As usual, Cynthia woke up at ten minutes past five a.m. on Friday morning without the help of her alarm clock. She had turned off the alarm months ago. She didn’t need it. Her body clock never failed. Having showered the night before, she washed her face, brushed her stylishly short hair, and put on her makeup. Her dress, the uniform she’d worn for nearly three decades, was next.

 She still took pride in the neatly pressed, steel blue colored outfit, her name tag perfectly positioned. Her legs still looked sexy, in spite of all those years standing in the aisle of the Boeing 737, which to her mind, was her office. Cynthia had been a flight attendant for Clear Skies Airlines for twenty-eight years, five months and nineteen days. She showed up for work one morning only to be informed the airline was shutting down, her services no longer needed.

 Cynthia lost her job, but not her love of flying. Cruising altitude felt like home. She loved tending to passengers’ needs almost as much as being in the air. After she lost her job, she used frequent travel points, booking transcontinental flights whenever she could. She always tried to get an aisle seat in the plane’s last row so she could keep an eye on the passengers.

 Occasionally, when none of the flight attendants were looking, she’d get up and help a passenger who looked like they needed something; a pillow, a blanket or something to drink. She got caught once serving a Coke to a customer. The attendant on duty waited until Cynthia was back in her seat before she approached her. Softly, she said, “I don’t know who you are, or what you think you’re doing, but if you get out of your seat again, there’s going to be a problem.” Cynthia tried to explain herself to the attendant, but the woman put her finger to her lips, signaling Cynthia that explaining could only make matters worse.

 About six months after losing her job, her brother, a reporter for a big city newspaper, visited her for a few days. She didn’t go to the airport, while he visited, but the morning he was leaving, he couldn’t help noticing that she was wearing her uniform. “What’s this?” he asked.

 “I’m taking you to the airport.”

 “You’re dropping me off at the terminal. Why the uniform?”

 “Habit I guess.”

 “Habit? You’ve been unemployed for months,” he said.

 “Don’t you think I know that?”

 When Cynthia’s brother insisted that she seek counseling, she promised to give it a try. She met with a psychologist three times. On her last visit, he suggested that she come to the next session wearing something other than her uniform. She politely agreed and never went back.  

 As she prepared her usual bowl of Wheaties that Friday morning, she thought about her brother and what he would say when he learned she’d quit therapy already. No time to worry about that now. Time to get going. Cynthia took one last look in the mirror before she put her raincoat on and headed out the door. Passengers always said she had a beautiful smile.

 She walked quickly through the icy wind to her car. It was five past six and still not light out. She knew from long experience that she would reach the airport just as daylight was being born. As she pulled out of her parking space, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her credentials, just to confirm she hadn’t lost them. Not that it mattered, they had expired automatically when Clear Skies Airline went out of business. That was nine months ago.   

 She parked in the airport’s passenger lot, something she’d been forced to do since the day the employee lot’s gate attendant finally noticed her bumper sticker had expired. She made her way from the parking lot to the terminal, pulling her packed Travelpro 22-inch carry-on bag.

Cynthia settled into her usual seat near airport’s ticket counters. She drank coffee from a thermos she brought with her. She watched passengers, pilots and flight attendants as they streamed by her, on their way to one of the gates. Over the last several months, she’d become a fixture in the airport, gradually getting to know some of the frequent travelers and airport workers. She told her story to some of them and got used to their sympathetic smiles and nods.

 If you’re traveling soon, be on the lookout for her. She’s easy to spot. Her Blue Skies Airline name tag says Cynthia. She has a beautiful smile.