CHAPTER 2 GROOMING

The speaker discusses the importance of grooming as a flight attendant for Pan Am. They recount their experiences with makeup, weight control, and hair maintenance. They express their struggle with their curly hair and the difficulties of controlling it in humid climates. The speaker recalls a traumatic experience with a grooming supervisor named Amy, who had their hair cut shorter than desired. Despite their tears and dissatisfaction, they couldn't complain due to fear of insubordination. The speaker then mentions their decision to let their hair grow and rely on hairspray in the humid Miami climate. Chapter 2. Grooming As much as character, grooming was always something that had to be beyond reproach at all times. We were scrutinized at each report. In training, we had learned all about applying the correct amount of blush, lipstick, and sky blue eyeshadow. You were to have your Pan Am face on at all times. To this day, I still put on lipstick before I go out to get the paper in the morning, just in case I might run into a neighbor out walking his dog, or our grooming supervisor, Amy, who still haunts me. I was good with the makeup and had already developed a habit of meticulously counting every calorie I put in my mouth, so I had the weight and makeup issues under control. The bane of my aspirations to having perfect decorum, a favorite Pan Am expression, was and probably will always be my hair. As shallow as it sounds, one of the biggest draws for going to college in Arizona was the fabulous climate, resulting in almost 365 days of dry, good hair weather. I have that thick, Jewish hair that grows like a sponge when an ounce of humidity is in the air. I had been assigned to the Miami base, and keeping my hair under control in that climate would be a daunting task, and I had already been traumatized in training by Amy. Amy was the head of the grooming department. She looked as if she could get caught in a hundred knot wind and emerge without a hair out of place. She defined the word, well-groomed. When the day came for my hair evaluation, Amy decided that my locks definitely needed some shaping. I sucked it up and said it was a great idea, but not without a little qualification. Amy, you're definitely right, though my hair's really curly, and if I get based in a human climate, it would just be great if it could be manageable and perfect if I could still tie it back. Well, of course, that goes without saying. We're just going to have Bruno trim it up a bit, she replied. I was relieved at her tone, and grateful as can be, akin to when your captor promises they won't harm you. Yes, the Stockholm syndrome had set in. Of course it looked out of shape to Amy. My hair was insanely out of control in Hawaii's humidity. I could have doubled for Roseanne, Roseanna, Dana. Amy laid out the guidelines to Bruno, our tanned and handsome Hawaiian hairdresser. Trim it up a bit. It's really unruly, and she needs some style. Bruno nodded, and his first snip was like a punch to the solar plexus. He took at least three inches off and proudly held it in his hand to show, stop. Bruno nodded, and his first snip was like a punch to the solar plexus. He took at least three inches off and proudly held it in his hand to show Amy. How about a page boy? That would look great on her, he declared. Oh, yes, I agree, Amy replied. The lump in my stomach went to my throat. I couldn't speak as tears welled up in my eyes. I really don't know why I had such a severe reaction, but it must have been something about losing control. I was hair obsessed. It was the one aspect of my appearance I had always spent the most time trying to control. I started to cry, but didn't dare complain. I couldn't risk insubordination at that point. Amy stood there with a smile on her face, smirking with superiority and feeling smug about her authority. Bruno was well aware of my feelings and went on sheepishly snipping away. After Bruno's chop job, he blew it dry to the perfect page boy, stretching my hair into submission with a round brush and the hottest blower I have ever experienced. Then Amy excused herself to the ladies' room, and Bruno came to life. I'm so sorry. Honestly, I think you're going to really like this cut. Really. You know, they just like to have the Pan Am girls looking stylish. It looks great on you. Just look. He put his hands on both of my ears and turned my face to the mirror. It was all I could do to swallow and try to stop the waterfall. I shook my head in uncertain agreement. Bruno looked dismayed. Actually, he looked downright panicked. Remorse was written all over his face. Please go to dinner with me, he pleaded as he reached into his pocket and took out his card. I want to make it up to you. Amy appeared before I could answer and thanked Bruno for his creative cut, informing him that they would be sending in another trainee in a few minutes. He winked at me as we left and mouthed the words, call me. If there had been any way for Bruno to redeem himself, I would have considered going to dinner with him. But there was no way I was letting him touch my hair again. Besides, going out in the tropical Honolulu air would have just made my hair frizz. So it was goodbye to good hair days, another small price to pay for my dream job. When I moved to Miami, the mother of all humid bases, I learned the true meaning of hairspray. I resigned to let my hair grow and earmarked my first week's salary for a case of Aquanet.