The Flight Attendant

It was a cool October day in Maine when I headed down the stairs of the Saab 340 aircraft I called my home for the past 4 days as flight attendant for that group of trips between Bangor and Boston. I had just finished wiping down the blue leather seats and checking the seat backs for anything left behind when I exhaled a tired sigh of relief that I could finally head home for my three days off before starting the grind again. I hopped in one of the familiar taxis to find one of my regulars at the wheel.

“Headed home?” Joe asked.

“Thank God, yes. I have been dreaming of my bed for days.” I replied.

Joe was good old boy, maybe in his mid-fifties, who hung out at the Bangor International Airport waiting for his next traveler to tell him all about their day as he took him wherever they needed to go. He often picked me up at 4am when I was on the early shift and no matter if it was the crack of dawn or noon on a Tuesday – when I got in his cab, I knew all was well. Joe always knew my schedule so that he could make himself available for the airport rides needed for me to get around on time. I didn’t have any family around so I liked having Joe around to look after me.

He pulled up to my happy little corner on Ohio Street where I lived in a 4 unit multi-family and quickly got out to grab my little rolling suitcase out of the trunk. This was our routine. He took his job as my cabbie very seriously like he was my caretaker and me, being far from home, appreciated every kind gesture he made.

“See you soon, Joe. Safe driving.” I routinely called out to him.

“Let me know when you get your schedule for next month and I’ll be here to get you in no time.” He answered. I walked swiftly toward the front door of the unit and though I had my key ready to unlock, I was confused as I found it ajar and pushed it open.

That’s weird. This door is always locked. I thought. But I was too tired to worry about it too much more until I made it to my door and found it too was just slightly ajar.

My heart started pounding and I felt a panic rush to my stomach. I ran back to the front door to find Joe already a blur down the street. He was gone and I was there all alone needing to face what was waiting for me in my tiny home. I quietly and timidly pushed the door open with my pointer finger and heard a slow creak as the door gently opened. I gasped.

My apartment was turned upside down. Bills thrown on the floor. Ceiling fan on. Cigarettes in my carpet.

What the hell? I thought. I was so confused as I looked around barely recognizing my living space and what some monster had done to it. I snapped myself out of the temporary funk and tried to think for a minute. How did they get in? I ran to my bedroom and there was a jagged, gaping hole in my window. Question answered. I need to call 911 – that’s what they do in the crime shows I watch!  I ran to my bedside only to notice that my bed wasn’t made. I felt sick and if I had eaten anything on the last flight of the day, it would’ve been rediscovered as the nausea took over my body but alas there was nothing in there to toss up. Who the hell was sleeping in my bed? I was so confused and disgusted and as these questions took over my thought process I reached for the phone.

It was gone.

Who takes a phone during a robbery!? Who sleeps in a bed!? Who goes through someone’s bills?

I sat on the edge of the bed holding my head in my hands while trying to stop the spinning of my once peaceful room around me. As I glanced up to my mantel above the faux fireplace, I noticed my things were all gone. I pictured a burglar in all black taking his gloved hand and wiping my mantel as the jewelry and keepsakes flew down into his sack. I had a visual of what I thought happened and how some random break in resulted in some jerk making out with the goods from my meager little life I created.

 I need to grab a few things and get out of here, I thought. I reached for my I love NY bag that I bought from the JFK airport on a trip where we got stranded in a storm. I loved that bag – carried just enough to get by, but not too big to be a pain in my back. The bag was gone. Are you serious right now? You took my I Love NY bag too? What kind of monster….

My bag from the trip was still packed so I grabbed it and my purse and ran out the front door. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Thoughts of my Visa bill and how much I still owed on the things of value that were now gone were swirling through my head. I never bought that renter’s insurance! I am such an idiot, why didn’t I follow through with that!? I stood in the common foyer of the building and cried. I had no idea what to do.

Joe.

Joe will know what to do. Joe will help me.

I ran up the hall to my neighbor’s apartment and knocked rapidly on her door.

“Hi Angela, are you ok?” Lisa asked curiously.

“Someone broke into my apartment while I was on my 4 day.” I lamented.

“Oh my gosh, come in and tell me what happened.” She said, sounding concerned.

I briefly told her what happened, and she answered that she hadn’t noticed anyone or heard anything unusual. I asked her if I could use her phone.

My fingers shook as I dialed the only familiar number I knew. Joe. I’ll have him take me back to the airport and I’ll get some of the crew to help me sort through this. They’ll know what to do.

I quietly said goodbye to Lisa and walked outside with my suitcase and sat on the front step, not knowing what to do next. As I waited for Joe to come back to get me, I was suspicious of every single person who walked or drove by and glanced my way, Is that him? Did he do it? Why are you looking at me, lady? My sudden onset paranoia coupled with my sheer exhaustion from the trip was clouding my thoughts. Just breathe. I kept repeating, as if I would forget to breathe without the reminder.

Calm washed over me as I saw Joe coming around the corner.

“What’s going on little lady?” He asked, concerned.

“Can you take me back to the airport?” I asked, as I got into the backseat of his car like usual. I stretched my legs out as far as they’d go, willing my body to let go of some of the stress in my muscles.

“Sure, did you forget something?” He looked at me in the rear-view mirror with his furrowed brow.

I went to shift in my seat & sit up from my stretched position to tell him the story when my heel got caught on something like a drawstring under Joe’s seat.

What the? I pulled the heel of my shoe toward my hand as I bent over in the back seat only to find the drawstring attached to a bag full of stuff.

I love New York.

Oh Joe. Noooooo.