Chapter 3 - Whispers in the Galley
The rear galley smelled of stale coffee grounds, lemon disinfectant, and cold metal.
Kylie pushed through the heavy blue privacy curtain, her chest heaving as she tossed the drenched towels into the biohazard disposal bin. Her fingers were still red from the hot liquid she’d wrung out of the cloth.
Brianna was leaning against the jumpseat, one leg crossed over the other, checking her reflection in the small emergency mirror while applying a fresh coat of strawberry gloss.
"You're an idiot, Miller," Brianna said without looking away from her reflection.
"You burned a passenger on purpose," Kylie said, her voice trembling with righteous fury. "I watched your wrist. You angled the carafe three inches forward. That wasn't a slip, Brianna. That was assault."
Brianna snapped her lip gloss shut with a sharp *clack*. She turned, crossing her arms, her posture reeking of practiced intimidation. She took two steps forward until she was inches from Kylie’s face.
"Assault? Grow up," Brianna sneered. "He’s a nobody in coach wearing unbranded jeans and a five-dollar t-shirt. Did you see his shoes? Scuffed leather boots from some discount outlet. He probably works on an oil rig or drives a truck. People like that live on lawsuits and free meal vouchers. He didn't even yell. He knows his place."
"Everyone on this plane is a paying customer!"
"And some customers matter, while others take up oxygen," Brianna shot back, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Listen to me very carefully, reserve girl. You’re on probation. Six months. You make one false move, and you're back working the register at a regional diner. You think HR is going to take the word of a probationary hire over me? Over Mark?"
Mark, the lead purser for Flight 418, pushed through the curtain from the cabin. He was a slick, balding man in his late forties whose uniform fit a little too tightly around the waist. He held a half-eaten bag of roasted almonds and looked between the two women with an exhausted sigh.
"Keep your voices down," Mark muttered, popping an almond into his mouth. "The passengers in row 30 can hear every word. What's the problem now?"
"Miller wants to write me up," Brianna said, adopting a mocking, theatrical pout. "She thinks I committed a war crime because a cup of lukewarm water splashed on seat 24C."
"It was fresh coffee, Mark! It was boiling!" Kylie pleaded, turning to the purser. "His skin was bright red. If he blisters, that’s third-degree liability for the airline. We have to log the incident in the cabin safety log before we hit Boston!"
Mark didn't even look at the logbook sitting on the metal counter. He wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and looked at Kylie with dull, cynical eyes.
"Seat 24C didn't press the call button, did he?" Mark asked.
"No, but—"
"Did he stand up and scream?"
"No, he—"
"Then there is no incident," Mark declared flatly. "Look, Miller, you're young. You think this job is about customer service and being an angel in the sky. It’s not. It’s about getting from tarmac to tarmac without paperwork. You file an incident report, the FAA flags the station, the station calls Chicago, and guess who gets their quarterly safety bonus docked? Me. And Brianna's boyfriend happens to sit on the crew scheduling committee."
Brianna smirked, tilting her head with triumphant malice. "Hear that, Kylie? You file that report, and your next three months will be redeye turnaround flights to Minot, North Dakota, with twelve-hour unpaid layovers in blizzard season. Let’s see how much your little moral compass is worth then."
Kylie stood frozen. The sheer, shameless corruption of it choked her. She had spent five years working two retail jobs to afford flight attendant school, dreaming of flying the international routes to London, Tokyo, and Paris. She wanted to represent an airline that stood for dignity and grace.
Instead, she was trapped in a metal tube with two parasites who treated passengers like cattle and junior staff like dirt.
"You disgust me," Kylie whispered.
Brianna laughed—a high, brittle sound. "Welcome to the real world, honey. Now grab the trash bag and do the final cabin collection. And don't make eye contact with your little stray dog in 24C. You might give him ideas."
Brianna swept out of the galley, the curtain fluttering behind her. Mark gave Kylie a dismissive grunt and retreated to the front of the aircraft.
May you like
Alone in the dim galley, Kylie wiped an angry tear from her cheek. She pulled the official flight report form from the cabinet anyway, clicked her pen, and began writing down the truth. Every single word.
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