Going to work after 9/11 became an utter hassle. Long lines, even for the crew, increased security checks of the aircraft, the galleys, and all publicly accessible spaces meant that we had to inspect every square foot of the aircraft each time we boarded a new plane. Air Marshals were on board, badges and IDs had to be checked and compared against a variety of documents, and what remained of the flying public was still adjusting to all the changes.
Each week as it got closer and closer to going to work my demeanor would change and by the time I’d report for work I was already mentally exhausted. There was one afternoon while I was preparing things in the first class galley that I did everything I could to not completely break down in tears. I pulled the curtain, bit my lower lip, closed my eyes and talked myself into an emotional space that allowed me to make it to the end of the day. And at the end of the day I decided to quit.
In November Delta offered convenience leaves – meaning one could stop flying for month and retain the benefits. The company had to reduce the workforce because the demand had shrunk and in November I applied for one – thinking I’d give myself a break before making the final decision.
At the time I’d become friends with the manager of the AT&T store on downtown Columbus. She hired me full time within days of asking about the job. Now, for the first time ever I had a regular work schedule and I could walk to work. Granted, I’d lost 65% of my pay in doing so, but the only thing that mattered now was that I was happy. To shore up the income I took a part time job bartending at the neighborhood bar – and now I was getting paid and earning tips to socialize rather than spending money to do so.
The plan I had formulated years prior was now in action. I was in a great city, easily found two jobs following the downfall of the airline industry, and I was not competing for jobs with any of my peers.
In December I again applied for a leave and my eyes widened when I read that this time it was not granted. I had two weeks to figure out how to maintain two full time jobs and a part time gig as a bartender. To make things work I bid one day trips on Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, then give away my Thursday and Friday trips so that I could work at AT&T during the week and only fly on the weekends. I had to forfeit my gig at the bar that month. In December of 2002 I worked every day of the week.
By January I was prepared to quit, but there was more to this decision than the hassles of work in the post 9/11 environment. Yes, I was finally living in a city that I truly enjoyed. It was two years into living in Columbus and yes, I had developed a semblance of a social life. The problem was that I was extremely lonely, and being at work made it worse. I was in hotels alone. Working in first class meant I worked alone and sat alone of the front jump seat. On layovers, if there was time to explore, I did that alone too. The only thing that felt right at this time was being at home, or not far from it.
I’d lined things up to support my resignation from Delta and just as I was about to submit my paperwork Delta offered a four-year leave option. Travel benefits would remain, all other benefits would cease. At the end of the four year leave, if the industry hadn’t recovered – and no one knew if it would or what the outcome would be, I’d transition to a five-year furlough, a potential of nine-years off with travel benefits. I said yes. And while I had no intention of going back, I was happy to have access to free travel for the next nine years.
I was at the top of the pay scale at this time and the pay loss was tremendous. The car was paid for and I didn’t have to used much because I could walk to work, but there was still the house payments and and insurance to cover. What came next was a dramatic change in lifestyle.
In order to drop the heating bill I set the thermostat to 50° and spot heated whatever room I was in with an electric radiator. To reduce water consumption, I showered with a bucket in the tub so that any residual water could be used elsewhere. All meals had to be prepared at home – there was no money for eating out.
When spring arrived I tilled up a portion of the back yard and planted a garden so that I could reduce my grocery bill. I also collected the rain water off of my roof to use to water the garden so that I wouldn’t be billed for water for the garden.
If I had spare dollars left when payday arrived I’d tuck them into an envelope which I built up as ‘fun money’. When I had twenty dollars in the envelope, I’d take out ten and go to a little neighborhood coffee shop in the evening and I’d sit with my computer and write. Nothing in particular, mind you – but at the time, coffee shops and laptop computers were kind of a thing – a way to meet people without spending a lot of money or having to go out drinking. I’d get a free refill added to the foam left by the latte’ I’d finished and spend the entire evening living it up.
This was a period of extreme hardship but simultaneously great joy. Walking into my own house every day after work was immensely satisfying as was sleeping in my own bed. In my entire adult life, this had never been the case. I entertained myself with books from the library, spent time learning how to garden, prepared the food I’d grown, and enjoyed a lot of quiet time on the patio in the backyard.
I’d made the decision to choose happiness over money.
The 36 Broadway 
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