Saying goodbye to the last of the first class passengers had become methodical. It was the middle of the night, my feet hurt, I was tired, and trying my best not to sound sing-song.
It was the last night of my nonstop coast-to-coast for the month. This flight had been long and difficult. We'd been forced to take a two-hour layover at O’Hare for the ground crew to repair an engine problem. As an apology for the delay, the captain told us to open the bar, once we were back in the air. The passengers drank too much and became overly rowdy.
My thoughts wandered elsewhere. I was looking forward to my four days off before the next cycle, when it began again for another month. Next month’s flights would get me home at a decent hour though -- no more 2:00 a.m. arrivals, feeling used up and washed out.
I had plans to join my three roommates for a bike ride on Angel Island on my first day off. We did it before and it became a favorite weekend haunt ... I’m bringing the sourdough bread. The other girls are bringing wine, cheese, and a blanket for the picnic.
I loved San Francisco. It was the beginning of the 70s and hippies were still hanging out on downtown corners with their beads and music, wearing flower garlands in their hair.
I loved the cable cars that clacked up and down the busy, steeply-angled streets. It was a local custom for each conductor to compose a special beat he played on the bell of his cable car. Each conductor was known by that unique beat, and the more complicated it was, the better.
My favorite was the cable car that went to The Cannery and Ghirardelli Square. That conductor rang an awesome beat and his cable car was always packed with regulars and tourists.
Sunday, we’re going to Half Moon Bay to soak up some rays on the warm sand. There’s never a lack of things to do in San Francisco, only a lack of time to do them.
"Finally, the coach section and then we’re through."
More smiles, more good-byes, although I was aware I lost the battle to sing-song halfway through first class. My smile felt like it was bordering on a grimace, but soon I would head home.
Icy tendrils of fear prickled the nape of my neck as I walked through the deserted parking lot. I chose to ignore it, blaming it on the hour and being drag-my-butt tired from the difficult flight.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to "CJ's World on Substack" to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.