IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB IN THE WORLD, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
I was eleven, I think, and had a Yugoslavian friend in Std.4 called Valter Podgornik. His father and mine worked together. He invited me over for a couple of days one summer and we wound up in Ljubliana.
Happens everyday doesn’t it!
At the airport; large men looming like monsters looming over me, holding onto my dad’s hands, (him the biggest)!, machines mopping the floor, passed the x-rays, letting go, to the boarding gate and a little pouch hung over my neck, (making me feel very important indeed), has pass-port, addresses, toothpaste, baby tylenol, nintendo, hankies with mum’s smell on them, round the corner all alone, up the stairs to this huge castle, AIR FRANCE, 747, heaven in the sky.
Excuse me…how do I open the window?
The take off!
Jee Whiz, awake all night, up and down the stairs, past drawn curtains into first class, in the toilets, smelly stuff in bottles that I can reach all by myself.
We land in Zurich and change to Lufthansa and it’s afternoon, and this man with a glorious hat and gold stripes running through it, picks me up – just like my dad – shoulder high, and into the cockpit and I can see the sky! I’m flying!
I was robbed in Italy on the way home.
Every-time I fly, I look for the pilot.
I notice that to a Man (woman);
-they drive funny cars like SAABs or modified two-door BMWs,
-when the bulk doors close they care about every single person on board,
-they carry photos of their families in their wallets,
-they look tired like they know, however far you travel, it’s all more of the same.
-ou can tell when they’re flying the home route…the smile at the door is just a little bit wider.
I think of hijackings, and plane crashes and terrorists, I hear the ‘voice of the Captain speaking,’ and I feel for them these brave people, accountable for all the souls on board.
WHAT IS THE WORST JOB I’VE EVER HAD AND WHAT DID I LEARN FROM IT?
You know, I’ve loved every job I’ve been paid for! To be honest, I’ve never had a job I couldn’t quit from.
Therein lies the rub. How easily can YOU quit?
-visit my poetry blog, Tomatos, Oranges & Other Fruit-
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