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A Random Photo Series: The Longest Day via ParisNewYorkLosAngeles

A non-fiction short story series, involving randomly selected photos from my exquisite, internationally calibrated camera roll 

Since this is the first of an intended short story series, let me give a brief introduction to the concept and idea I’m trying to create here. I enjoy writing about my travels, just like everyone else. Obviously, we’re still in a pandemic, and my travel ventures have been minimized for the time being, and like many others, I’m going through the feelings of being deprived of mischief, adventure, and freedom. In attempts to humble me and be grateful for the experiences I have survived and lived through, I thought I’d pay an ode to the thousands of photos in my iPhone 11, and share some of the stories that correlate with the selected photos. They are a mixture of photos from leisure travel, as well as from travels while working as a flight attendant. Without further ado, I welcome you to my new project, A Random Photo Series.

January 10, 2020, 9:24 pm West Hollywood, California 

I hadn’t seen Delon in a few months, and I knew being reunited with him meant I had to have my best dress ready. Delon is talented and one of those guys that does everything — fashion, acting, filming, editing, writing, and also happens to double up as one of my best friends and cousin. 

“Run downstairs and get dressed, we’re leaving in half an hour,” my mom rushed me excitedly, “I know you’re tired, but I’m so happy you made it.” I was too, but it quite literally was the longest day of my life. I still had about three hours left in a day that had begun on the other side of the world in Paris, France, by midday landed me in New York, and would be ending in Los Angeles to celebrate a family friend’s achievements. 

As I let the hot water run down my back, I smiled to myself and thought about what my past 24 hours had been like. Yesterday morning, I landed in Paris with the expectation of having a photo-perfect, croissant filled day, strolling the French streets in hopes of scoring some great pictures to share online. Instead, Paris gave me a day full of pouring rain, the metro workers were on strike and any sort of cab/uber/driver services had skyrocketed their prices.

Let me be honest, major unpopular opinion over here, I hate Paris. This is based on my own observations, but I find the people to be pompous, racist, and unwilling to reason. I don’t intend to offend anyone, but these are based on my own experiences. Oh, and everything is expensive. The only reason I agreed to come to Paris, was to see Chloë, my childhood friend turned sister and her amour, who were passing through the city on their vacation

After hours of delay, I was able to get to them and we took to the streets. We had dinner in a quaint restaurant, explained to passerby’s that Chloë’s boyfriend was actually NOT Tiger Woods, or “Le Tigre,” and eventually made it out for an enjoyable evening of dancing and music. It’s safe to say I didn’t sleep much before my early pick up the next morning, and I should’ve prioritized sleep knowing that working the return flight from Paris would never be easy. 


I looked up in shock, after hearing a bloodcurdling scream. My crewmember stood on the opposite side of our beverage cart, holding a pot of coffee, completely mortified, “I’m so sorry ma’am,” she whispered. I ran to the back galley to grab heavy-duty paper towels, when I came back to the scene, I’m pretty sure my actual jaw dropped. The screaming passenger had stood up at the bulkhead, (the wall in front of the first row of seats on an aircraft) yanked her pants off, exposed her full granny drawers, and was howling, while also demanding that my co-worker stop what she's doing and immediately wash her clothing. I ran to the back again, this time to allow myself to empty all the laughs I had balled up and shielded behind my professional poker face.

Apparently, I never calmed down. I ended up pouring red wine face-first on another passenger, and before helping I just busted out laughing and begged him not to pull down his pants.

I landed in New York’s JFK airport in the early afternoon, changed out of my uniform, and got on the next flight to LAX. Three timezone changes later, Delon picked me up, and we started the next adventure of the longest day of my life. As I mentioned before, we had a family friend who was DJing an opening set at AVALON in Hollywood. In support, his family had rented a magnificent house in the Hollywood hills, that immediately made all of us feel like VIP attendees to a red carpet event. I felt like I fit in perfectly as I arrived on the scene with two bottles of wine, hand-carried from Paris the same day. 

Our celebrity night continued with a VIP booth, bottle service, and opportunities to look down upon the crowds of people fist-pumping to the pounding bass speakers as we jammed with Tate (if you want to learn more about him and his music, click HERE). We ended the night in traditional LA fashion with hot dogs (they even had veggie dogs, so fetch!), from the local stand, and made it back to our humble abode. 


“Do you want to do the safety demo for everyone?” the flight attendant asked me. I laughed and declined, after all, I was continuing my high-roller experience and had to play the part until reality set back in. As if the mansion party wasn’t enough, Maggie, (a professional good-time curator, tied with my mom as the best hype woman in San Francisco — undefeated as a duo, and a mentor with a specialty in champagne therapy when necessary, also proud mom of the DJ), advised that in order to complete the full experience, it was required to finish the weekend with a ride in luxury back to San Francisco. So we did just that, we privately jetted our way back to the bay. From there I departed SFO and made my trek to JFK, all the while kicking myself for not making the private jet ride more exciting, I should’ve dropped my pants and howled too. 

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