So, I had an in-person interview at Delta Headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia on this fine December day. This was not a simply thirty-to-forty-five-minute "tell me about yourself and qualifications" pow wow, but a five hour process, in which 55 applicants and about thirty flight attendants were forced to smile, mingle and prove they could be the face of Delta Airlines. By golly, upon entering the lounge we had to shake and greet every flight attendant involved in the interviews. It felt like the world's longest Mormon-style wedding reception. We were broken into groups and completed different tasks (the actual interview, a fit test, and a "day in the life of a flight attendant" seminar), and between rotations would chill in the lounge. But it felt as though every aspect of our behavior was being scrutinized. The flight attendants would regale us with tales of their adventures, and we were asking each other, "Now, where are you from?" All day long, as this was a five-hour affair.
There was so much mingling and forced friendliness (Although, I did make two real friends, Nicole from New Hampshire and some girl from Logan, Utah whose name escaped my mind after she removed her nametag. We had a nice dinner at the airport TGIFridays, and while waiting for our plane to Salt Lake Logan, Utah and I shared a bowl of fried okra.) I think I am a friendly person, but ugh, when so much of your gregariousness is geared toward being ostentatious, you tire quickly. And there were plenty of really genuine people, but there were some whose outgoing bubbliness felt contrived.
Several applicants got a job offer tonight (at least that's why we think they weren't excused with the rest of us), but I was not among them. Not that I am too downtrodden. I told myself I didn't even want this job. I didn't need an upgrade from ground waitress to "waitress in the sky." However, it is a bummer not to be begged to take a job that you feel more than qualified for. However, I could still be offered a position, and then I would be facing the more gut-wrenching realization that I would have to decide whether I wanted to live the jet-setting life of a flight attendant.
I want to conclude with some powerful confession about how I have no idea what I want, or that sometimes I am very content to be complacent. But I feel like everything I write ends up on that tangent, so it is getting a bit trite on this blog.
