life is a merry-go-round

Mary, one of my flying girlfriends, has a massive problem with booze. And with drugs, as well. If you can drink it, snort it, smoke it or pop it, she’ll take it. She often jokes that she used to have a substance-abuse problem – and she still does; it’s just that she used to as well.

Nearly twenty years ago, Mary and I were in the same initial training class. What a beautiful-looking girl she was then. She is still attractive now, but she looks at least ten years older than she really is. Mary is a great girl with a good heart and can be a lot of fun. The trouble is she is totally screwed up.

When Mary starts partying, she never really stops partying. If most of us have had too much to drink or if we think it’s getting too late, we go home. Not Mary. The more alcohol she drinks, the more alcohol she wants, and this usually causes her to land in trouble, or in someone else’s bed, or both.

Her full name is Mary Gomez, but most in the company, particularly the boys, simply call her ‘Mary Go-round’, because most have had a ride. A cruel nickname, I know, but also extremely apt, considering that Mary does go round and round, doing the same mistakes over and over and over again.

The one-night stands and the drugs have taken their toll on her. Poor Mary has had as many therapists as she has had her pseudo-suicide attempts. One of her cry-for-help habits is to get totally wasted, drunk-dial someone and then cry for help in a manic-depressed slurring stupor. That ‘someone’ has been me on a number of occasions, but then almost everyone I know has been on the receiving end of that phone line.

Mary flies in to Singapore later this morning, and we are catching up for lunch. Luckily I fly out tonight, so an all-day bender is a no-go for me. Mary will surely have a few glasses of wine, if she hasn’t done so already, and then tell me all about the latest guy to dump her.

I already know that she has been having a fling with one of the guys from work. I know this because Mary has had flings with almost every straight man in the company. Who is the fling of the week – that’s something I don’t know yet. I guess I’ll find out over lunch.

We meet at a little Indian restaurant not far from the hotel. In hindsight, I wish I had chosen another place. I am flying to India tonight, and I just know I’m on the road to curry overload.

Mary looks tired and deservedly so after flying in from Europe. She, however, unexpectedly, has a big smile on her face.

Mary gushes, ‘I’m in love!’

Dumbfounded, I ask, ‘In love? With whom?’

‘Michael Lawson.’

I know Mike Lawson. If Mary has a male counterpart it would be Mike Lawson. If Mike is not the sleaziest guy in the company already, he is certainly a strong contender of the position. He has even made moves on me, many times too, and I think I almost gave in once, some years ago. Mind you, he is rather handsome, even if he does lack sophistication.

As we eat our curries she cannot stop gushing about how fantastic he is. Perhaps I am being far too critical, I wonder quietly. Perhaps they are perfect for each other?

Who am I kidding? It doesn’t have a chance in hell of working out. The relationship will end in Apprehended Violence Orders, daily therapy sessions and copious amounts of booze and drugs. And guess who’ll be called upon to be the understanding, sympathetic friend?

I look across the table at Mary and smile.

Airline crew romances are commonplace. Some become couples, some do not. I have ‘earthling’ friends that have told me about their inter-office affairs, so I know that this is reasonably common in their world as well. But being a flight attendant is such a unique job and brings with it a unique lifestyle. We interact with so many different people, and sometimes those like Mary take interaction to a whole other level. Office affairs just can’t compare to what we have going on for us: we could go away with someone for days at a time and not only work together with them, but get a chance to be with them in different countries, to stay in the same hotel, jetlagged and partying.

And if someone like Mary does decide to have a little onboard romance, it’s not that big of a deal. In a regular nine-to-five job, you are going to have to see that person day in and day out; in our job, there’s a very good chance you may not see that person again for years.

Some crew, but not all crew, have what I have heard described as ‘Goodyear relationships’: it is all over as soon as the plane’s tires have touched down on the ground back home. What goes on tour stays on tour, as they say.

I usually try to avoid going out with a fellow flyer. I did have a fling with one colleague some years ago. We tried to keep it a secret, but no one really cared, except for me.

I am surely not like Mary, but I am not a prude either.

I just like to be a little more discreet. Also, I like to stick to my principles – at least, most of the time.

But I can understand why crew members are drawn to together. Someone who spends all his or her time flying around the world requires a very special and understanding spouse. Not everyone can handle their partner, boyfriend or girlfriend being away so often. Moreover, not everyone can handle a partner who returns home jetlagged or tired or sick or just wanting to be left alone.

When you are seeing someone who doesn’t fly, it can be a difficult thing, asking them to respect your wishes of being a post-trip hermit. When you arrive home you want to say, ‘Hi honey, I have missed you. Now get the hell away from me.’ After all, the task of being all smiles and seeming like the epitome of hospitality elegance for fifteen hours at a stretch on an aircraft will wear anyone out. The last thing you would want to do when you get home is to pretend to be Miss Congeniality. In fact, I usually wrap myself in a (security) blanket for twenty-four hours when I get off work: during this time, I see no one and talk to no one. I barely have the desire or energy to have a monologue with myself, let alone a dialogue with someone else.

Mike and Mary can share their post-work tiredness with each other, I think to myself. They can share their grief, share their built-up aggression and, finally, share their hatred. They are doomed, of course.

As Mary tells me about how she and Mike have their next trip together, and as she describes it to sound so romantic, I wrestle to push down the cynicism building up inside me. And although I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that their relationship is a train wreck about to happen, I smile. I give her only replies of support and cheer.

‘You look so happy’, I say.

‘You are so lucky.’

‘I’m so happy for you.’

As I walk away from the restaurant and a gushing Mary, I know it’s almost time. I have to get ready for work now. I have to put on my uniform and then paste on my fake smile.

India, here I come.