Carolina

By the time I was about to board my plane in Pensacola to fly to Norfolk, I was Done. The travel, not to mention the usual stress and pressure of having an aggressive sales job, had completely burned me into the ground.

My mom picked me up in Norfolk (she was driving from Pennslyvania to South Carolina) and we spent the night at the Hilton in Virginia Beach. (I had once eaten at an outstanding restaurant there called "Catch 33" and since I wanted my Mom to experience it, I decided to book us a room there).

The hotel and restaurant were packed. I've never seen so many people in one hotel. As one lady said when we were standing in the ridiculous line waiting on the elevators, "Gosh! This is worse than Myrtle Beach in the summer!" :)

Myrtle Beach in the summer

As luck would have it, there were no tables available in the restaurant.

.... So we opted to sit at the raw bar, opposite the raw crustaceans that were waiting to be cooked.

There was a cluster full of lobsters probably less than a foot away from us- just laying on a bed of ice. I assumed that they were dead because they were complelely lifeless.

Then all of a sudden, the one sitting directly across from me (see above), starting moving his atennas, and blinking at me. My reaction must have been like that of a five year old: "Oh my gosh!!!!! He's moving!!!" It was really exciting and confusing at the same time. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

After the initial excitement wore off, I felt kinda sorry sorry for the little guy. There he was... just laying on his death bed... and as my mom added, "not just his death bed... his death bed of ICE!"

Not only that but a just a few feet away the chef's were chopping up his steamed friends. It so terribly reminded me of the scene in The Little Mermaid where Sebastian escapes Chef Louis.

Then all of sudden, I turned to my mom and said, "You know... life really could be worse. At least I am not this lobster." And with that we clinked our wine glasses and laughed. The week was nearly done, and I was determined to enjoy the moment and put it all behind me, reminding myself once again, that this is JUST A JOB, and life really could be so much harder than it is.

I don't remember our conversation but I remember laughing a good bit... that is.... until our entrees arrived.

You see, I had ordered the fried snapper. And they brought me... literally... a fried snapper.

The fried snapper... with the half dead lobster in the background

I may have grown up in coastal South Carolina, but I feel very uncomfortable eating fish this way. I sort of feel like the server should have warned me. All of a sudden I regretted not asking him what I typically ask servers 99% of the time when I order fish-> "is this one... fishy?"

Oh well. We made it through the meal with our only regrets being that we had mis-timed when American Idol was on and had missed that week's elimination.

When we got back to the room my mom called my grandmother, "Hi, Mom... so who was voted off American Idol??" (GASP) "WHAT?!!?! STEPHANO?!?! You are KIDDING ME?!"

By the time we got ready for bed, and I completed my usual hotel nightly routine of covering up all the lights and properly examining the wall thermostat to set the right temperature and fan mode, life was better again.

Just another romantic dinner...

with me, myself, and I.

Sometimes I don't mind eating alone; sometimes I prefer eating alone; and sometimes... I just feel sorry for myself.

I am in Alexandria, Louisiana. I was determined to not eat subway or fast food tonight (especially since I voluntarily chose to eat McDonalds for lunch), so I headed down 49 South to MacCarthur Boulevard- per the recommendation of my Hampton Inn front desk lady.

As I drive, my appetite is not impressed. Taco Bell.... Texas Roadhouse... Applebee's... BBQ... Taco Bueno... no, no, no, no, no. Gag, gag, gag, gag.

Then all of sudden I notice a sketchy looking Italian restaurant that peaks my interest, so I try to pull over to check out the scene. (The car in the lane beside me is very upset that I am suddenly trying to get over, so he honks obnoxiously and gives me the middle finger). Ahhh... what a wonderful end to the day.

Eventually, I pull into the parking lot... very confused about what I would find inside. But experience has taught me that even in the most remote places... one can actually find authentic, good cuisine. Still unsure though, I leave my purse in the car. The plan of action is to walk in and ask for a menu- check out the atmosphere and if it is too dodgey, make a run for it.

I walk in and instantly know that I've made the right choice. It must be family owned because when I ask the kid at the front counter for a menu he says, "Dad... which one do I show her?"

The menu consists of home-made pastas and cannolis.... heaven to look at a menu like this. I soak up every word and have fun simply reading the descriptions of all the possible options of food.

My waitress... is a riot. She convinces me to order the chicken pasta dish with banana peppers and mushrooms. I ask her if it's spicy. She says no... that it's only spicy "in a banana-pepperish kind of way."

I go for it, knowing full well that servers' recommendations are usually trustworthy.

Meanwhile I sip on chardonnay and listen to beautiful romantic Italian music which makes me feel really sorry for my lonely self- Sitting here with my laptop while couples sit nearby in their business attire... likely sharing details of their day, comforting one another through conversation and the clink of their "cheers"  when the wine arrives.

Speaking of arrivals... the "not spicy" pasta entree comes. After a few first bites... my lips are on fire. I actually started sweating during the initial intake. I gulped down my water and added the extra ice to my chardonnay... But of course, my people-pleasing-self comments to the waitress, "excellent recommendation!!"

(Sigh)

Time for dessert. My heart was set on the cannoli... but the waitress convinces me otherwise. She goes into a 5 minute schpiel about the lemoncello mascarpone cake->  "Oh my gah girl! I don't even like lemon and this cake is aaammmaaaazzziinnngg!! Oh my gah!!"

I appreciate her passion for the cake, so, I go for it.

Meanwhile, a waiter starts bringing lit candles to all of the tables. He stops by my table and says..."do you want me to wait to put your candle here?"

No! By all means... give me the candle! I know I'm alone... but I am just as deserving of a candle lit dinner.... aren't I?

Anyway... the cake really was......  ammaaaazzzinnnggg.... I devoured every bite as I typed this blog... and even scraped the plate at the end.

(As a side note, Dancing with the Stars starts in two minutes so I am trying to figure out whether or not to stay for coffee or head back to the hotel...)

In any event... I know that one day I will not eat most dinner's alone- and I look forward to that time of my life... but for now... I will enjoy having just another romantic dinner.... with me, myself, and I.

Mississippi, Remembered

Last night I had the delightful experience of having dinner with my former high school headmaster in Chinatown. He takes his senior class on a trip to DC every year, and knowing that I now live here, he invited me to tag along.

As we were catching up on life and swapping stories of "where are they now..." the subject turned to some of the various schools where Mr. Pratt has taught over the years.

Mr Pratt :  "...and then from 1985 to 1990 I was working at Jackson Prep...."

Betsy : "Wait a minute... Jackson Prep?... as in Jackson..... Mississippi??"

All of a sudden I had "deja-vu" as I recalled Mr. Pratt telling us stories as high schoolers of how "backwards" things were in Mississippi. I'll never forget the one story he told of driving down a dirt road and asking this man on the side of the road for directions. Mr. Pratt introduced himself to the man, and the man responded, "Hi, I'm Mr. John's nigger."

I then had flashbacks of the three most mentally and emotionally depressing days I have ever had on the road.... in none other, than Jackson, Mississippi.

"OH BOY do I have a story to tell YOU, Mr. Pratt" I exclaimed, and I proceeded to talk to him about the life threatening night I drove through the Mississippi Delta to get from Greenville to Jackson with a dying phone and GPS- through swamps and black nothingness.

I didn't have to elaborate very much for him to understand how scarey the situation was (comforting becuase I'm pretty sure most readers thought my story of "MON" was over exagerated).

As a side note, the Delta of the Mississippi River is the most remote part of whole state (as confirmed by a Chief Nursing Officer I met that week), and in Mr. Pratt's own words, the only thing between Greenville and Jackson, is "cotton fields and catfish."

Though I typed a rather legnthy blog about this experience earlier this year, the story ended with my arriving victorioulsy to the Hilton in Jackson.... But the real story... was in the three days in Jackson that followed.

But first, back to dinner in Chinatown.

"When I first planned on moving to Jackson.... " said Mr. Pratt, "an acquaintence of mine told me that down in Jackson... they've got braces on their brains."

Braces on their Brains.

As soon as I heard the phrase I flashbacked to the tremendous intellectual and emotional depression I felt in this city. I recalled the highly uneducated people I constantly interacted with; the obese father sitting alone in the Olive Garden, talking to neighboring tables about how he's never going to hear from his daughter again and how he heard through the grapevine that she's going to have a child; the waitress who responded to me when I asked her where downtown Jackson is, "I don't know... I'm from California"; the enormous portions of food I recieved when ordering room service that made me want to GAG....

I ordered pasta and broccoli. They brought two stacks of food. 


The combination of the obesity, the uneducation, the poor population.. was overwhelming...

....Overwhelming, because I realized that this is a culture and a way of life that people are born into. Overwhelming, because that peppy african american teenager busing tables probably doesn't have much of a chance to get out of there, and perhaps he doesn't even grasp the power his surroundings are going to have on his future. Or maybe he doesn't even care?

This picture was titled, "Children of the Delta"

Mr. Pratt continued to tell me about his time there. "When we first moved to Jackson, Mrs. Pratt was playing tennis at the club and someone asked her what my big plans were for the school."

"To integrate it", Mrs. Pratt said.

That caused quite the uproar in Jackson and Mr. Pratt went on to share how he fought to bring the first african american student to Jackson Prep. That, and he also secured the first financial aid scholarship for an african american student.

Braces on their Brains.

I told Mr. Pratt that I felt so intellectually supressed in Jackson, that I literally laid over the bed in my hotel room and stared at the foor on and off throughout my three days there. My movitation was completely drained... it was truly like nothing else I had experienced. But beyond being overwhelming, at the very root, it was actually very sad.

Especially one encounter in particular.

When I had arrived at the Hilton after the long drive from Greenville, the sheets on my bed were dirty. I was actually so tired that I didn't even care and I slept on them anyway. The next day I called the front desk and told them it was "unacceptable" and that I'd like to have them changed once I leave for the day.

By the time I came back... they hadn't been changed. So I called once again... "This is really unacceptable..." And then I'm pretty sure I threw in some B.S. how this is especially unacceptable since I have "status" with Hilton.

They sent up the maid.

She was middle aged, but perhaps even older, as african american women do tend to age very well. She mumbled, not speaking clearly, and had a hard time looking me in the eye.

Something didn't feel right. There I was, sitting comfortably at my desk, typing away on my laptop, in my new comfy old navy pajamas (since I'd left mine in DC) .... and here is this maid... a woman more than twice my age... who more than likely has never gotten out of Jackson... or the halls of Jackson hotels.

Feeling too guilty for the situation, I started helping her take the pillow cases off the pillows. It just didn't feel right to sit there and watch her. I asked her where she was from. "West Jackson" she said, not looking up at all... out of an uncomfortableness to have a conversation with me.

After I shared the effect this experience had on me... Mr. Pratt told me about a book that he actually gave my sister when she graduated high school, called "The Help."

The book takes place in Jackson, Mississippi during the civil rights movement, "where black women were trusted to raise white children but not to polish the household silver." (amazon) Ultimately the book is about the plight of black maids in 1960's, taking care of the white families of Jackson.

After having been to Jackson, I knew I would thoroughly appreciate a book like this.

And after having been to Jackson, I could thoroughly connect with Mr. Pratt's former experiences.  

And after having this conversation with Mr.Pratt... I suddenly became very grateful for all that I was born into... and how.... perhaps I complain a bit too much about the demands of my job... the exhaustion of travel... the stress of sales... I reminded myself that the world is truly at my footsteps... and there is no excuse for not grabbing it with everything I've got.

And if you are reading this, the same is true for you.

Virginia gems... ;)

I didn't get on one plane this entire week. That's rare.

I did however have three meetings in Chesapeake, VA in today. After which I was tired and hungry. I discovered (by excellent recommendation of one of the folks I met with today) an oceanfront restaurant in Virgina Beach called Catch 31. It was out of the way to get to, but I thought- what's the rush to get back to DC? Why not enjoy a nice meal and go see what this place was like.

SO glad I did. The restaurant is located inside of the Hilton and I HIGHLY recommend. I ordered fresh Tilapia- and it came with all sorts of goodness on top and under it including mashed potatoes, sweet glaze and carrots.... yumminess!

The view... was amazing. During lunch I had to dial into a team meeting back in DC and listen in while I put the phone on mute and indulged my taste buds. I just couldn't help but want to scream through the phone, "I am eating delicious warm pudding pudding for dessert overlooking the beautiful blue ocean right now!! SUCKERS!!!" ;)

It was an exciting moment for me. Living a life on the go, you really really learn to apprecaite the small things- like sitting down, having a nice meal, and enjoying the view... and did I mention, sitting down? And... having a nice MEAL??

I headed out of Virgnia Beach and after a slightly horrendous encounter with rush hour traffic, headed back to DC. I had contemplated just taking a flight out of Norfolk and avoiding the 3.5 hour drive home late in the afternoon. But after passing signs for "Williamsburg" last night, I thought it could potentially be nice to have a little coffee break in colonial Williamsburg. Again, there was absolutely no reason to rush to get back.

I called my girlfriend "Ruthie" who is from Virginia Beach and said, "I'm headed to colonial Williamsburg- where should I go?" After freaking out that I was "going to all of her spots" she told me to definitely check out "Aromas".

So, here I am in Aroma's- LOVE this place. As I was parking I had the sense that this is like a college town or something and I thought to myself, "What college is here??" Then walking into Aroma's I see a chick with a green and gold hoodie on that says in big block college letters: "WILLIAM AND MARY."

DUH BETSY! Seriously- sometimes, I think I've just lost all common sense!  :)

I had one of those "oh my gosh I am in love" type feelings when I walked in. Hardwood floors, counters full of colorful biscottis, flowers, paintings, burlap sack coffee bags, and to top it off, the Amelie soundtrack was playing in the backgrond. (Mom, think FRENCH wonderfulness).

How fitting that the girl sitting beside me was wearing a grey french beret and graciously offered to plug in my laptop chord since I was wearing a skirt (which she and 5 other people complimented today- thanks to CAbi!)  :)

Time to start heading back to DC- my Mom just called and I could tell she was anxious I haven't left yet...

"You know Bets... since you were on business travel today, don't you think you could just spend the night there and drive back in the morning??"  :) I probably should have planned that better and I could have had a nice little Williamburg getaway.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed the Virginia gems I discovered today instead of rushing back to DC.

Just as I finish typing this, Jack Johnson is playing in the backround..  He's singing "Slow down everyone... you're moving TOO fast...."

How perfect.