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FLIGHT ATTENDANT
Chelsey, 29, Colorado Springs
Usually, people on fl ights are bumping us, tugging
on our dresses, touching our legs, elbowing us in
the hips to get our attention. When they go the bath-
room, you can feel their hot breath on your neck.
It’s an intimate space. A metal tube with people
coughing, sneezing, picking their noses, every day.
It’s eerie now. On my recent fl ight from
Orange County to San Francisco with 166 seats,
there were only nine people in coach class. They
were spread out, rows between one another,
mostly in window seats, some of them in masks
and gloves. People don’t want drinks because
they don’t want to go to bathroom. They don’t
want snacks because they don’t want to touch
you. You can see fear in their faces.
The other day, I washed my hands 20 times on
a two-hour fl ight. My hands are raw. Typically,
fl ight attendants use gloves only for cleanup. But
I’m using them to arm and disarm the doors and to
close the overhead bins. I’m going to start bringing
my own gloves. The hospitals are low, so it’s only
a matter of time before the airlines run low. I’ll
have three sets of gloves for each fl ight leg. We are
allowed to wear masks, but I haven’t yet, and those
may run low, too. I watched a tutorial last night onhow to take a kitchen towel, fold it in thirds and
then use a rubber band to secure it around your
ears. I may do it on my next fl ights.
It’s quiet everywhere. In the airports, the
restaurants and bars are closed. Some food stands
are open. Kids and adults are in masks and gloves.
One guy walking through the Denver terminal
was wearing a rain poncho. It wasn’t raining.
On my layovers, the hotels are almost empty.
The other night we arrived at a small Jackson
Hole hotel around 9 p.m. I didn’t see any house-
cleaning crew. I wiped down the toilet seat and
the fl ush handle, the sink and the faucet. The
kitchen was closed, so some crew members
walked about half a mile in 27 degrees to a gas
station for food, probably a hot dog cooked 18
hours earlier. I had a chicken burrito I bought
on the way to the airport that day. There was no
microwave, so I ate it cold. Now a lot of hotels
don’t have breakfast. I ate leftover pizza for
breakfast last week. We recently got an emailAs states and cities across the country have closed
schools, businesses and public spaces and as governors
have ordered residents to stay home as much as
possible, millions of Americans have continued to show
up for work. Some can’t work from home but can’t
risk losing their jobs and income. Some hold jobs that are
critical to the functioning of our society. For many,
both things are true. Day by day, they confront the stark
new realities of life in a pandemic and adapt as best
they can. These are their stories.
All photographs were taken by the subjects themselves
or by people close to them. Accounts have been edited
and condensed for clarity.