Don't fire me

I forgot to mention yesterday that aside from me not knowing what to call my upcoming book, I am not even sure I can publish it as is without maybe losing my job.

And I really love my job. I don't want to get fired.

Ok not 5000, but I am planning on a few later on :)

But after reading this NYTimes article about this flight attendant getting fired because of her blog, I am a little worried. 

So here is the preface and the prologue. 

Does it sound to you like I am playing with fire? As a passenger, would you be offended by funny stories compiled about other passenger's strange requests? 

 "PREFACE 

This is not a flight attendant book. This is about you, and me, and everyone else out there who ever felt that the Universe was against their traveling journey, whether by bus, by car, or by plane, whether traveling for work or for fun. 

However I am a flight attendant, so dear passenger, there is a section dedicated just to you at the very back of this book. You  can go ahead and skip to that chapter right now - you know you want to - just make sure you do come back to read the other chapters. You don't want to miss them. 

 

PROLOGUE 

 

I do not remember the details of being a child. I just remember being happy. 

And the pictures my mom has of: me at the beach, me at kindergarten recitals, me at ballet shows are all proof of an undeniably happy and normal childhood. Everything was perfect, until I turned six. That’s when the problems started.

I remember being six because both an aquarium full of fishes and a closet full of shoes fell on top of me when I was six. More on that later.

Does anyone really remember being two years-old or three years-old? I don't. I think our memories don’t start before we are at least six years-old, if so. Maybe even later if nothing traumatizing happens to you at six. 

 So overly active mommies, make sure you do take a lot of pictures to be able to prove to your kids that you already took them to Disneyland to see Mickey Mouse and Minnie. Without proof, they will not believe you and you will have to do it all over again. And if you are a parent, or a baby sitter, you know Disney with kids is not only expensive, but painful.  

My rule is that whatever I can't remember just doesn't count. See when my mom read this little introduction, she reminded me that my first cast was not when I was 6 years-old, I was two-years-old. But I have no memory of that cast, so for the sake of this book, we will act like it never happened. 

But here is something I remember and will never forget. My brother and I were planning a trip together, and he said to me he would rather not fly with me. I thought he was joking at first, but he didn’t laugh when I laughed. Usually when people make a joke, you laugh, they laugh, and voila.

He said I was bad luck, and “things” always happened to me when I travelled. For the record, I am talking about the same brother who worried more about his fish dying on the floor than his little sister bleeding out when the aquarium closet combination crushed me. 

You might think he just doesn’t love me, but you are wrong. He put a beautiful roof on top of my head during my college years. While all the other kids lived in the crappy dorms, I was living in a beautiful apartment, right on the beach, with a doorman. 

We happily lived together for years, rarely fought, and we still go on vacations together. We just take separate flights because he says ... I am cursed.

If you ask me my opinion, which you kind of are since you voluntarily picked up my book, I don’t think I am cursed or bad luck. I am just special, which is why special things happen to me while I’m travelling. Having said that, what kind of job do you think I went for after graduating from Florida’s school of Journalism and Communication? I became a flight attendant.

To be fair to the four years I spent in college, I did try a job more related to my field of studies. I was hired as a freelance reporter for a newspaper. That lasted a few months, or perhaps it was just a few weeks. I am not good with dates. Anyhow I hated it.

And  flight attendant I became: I found THE job where I would be sure to travel nonstop so that I could continue entertaining my friends with my “special” traveling stories. And along the way, I met some other “special travelers.” So here are their stories, and some of mine.