I was on the phone with Gwen as we pulled up the long and 
winding road at The Asheville School, home of Camp Hollymont for Girls...and of course I was laughing at something that she said as my Dad pulled up to the curb just like we did two weeks before. We had already been in town 24 hours...had enjoyed some Blackberry mojitos at The Inn on the Biltmore Estate, which, I must interject, was gorgeous and perfect and leaps and bounds and mountains and wuthering heights above The Crown Plaza Tennis & Golf "Resort" from last time... Anyway, my father and I had been mistaken by hotel staff on more than one occasion for a married couple, which aside from inducing dry heaves, had me wondering how wickedly they were snickering behind our backs...meanwhile, of course we had separate rooms so the front desk team and concierge must have thought I was a f**king frigid gold digger to boot...gross. When we finally did tell our waiter that we were father and daughter he was struck dumb....I just ordered another two glasses of Biltmore Estate Chateau Reserve Champenoise Blanc de Blancs Brut and drowned my mortification. It was worth it all though, because we pulled through and here we were, only seconds from seeing Ellie again.
Let me just state right here that the best part of that whole thing is how he grabbed a few beers before he shimmied down that chute -- who's with me? Now that is the kind of grace and style I can get behind! I love when people stop to think about minor details while executing a major diva snit...like: "Oh, you know, all this expletive hurling and felony-committing has made me a little thirsty...they won't miss a few Buds!" Or Blue Moons probably...he should have grabbed some of those Terra Chip Blue Potato Chips they hand out while he was at it and really had a party on that AirTran ride back to short term parking....
winding road at The Asheville School, home of Camp Hollymont for Girls...and of course I was laughing at something that she said as my Dad pulled up to the curb just like we did two weeks before. We had already been in town 24 hours...had enjoyed some Blackberry mojitos at The Inn on the Biltmore Estate, which, I must interject, was gorgeous and perfect and leaps and bounds and mountains and wuthering heights above The Crown Plaza Tennis & Golf "Resort" from last time... Anyway, my father and I had been mistaken by hotel staff on more than one occasion for a married couple, which aside from inducing dry heaves, had me wondering how wickedly they were snickering behind our backs...meanwhile, of course we had separate rooms so the front desk team and concierge must have thought I was a f**king frigid gold digger to boot...gross. When we finally did tell our waiter that we were father and daughter he was struck dumb....I just ordered another two glasses of Biltmore Estate Chateau Reserve Champenoise Blanc de Blancs Brut and drowned my mortification. It was worth it all though, because we pulled through and here we were, only seconds from seeing Ellie again.I hung up on Gwen and distractedly put the phone away as I scanned the faces in front of me...campers and counselors, hugging, weeping, not noticing me at all. And then...like a flash I saw a figure moving towards me at rapid speed...and I stopped in my tracks. There she was, in a ponytail and light blue cheerleading shorts, running faster than I had ever seen her move before...and her face was teary but her expression indecipherable as I dropped my purse and she threw her arms around my waist. We stood there hugging for a few minutes, the emotions high...and then, in a voice choked by sobs, she speaks:
"Mommy, I don't want to leave!!!!"
Wait, what? Did she mean...wait...she had an awesome time?!?! Relief washed over me...yay!! Praise Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all the saints... She had the time of her life and wasted nary a second telling me that she was coming back next summer and that she wanted to drive the 12 hours instead of fly so she could pack even more cr*p. I agreed to it all...she was beaming and glowing and happy and she was here with me again, sporting a brand new Southern accent, I might add...particularly when she told us the story of falling off her horse, Oreo, on the jump in the final show. It was in a whirlwind that she hugged and sobbed with her new friends (no secret Lindsay Lohan twins among them, though I did learn the secret handshake just in case...thanks for the lesson, Big...)...she said goodbye and made promises to write and visit (I am going to see to it that she clocks a visit to the little French girls before next summer...me as chaperon...).... And off we went. Success.
So, thanks to all of you who told me the time would fly....and thanks to all of you who wrote her and sent care packages and pictures...we are blessed to have great friends...
But enough of the sentimental stuff...let's move on now, to more important matters...like the event of the summer: The Jet Blue Freak-Out!!!
Let me just state right here that the best part of that whole thing is how he grabbed a few beers before he shimmied down that chute -- who's with me? Now that is the kind of grace and style I can get behind! I love when people stop to think about minor details while executing a major diva snit...like: "Oh, you know, all this expletive hurling and felony-committing has made me a little thirsty...they won't miss a few Buds!" Or Blue Moons probably...he should have grabbed some of those Terra Chip Blue Potato Chips they hand out while he was at it and really had a party on that AirTran ride back to short term parking.... I have to say though, all kidding aside...and other than from employing the shoot, which would have given me a godd**ned heart attack had I witnessed it...yeah, I know they had landed and were deplaning...I know they were on the ground...still, I would have been convinced we were all going to die had I seen that slide blow up out the window. Anyway, aside from all of that...I think Steven Slater and his unhinged rant were totally justified. I kind of feel like being a flight attendant is akin to working at a McDonald's in the sky these days...granted the side benefits of world travel trump a free Hot Apple Pie here and there, but the thankless clientele is on par, only the air traveler is far more anxious, smug and self-centered than any old fool who walks into a McDonald's...we are all guilty of it, you know it's true.
I worked retail for a brief period before I got my first real job as some lackey at a PR firm...it was an upscale retailer that employed me, and by and large the days 
passed without incident, and my co-workers and I (read: me and Lisa) had it relatively easy...yet, there were days when we would be astounded by the behavior of a customer. I saw one guy turn magenta as he screamed at his pre-school aged son and then shook him by the shoulders because the kid knocked some books off a display...and I saw people try to return items that were used and abused and long out of production, furious that we would deny them, calling every manager and asking for the name of the district manager, stomping their feet until they received something for their trouble....and one time a customer monopolized me for an hour asking for help picking out gift items for her new boyfriend's family...then flipping on a dime and berating me with such disgust because I was choosing items that were too "WASPy" for her liking. I am not making this sh*t up. I am still not sure what she meant or how 16 years of Catholic schools had so ill-prepared me for that but.... It was then and there that I decided once my real life had begun that I would never, ever work in a place where any sociopath could walk in off the street and treat you as they wish. The only positive turn in that situation was that I was not at 32,000 feet.
passed without incident, and my co-workers and I (read: me and Lisa) had it relatively easy...yet, there were days when we would be astounded by the behavior of a customer. I saw one guy turn magenta as he screamed at his pre-school aged son and then shook him by the shoulders because the kid knocked some books off a display...and I saw people try to return items that were used and abused and long out of production, furious that we would deny them, calling every manager and asking for the name of the district manager, stomping their feet until they received something for their trouble....and one time a customer monopolized me for an hour asking for help picking out gift items for her new boyfriend's family...then flipping on a dime and berating me with such disgust because I was choosing items that were too "WASPy" for her liking. I am not making this sh*t up. I am still not sure what she meant or how 16 years of Catholic schools had so ill-prepared me for that but.... It was then and there that I decided once my real life had begun that I would never, ever work in a place where any sociopath could walk in off the street and treat you as they wish. The only positive turn in that situation was that I was not at 32,000 feet.I know air travel carries with it a responsibility...close quarters with at least 100 people and all you have to do is stay in your seat when asked...to put your tray table in place...and to honor the alternate merge concept when deplaning. It shouldn't be hard...but for a lot of us, it can be. I for one will admit that I am a horrific traveler, my family steers clear and wishes I would pop a few Valium...I get very anxious throughout the whole experience from earl
y morning car service to landing, but am very close to a nervous breakdown during take-off and I gasp and wince at every bit of turbulence. On the way home from Longboat Key in March, my friends and I were scattered about the plane and unfortunately had a very rocky flight...and I grabbed the hand of the 20 year old girl next to me and squeezed so hard...but she let me...we were strangers, but she took pity...and she comforted me (she also guessed my age as 30...I loved her...). But usually I suffer in silence...and I strictly obey the rules of the FAA and the airlines and the flight crew. And you know, whenever I sit on a plane, I marvel at the flight attendants' ease in the situation...and every single time I think: "I would never want this job in a million years." So, I try to always treat them with respect...I mean, they usually keep their cool and make you feel comfortable...and they do so with the best attitude they can muster, which is much better than I could ever manage. I mean, if I, as a passenger, cannot look at the others seated around me without eventually developing an unwarranted hostility towards them -- "look how she sticks her toe out into the aisle as the beverage cart is trying to pass...so rude!..." or "oh my g*d, did you hear how loudly that guy was turning the pages of his magazine..." or "look at that f**ker in a blazer and shorts with the popped collar...what, is he six?" or "I may put this b*tch in front of me through a wall if she makes a joke about the plane crashing one more time..." -- how can we expect the likes of Steven Slater to not eventually crack...not to "go postal"...or "pull the chute," as it were. We can't. In fact, we all secretly admire him.
y morning car service to landing, but am very close to a nervous breakdown during take-off and I gasp and wince at every bit of turbulence. On the way home from Longboat Key in March, my friends and I were scattered about the plane and unfortunately had a very rocky flight...and I grabbed the hand of the 20 year old girl next to me and squeezed so hard...but she let me...we were strangers, but she took pity...and she comforted me (she also guessed my age as 30...I loved her...). But usually I suffer in silence...and I strictly obey the rules of the FAA and the airlines and the flight crew. And you know, whenever I sit on a plane, I marvel at the flight attendants' ease in the situation...and every single time I think: "I would never want this job in a million years." So, I try to always treat them with respect...I mean, they usually keep their cool and make you feel comfortable...and they do so with the best attitude they can muster, which is much better than I could ever manage. I mean, if I, as a passenger, cannot look at the others seated around me without eventually developing an unwarranted hostility towards them -- "look how she sticks her toe out into the aisle as the beverage cart is trying to pass...so rude!..." or "oh my g*d, did you hear how loudly that guy was turning the pages of his magazine..." or "look at that f**ker in a blazer and shorts with the popped collar...what, is he six?" or "I may put this b*tch in front of me through a wall if she makes a joke about the plane crashing one more time..." -- how can we expect the likes of Steven Slater to not eventually crack...not to "go postal"...or "pull the chute," as it were. We can't. In fact, we all secretly admire him.So...speaking of "pulling the chute," I head out again this weekend...on the road again...off with my kids for two weeks on the Gulf of Mexico (yay, tar balls!)...and I am flying Jet Blue!! So...by law of averages, I will assume that no rogue flight attendants will be wigging out, pulling the chute and skipping off with the extra beers....but should you hear that this phenomena takes place yet again, you can safely assume that I was riding shotgun on that chute...only I will be sure to grab the mini bottles of Patron too for some AirTran margarita maddness as we escape... I mean, damn, I'd consider sliding down a razorblade into a bear trap if it meant beating the rest of the passengers to luggage claim...you can bet on that, my friends...
Until September then...xoxo, S
PS Oh hey, and to the one who called me "motherf**ker" : F%$! you, motherf***er! I've had it! I'm done... Well said!
Love you guys very much.... Happy August!
Photos:
1. Outdoor dining at The Biltmore...lunchtime blackberry mojitos for the pseudo trophy wife....
2. Ellie (center) and her new besties hug goodbye until next year...
3. Totally worth getting arrested and fired over...hope he grabbed some orange slices!
4. Our hero, Steven Slater. Oh no...he doesn't look the least bit insane...
5. Someecards.com always on the pulse...sent to me by Gwen, who, as evidenced by her note, has obvioulsy witnessed my travel style...
6. Making my exit for the rest of the summer...please note I am handily multi-tasking and was driving down the Westside Highway as I shot this, sunset in my eyes... Reckless!
