Turbulence - (18+)

2.

GATE A2
Justin

New York (JFK)

"This is the final boarding call for Flight 1487 with service to San Francisco." "Passenger Alice Tribue, please return to Gate A13 for your passport as soon as possible." "American Airlines Flight 1781 with service to Toronto will now depart from Gate 7."
The familiar sounds of John F. Kennedy International welcomed me home as soon as I stepped off the jet bridge a week later. Despite two sixteen hour flights, I hadn't slept well since my interview in Dallas, and I didn't feel the slightest hint of exhaustion.
I walked through the terminal, pulling my luggage close behind as the most cliché song in the history of aviation sifted through the speakers. A cover of Frank Sinatra's "Come Fly with Me," complete with an orchestra, was inspiring the most tone deaf of passengers to sing along as they rushed past the gates.
Pilots from other airlines walked on the other side of the hallway in their freshly-pressed uniforms, giving slight nods as they passed me by. The flight attendants at their sides blushed and The familiar sounds of John F. Kennedy International welcomed me home as soon as I stepped off the jet bridge a week later. Despite two sixteen hour flights, I hadn't slept well since my interview in Dallas, and I didn't feel the slightest hint of exhaustion.

I walked through the terminal, pulling my luggage close behind as the most cliché song in the history of aviation sifted through the speakers. A cover of Frank Sinatra's "Come Fly with Me," complete with an orchestra, was inspiring the most tone deaf of passengers to sing along as they rushed past the gates.
Pilots from other airlines walked on the other side of the hallway in their freshly-pressed uniforms, giving slight nods as they passed me by. The flight attendants at their sides blushed and smiled, offering me small waves and winks that went unanswered and ignored.

All I could think about right now was how today officially marked the lowest of lows in my career. A fresh start of all the bullshit I thought I'd escaped.

When I first started flying gliders at sixteen, everything in regards to aviation was an art. Every facet, from the engineering of a plane, to the actual flying itself, held intrigue, creating a perfect balance of craftsmanship and allure.
Newly designed aircrafts were something to clamor over, new routes were planned and praised for pioneering the unthinkable, and each move an airline made received its rightful due in the press. Spectators stopped and stared at the new Boeings and Airbuses in complete admiration from below, passengers acted like they actually gave a fuck, and flight attendants were more than pretzel serving waitresses at thirty thousand feet. For pilots, there was even an art to effortlessly jetting from city to city, landing in hotel after hotel, and fucking a different woman every night.

Yet, somewhere between new regulations, greed, and even with the advanced technology, all of that changed. Now, a pilot was nothing more than a bus driver who shuttled ungrateful-ass passengers across the sky. And that perfect balance of craftsmanship and allure was no longer seen; it wasn't even remembered.

"Excuse me, Captain?" A man wearing an 'I Love NY' shirt suddenly stepped in front of me. He held up his cell phone, extending it toward my face. "Would you mind taking our picture? We've tried to do it ourselves, but I keep cutting my head off in the frame." He laughed and pointed to his family-two young boys and a woman in a yellow dress. They were laughing and posing in front of a blue "Welcome to New York" sign.

I didn't take the phone from him. I stared at his family, their laughter becoming more and more unbearable with each passing second. One of his sons waved at me, holding up a toy plane in his other hand, smiling and waiting for me to smile back.

"Captain?" The husband looked at me. "Can you please take our picture?"

"No." I stepped back. "No, I can't." I noticed a flight attendant walking toward us and nodded in her direction. "But I'm sure she'd be happy to help you."