Was It Brut or Rosé? Don’t Look at Me

There was a time I could sit and read a book for hours.

Now? I unlock my phone to check the time and end up watching a raccoon fold laundry.

I’d blame the internet, but honestly, I think my attention span started slipping somewhere around 35,000 feet, while pouring orange juice into a cup that already had apple juice, because I was too busy wondering if I’d left the washer on at home.

Working as cabin crew means living in micro-moments:

Announcements, door checks, meal trays, turbulence, callbells, fake laughs, and real eye rolls.

The brain doesn’t wander anymore.

It sprints.

From “Is she okay?”

To “Why is this tray table sticky?”

To “Did I refill the coffee?”

To “Wait… where is the coffee?”

And just when you start to find your rhythm, you catch your own reflection in the lav mirror, wondering if that new wrinkle was always there… or if it formed mid-flight over Karachi turbulence.

You shake it off, step back into the cabin, and get back to the script.

"Welcome onboard—Brut or Rosé?"

Simple enough. Except it never is.

I go to ask a customer what kind of welcome beverage they’d like—Brut or Rosé? Easy.

But on my way back to the galley, someone from 10K flags me down to ask where the menu card is. Then 9J wants a baby bassinet. Somewhere in between, I help secure a bag, throw a smile, duck under someone’s elbows, and mentally calculate how many customers are left to serve.

Now I’m back at the galley… staring at two champagne bottles like I’m in a game show.

Was it Brut… or Rosé?

Brain: He was wearing white. Is he classy? Was he a he? Would he say “dry” or “fruity”?

Subconscious: Go with Brut. White shirt = dry humor = Brut.

Ninety percent of the time, I guess right.

The other ten? I walk away pretending it's for another customer.

We’re drilled for safety, trained for precision. But somewhere between first service and mid-galley, something happens. Focus slips. Attention scatters.

One moment, I’m reviewing security procedures in my head. Next, I’m wondering if the guy in 4F looks like a tomato juice kind of man… or a Bloody Mary risk-taker.

I used to think I had a short attention span, but now I know I have a crew attention span. It’s not that I can’t focus—it’s that I’ve trained myself to juggle twenty things while smiling, balancing trays, doing mental math, and remembering if 3K is gluten-free or just picky. So if I forget what you said mid-sentence… please know I still care. My brain’s just buffering somewhere over Karachi.

I’d apologize for the chaos, but at this point, if I forget your tea, don’t take it to heart.

Somewhere between 8G and my existential crisis, it just… slipped into the Bermuda cart section.

Happens all the time.

Welcome on board.