Thank you, Delta

I recently caught a flight from Indiana to NC. As I jammed my luggage into the overhead bin and meticulously folded my body into the seat, I quickly found this routine flight morphing into what could only be described as a Broadway musical.

The flight attendants perfectly fit the stereotypical friendly and fabulous flight attendant mold. There were three of them. All with crisp black uniforms, displaying tantalizing splashes of pink every now and then. And not just pink, but hot pink. There were two females, both tiny adorable black women. One had the perfect curls of a female afro, the type that women from every race quietly envy. The other sported the fastidiously styled beehive that only a half can of hairspray can supply. The third was male. A slender pale man with a tailored uniform to accentuate his metrosexual hipbones; his splash of pink taking the form of a starched button-down shirt beneath his black vest. Finely groomed facial hair topped by a dark head of hair with shine that every woman strives for, and a painstackingly placed side-part.

Aside from mere physical appearance, these attendants had the bubbly personality and lightness in their step that one expects to witness in a good flight attendant. They lithely flitted about the middle aisle during the pre-flight pep talk, until I was all but holding my breath in anticipation of the jazz band and choreographed dance.