👋 Hello, and welcome back to Creative After Hours. I hope you enjoy this story from my recent travels to the US. Happy reading.
The last time I traveled across the Atlantic to visit my mom in Florida, I was beyond exhausted when I arrived, but not because of jet lag.
I couldn’t find a direct flight from Amsterdam to Orlando, so I flew through Atlanta with a connecting flight to a small airport in Gainesville where my brother picked me up in his massive white pickup truck.
The travel time from Amsterdam to Atlanta was around nine hours. Luckily I had an aisle seat that wasn’t far from the bathroom vestibule (I like to get up and stretch my legs often).
Once we reached our cruising altitude, I noticed most passengers struggling to find the bathroom door. They kept trying to open the adjacent door, but it was locked. Every time a new person came wandering over, half asleep, I wanted to jump up and direct them to the correct door. But I didn’t.
Eventually, a man in a black and white pilot’s suit (captain’s suit?) appeared (I wondered who was actually flying the plane). He pulled out a key for the mystery door. It swung open and he stepped inside. The door shut and locked behind him.
What’s down there? I thought to myself.
My curiosity grew, but it was time for our in-flight meal so I waited patiently to ask about the door. The flight attendants were busy pushing carts full of drinks and mini microwaveable dinners up and down the aisles. I didn’t want to bother them.
When lunch was over and the cabin lights dimmed, I spied on the door from my seat while everyone else read, watched their mini-movie screens, or passed out.
The door lock turned. It was my chance. I clicked open my seatbelt and darted for the door to (what I thought was) a secret room.
As the door slowly opened, a flight attendant appeared.
“Excuse me. I don’t want to bother you, but what’s in there?” I asked.
“No problem darling, that’s where the captain and the crew take breaks during these long flights,” she replied quietly.
“Can I see it?” I asked, assuming she would say no.
But to my surprise, she whispered, “Yes, but only for a second.”
What the fuck? I thought. Is she gonna go to jail for this?
I went anyway.
The door shut behind us. As the lock clicked, a light illuminated the hall. There was a short staircase in front of me. When my foot touched the ground after the last step, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
It was a break room for the cabin crew. Not that surprising, I know.
But they were having a dance party.
To my left was a bar overflowing with empty wine bottles and beer cans. Two flight attendants — a man and a woman — sat on tall, round bar stools chatting. On my right, one of the flight attendants was sprawled out on a large brown leather sofa. She was smoking a cigarette and an empty wine glass stained burgundy red was on the floor next to her.
At the end of the room was a large black speaker, almost as tall as me playing the song Freed From Desire by Gala. As I got closer to it, I could feel the music vibrating through my body and I started humming na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na in my head.
A silver disco ball hung from the ceiling, light reflecting off everyone’s faces. Six members of the flight crew danced in the center of the room. Dirty Dancing style.
Am I dreaming? I thought to myself. This is unfreakinbelievable.
One of the flight attendants grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor — I couldn’t resist. I threw my hands in the air, swayed my hips, and joined the party like it was a completely normal thing to do below the main cabin of an airplane.
It was dark and windowless, just like a nightclub, so why not?
Every couple of hours, the cabin crew rotated. A few came down to join the party and a few went back up to serve the passengers. I spent the entire nine hours on the dance floor as we flew over the Atlantic Ocean because I knew I’d never have a chance to experience this again. And because nobody puts Baby in the corner.
Author’s Note
Crazy story, right? That’s because it’s not real. Well, I did see the door to the secret “mystery” room on my last flight to the US, and the cabin crew was coming in and out of it, but I didn’t ask to see it. That would have been crazy. Instead, I let my imagination run wild. The story you just read is what I came up with. Writing it made me think about how we sometimes resist new, uncomfortable, or seemingly strange situations, but it’s often in those moments that we’re truly living.
💡What do you think? I can’t wait to read all your comments on this one! 😹
P.S. For more personal essays, humor pieces, and flash fiction (I think that’s what this one is?) check out the After Hours section of my Substack.
My first thought was "wow, I had no idea such a room existed!" Once I got to the end I admired your creativity on such a long flight! Very inspiring!
I've been traveling and I'm now catching up on your posts, ironically, while on a cross country flight from NYC to LAX, which, alas, has no secret rooms.