It all started with an ad in the paper. I had been looking for a “real job” because I would graduate in a few months from Purdue University with a bachelor’s degree in Communications. Then something stopped me in my tracks: Pan American World Airways — Now Hiring Flight Attendants.
At the time, Pan Am wasn’t just another airline. It defined international travel. It represented glamour, adventure, and a passport to the world, all wrapped into one.
The interview took place about an hour away from campus. I convinced a friend to come with me. We thought, “Why not?” We drove to a giant convention hall where maybe a thousand candidates competed for flight attendant roles or other positions with the airline. Hopeful energy filled the room.
I still remember the buzz of voices, the rustle of printed resumes, the polished shoes, and the nervous smiles. In the end, the airline selected my friend and me as two of the very few hires. I believe our college degrees and foreign language courses helped. Pan Am sought candidates who spoke multiple languages to support its international routes.
When we got the news, we also received our training date and instructions to report to Miami quickly. We gave up the chance to walk across the stage at Purdue in caps and gowns for our official graduation. Instead, we packed a couple of suitcases and flew to Miami for six weeks of flight attendant training.
Pan Am training looked nothing like watching safety videos on a laptop. It demanded rigor, focus, and full immersion.
We learned the art of service, including how to deliver a five-course meal flawlessly at 35,000 feet. We placed silverware with precision, poured wine carefully, and treated passengers as if they dined in an elegant restaurant. This wasn’t casual hospitality. It required formal service for elite travelers. You didn’t see sweatpants, t-shirts, or shorts on a Pan Am flight.
We prioritized safety and security above all else. We practiced emergency procedures by jumping down a giant slide, leaping from a mock aircraft into a pool to simulate a water landing, and running active shooter drills. Flight attendants don’t just serve passengers — they protect them. They safeguard every life on board.
After training, the airline assigned my friend and me to New York City as our home base — one of the most exciting (and intimidating) cities in the world. We flew out of JFK, LaGuardia, and Newark, reaching corners of the globe I had never imagined — then returned home to New York City.
We found a tiny studio apartment in Queens. Most flight attendants lived there because of its proximity to the three airports — a necessity when you had to report within 90 minutes while on call. This was before cell phones and Ubers. We relied on buses and subways to get to the airport and saved taxis for emergencies because our paychecks stayed lean.
Our studio barely fit the two futons we bought.
Living in Queens felt both vibrant and intimate. A small grocery store sat around the corner where the owner knew your name, while fresh bread came from a bakery three blocks away. Flower shops lined Queens Boulevard with daisies and sunflowers, alongside produce stands and deli shops. No superstores. No big-box chains. We gathered what we needed one shop at a time.
We lived modestly because flight attendant pay didn’t stretch far. Still, we stood at the crossroads of youth, ambition, and possibility. One day we served five-course meals; the next, we collapsed onto futons. We practiced emergency drills in water, then carried that training across oceans. We rode the subway to flights that could take us anywhere.
My time as a flight attendant didn’t just teach me how to open doors or carry trays. It taught me to step into the unknown, embrace adventure, and bring stories home.
In Caracas, Venezuela, I met new people, sipped Sambuca, and ate pizza overlooking the city lights in a narrow, high-altitude valley. In Switzerland, I realized I wanted to return someday — with more time and money.
Glamour and grit lived side by side — long flights and long subway rides, fine dining service and the simple satisfaction of saving a few dollars on groceries. I learned that life’s richness doesn’t come from square footage or salary, but from experience, resilience, and connection.
Even now, when I watch a plane lift into a sunlit sky, those days come rushing back — the roar of the engines, the promise of new horizons, a small apartment in Queens, and the courage to choose something bold and unfamiliar. The feeling still exhilarates me.