I’ve worked nearly ten years as a flight attendant, but nothing — not turbulence, not mid-air emergencies, not even a drunk passenger trying to open the exit door — prepared me for what I found in seat 3A that night.
I’ve been a flight attendant for almost a decade now. I’ve dealt with drunk passengers throwing up on themselves, celebrities who think “please buckle your seatbelt” is beneath them, and even one guy who tried to vape in the lavatory while pretending it was a nose spray. I thought I’d seen it all.
But nothing prepared me for the baby in seat 3A.
It was the last red-eye flight from New York to L.A. before Christmas. The airport was packed with tension and cheap tinsel. Delays, overbookings, kids crying, travelers snapping at each other.