What started as what I believed was a God-given opportunity quickly turned into a frustrating and mentally draining ordeal. I’m sharing my story not just to vent, but because I believe it highlights how badly things can go when a system fails to respect, support, or even simply acknowledge its people.

I first applied to a major airline organization in the UK for a Cabin Crew role in August or September of 2023, but got an interview invite through a recruiting agency. I made it all the way to the final virtual interview, but was ultimately rejected because of background noise from where I was calling in. Fair enough. I blamed myself for not preparing better and was told I could reapply in six months.

I reapplied around June or July of 2024. When I got called in again, I was overjoyed. But something strange happened. I was invited to the interview under a name I hadn’t used in years—a name not on any of my legal documents in the UK. I still don’t know how that name got into their system. My previous application had been under my official name, the same one on my passport, ID, and NI records.

I attended the interview anyway. When I arrived in August 2024, I realized I had forgotten my international passport—one of the ID requirements. I did, however, have my provisional driving license and biometric residence permit. The receptionist initially refused to check me in because the name on the interview list didn’t match my documents. I was confused and stressed. There was no way I would’ve used a name I hadn’t touched in years to apply for something so important.

Just as I was about to give up, a recruiting manager stepped in and told the receptionist to allow me through since I could prove my right to work in the UK, which I did on the spot. She reassured me that sometimes applicants use nicknames by mistake. I was allowed in and went through the three phases of the interview. It was highly intense and competitive. I passed the phases of the interview and was sent for a functionality check and further assessments. I was promised a training start date if successful.

Before I even got home that day, I received an email saying I had been selected and should expect further information about the training schedule. I was over the moon. This felt like divine intervention—finally, something was going right. I have been unemployed for more than six months and have applied to various jobs, including Project Management jobs, Business Analyst, and Scrum Master positions. These were skilled jobs that required training and examination. I wanted to something to do something so I don’t have to beg to eat or pay my bills.

Several days later, they still hadn’t sent the email confirming a training date. An elderly man whom I had sat close to during the interview messaged me to check if I had received any feedback regarding the training date, and I said no. We spoke about the delay and we concluded to email requesting an update as we need to know to plan our schedules around the date. I emailed them later to follow up about the training date and was eventually told it would begin on December 10th, 2024. I planned my life around that date. I rebooked a trip that I had I couldn’t honored, a long forgotten vacation to the U.S. for October 29th, and to vote for the November 4th primary election, and so I could be back and ready. During my time in the U.S., I voted in the presidential election, and I received multiple job offers. Tempting ones. But I turned them down because I had already committed to the airline. Besides, my son is in the UK, and this job offered travel flexibility. I kept my promise and came back.

Before training, I completed the required medical, DBS, and reference checks—in full and not abbreviated; my birth name as shown on my official IDs. Everything was clean and correct.

But then the training got pushed forward, to February 2025, because they hadn’t finished processing my references. That delay cost me opportunities in the U.S. I could have stayed, trained, and worked there, but I was stuck in the UK waiting.

I had no income after December 10th and had to cash out a portion of my pension just to get by. That’s how committed I was.

I finally received the updated job offer and a request for a new DBS, which I completed. But then came another shock: the training wouldn’t take place in a hotel or provide accommodation, like other airlines I’ve worked for. It would be held at one of the City airports, and trainees had to make their own arrangements. I found this out two weeks before the new training date. I couldn’t back out because of that.

Again, I adjusted. I used the last of my pension to book a nearby hostel for the five-week training. Every day, I commuted via public transport just to attend. I did everything by the book. I showed up. I put in the work. I sacrificed my energy, time, and sleep.

And yet, despite all this, I can’t shake the feeling that I was being toyed with. From the incorrect name on my application to the delays and lack of communication, and the unrealistic expectations around training logistics, it all points to negligence at best, and something more targeted at worst.

This job was supposed to be a fresh start. Instead, it drained me financially, emotionally, and mentally. It left me exhausted nights and mornings, questioning my worth and feeling like I was being punished for trying to play by the rules.

If this is how a supposedly world-class organization handles its hiring and onboarding, something is seriously not right.

When the Training Turned: From Hopeful to Pain

The first week of training was an exciting time that felt like a breath of fresh air; we were all excited, though apprehensive. We introduced ourselves and got to know each member by their first names. The trainers were professional and nice, although I couldn’t read their mood. My fellow candidates were friendly, and despite the exhaustion from commuting every day, I was genuinely happy to be there, although inwardly I was honestly sad. I missed my son and hadn’t seen him since arriving from the USA. His father and his siblings have prevented him from coming to me.  He was deliberately kept away from me during the Christmas period. The thought of my missing my son kept intruding into my mind, but I pushed it aside as it cost me deep emotional pain.  As someone with prior flight attendant experience, I came in ready to bring my best.

But by the end of the second week, things started to shift.

While I maintained the same positive attitude, I didn’t catch on quickly to the iPad-based assignments. Some of my fellow trainees were much younger—some just 18, 19, and 20 years old—and far more comfortable navigating digital tools. I, on the other hand, was trying to stay afloat without a proper study environment. My hostel had no desk or chair, and I slept on a bunk bed. Turning on the light to study at night risked waking others, so I was stuck cramming in uncomfortable, limited windows of time.

Another trainee who was also commuting a long distance was facing similar challenges, although she was the trainee who was supported the most due to her race. But while we struggled to keep up, some others—mostly local and significantly younger—sailed through the tasks. I began to feel the pressure build.

Then came the point system.

We were told we’d be penalized for things like lateness, untidiness, or missing assignments, which is understandable and points to the fact that we should be held to the quality standards. Accumulating more than seven points meant dismissal. I had my first point deducted in the second week for not completing an assignment on time. It wasn’t for lack of effort; there was no time to sit and do anything due to the time it takes to travel to and from, taking two trains to get to the hostel, and to sit and complete the assignment. It was just too much to do in a small window of time, and I had no proper place to study. I wasn’t completing my assignment, not because of incompetence. I was being set up to fail by my circumstances. The trip from the airport to the hostel was exhausting.

Unlike previous airlines I’ve trained with, who housed trainees in hotels close to the training sites, here I had to find my own accommodation and commute nearly 3.5 hours each way, by bus and train to London, on top of the intensive training. It cost me nearly £7.5 a day in transportation within London, and about £35 daily for a hostel room.

As the second week progressed, I noticed something else: a shift in behavior from my fellow trainees. The friendliness from the first week disappeared—but only toward me. I was still polite, still made an effort to greet everyone. But now, cliques were forming, and I was left out. I wondered if it was an age thing, but there were others who were close to my age who were included. I pushed the thought of exclusion out of my mind and focused on why I was there.

There were two other black female trainees in our group of 14. You’d think there would be solidarity, but instead, there was tension amongst us. One of whom, in her thirties, constantly inserted herself into every conversation I tried to have with others. She acted like she knew everyone, and I don’t. I made a conscious decision not to treat her like an enemy, even though it felt like she wanted to compete, to show me she is more familiar with them, and I wasn’t. But I wasn’t there for competitive drama—I was there to earn my place.

To be continued: Written by Bess JT