Flight Attendant Memoir by Anderson Margo

Author:Anderson, Margo [Anderson, Margo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Anderson Productions LLC
Published: 2016-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

14 Hawaii in 72 Hours

Hurricane Ivan was headed straight for Panama City , and as the weather forecast became more inevitable, the long-awaited announcement came from Bay District Schools that they were closing for the next five days. By now, I was flying part-time for ASA , mostly on weekends and as little as I could possibly get away with, and teaching school again. My husband Lee and I were enjoying flight benefits, and I flew to Dallas twice a month to fly the required hours for a part-time flight attendant. I had changed my base from Atlanta to Dallas because there were fewer flight attendants and my seniority was higher, allowing me to be on the part-time roster, even Part time A, which meant I got first choice of the trips on the schedule which were split in half.

I had ridden out the last hurricane which directly hit Panama City, Hurricane Opal, in 1995, and I was not eager to experience the flooding, lack of power, and deadly winds of this one, which was predicted to be just as bad. I called my husband, Lee, to let him know I was on my way home from school. We lived in a small lake cottage about 20 miles north of Panama City instead of on the beach as we had when we first married, and our location was perfect for the “spin-off” tornadoes which always accompany hurricanes. As soon as I walked through the door, I noticed that Lee’s bag was packed , sitting by the door. I laughed, and asked, “Where are we going?”

“Cincinnati ,” he answered. He had already been on the computer looking for seats on an outbound flight.

“Great,” I answered, and flew up the stairs , grabbing my flight bag out of the closet as I went. Lamb Chop, my two-pound, white teacup poodle began to whimper as soon as he saw my flight bag. Next came his usual leap off the floor to the bed where he promptly got into the middle of the bag looking at me defensively, with his best, “where are you going now and why are you leaving me again look.”

“What are we going to do with Lamb Chop?” I yelled down the stairs. “ I called the Beach Pet Motel already and they are full; the other one in town is not accepting any pets.”

“We can take him to the one in Chipley,” Lee said, “you know, the veterinarian with the farm.” “He will be further away from the storm and safer there.” Chipley is about twenty miles north of our lake house, a small agricultural town about fifty miles south of the Alabama border.

“I don’t want to leave him,” I said, knowing that the argument was futile; I knew he would be better in a safe dry kennel than flying with us, maybe hanging around in Atlanta for hours waiting for the connecting flight.

“He’s not going, Margo.”

“I know.” I looked sadly at Lamb Chop and began to pack his little bag to go to the kennel.

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