Contrary to how it looks on here, I am alive. Besides computer difficulties, I’ve been on reserve for all of June. And it is not a pretty time to be on reserve. Lots of people are out sick. Flights are ramping up to full for the summer. People are hot and cranky (including crew schedulers). This has been my month:
Form the beginning, I was given a trip every single day. Work work work work work. That’s how my first 3 weeks went. On my days off (2 sets of 2) I went to visit family, since they all live in the US and it’s a perfect opportunity. On the last pair of days I visited my little nieces; it is always awful to tear myself away from them. But a reservist has no choice. Back to NYC I came…
That was last Tuesday. Wednesday I was back “on call”; I had not been home to London in 5 weeks. I only had to be sent to work for 1 more day. Then I would be free for the rest of the month. I was so close! Whoopee! June has been busy, no problem, right?
For 5 days I have sat here in NYC, waiting by a phone that never rang. (Being on reserve is like dating in high school!) The silver lining is that I have a good friend I enjoy staying with. But still. Five days? Having left my family to sit here? Only one more job until I can go home? *sigh*
Finally, late last night, I take matters into my own hands. I have a trip tomorrow that I have not been able to get rid of so I decide to trade it for a London trip. At least I can see my husband on my layover right? That’s a clever compromise, I think to myself. In true, complicated flight-attendant-rules form, I can only trade it until midnight; at 11:59 I overcome some boring technical details to get it done in some down-the-wire work drama. Whoopee! I’ve made the best of a torturous situation.
For the last hour I’ve been on email, Skype and the phone, setting up a date with my husband and another couple for my layover. And just when the details are confirmed (tennis matches cancelled to free up the evening, etc)…guess who calls?
It’s scheduling! Where am I going? London! When? Tonight! How long is my layover? 10 hours.
So. Now I can’t go on the trip tomorrow anyway. Ironically I’m going to the same place, but not for long enough to see anyone. I’ll only have time to sleep.
I’m not really complaining. It could all be much worse. I’ll get to go home for July after this trip. It’s all fine. But the irony that reserve wreaks on one’s life knows no end. It’s crazy.