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Passenger of the Day: A Good Little Boy Scout

A plane flies over Chicago

The plane started to bounce a bit in the middle of the sky. I looked out the window to see only a few scattered white clouds in the distance, then I returned to my reading. The purser passed by, heading back to first class. He stopped for a moment at my row, not to talk to me, but to the man seated in the aisle across from me.
“Excuse, me, sir,” he said to the man in a white shirt and gray hair, who looked a bit like Barney Frank, the Massachusetts congressman. He looked up at the purser over the rims of his black glasses, surprised someone was talking to him, “for safety, we need to have your arm rest down.” The purser gently pushed the arm rest back into position and continued on his way. The man looked over at me briefly, and then went back to his Sudoku puzzle. It was a completely forgettable experience.
After three minutes, my neighbor fidgeted, put down his puzzle and pen, looked around and then reached up to press the flight attendant call light. I wondered what he was up to. We were seated at the exit row, so we were closer to the front galley, and sure enough, the purser returned. He was short, stocky, had graying brown hair and smiled as he approached. He turned off the call light illuminated over the man’s head, bent down and asked how he could assist.
The Barney Frank lookalike asked the flight attendant if he could see the manual where it states that his arm rest must be down. This is what he was fidgeting about? He wants to see the manual? I couldn’t wait to see how the purser would handle this guy. I knew right then that I was seated across the aisle from my passenger of the day!
Narrow aisles
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re not allowed to share our manuals with passengers,” he told him. “But if it helps, they need to be down to keep passengers from falling out of their seats when the plane encounters turbulence, and I feel that right now the plane is at risk since it’s been bumpy. It’s also more difficult for passengers to move up and down the aisle if a bunch of arm rests are up, as it gives a few inches less clearance.”
Spot-on, Mr. Purser! I was afraid he might actually acquiesce and show this man the manual.
The man across the aisle returned, “Well, can I know the page number where it states this? I’m a good little boy scout and I like to follow rules, but I just want to see it for myself.”
A good little boyscout? Likes to follow rules? Really? A good little boyscout would have just said yes, sir, and that would have ended it right there.
The purser replied, “Well, you can write to Mother Airline. My name is Jeff, with two ‘Fs’ and you can mention that I’m the purser on this flight. They can discuss with you the various FAR’s.”
I do the same thing; ‘make sure you get my name right so they know I’m doing my job’.
The boy scout picked up his pen and wrote down Jeff’s name and “FAR”, asking what that was (Federal Aviation Regulation). He then told Jeff that this was the first time he’d ever been told this and he always flies with the arm rest up. Jeff told him, “Well, I may be a bit more into safety than most. They are only supposed to be up for egress of passengers.”
“Egress?” Mr. Boy Scout asked.
“Yes, if a passenger is immobile, it’s to assist in getting in and out of the aisle seat. That’s why the button is hidden in the back of the arm rest instead of being in plain view.” Mr. Boy Scout then wrote down the word ‘egress’.
If you could hear my eyes roll, he surely would have.
Jeff excused himself to return to the first class cabin and Mr. Boy Scout continued writing notes. In light of things going on in the news of late, why did I have a feeling I’d be reading about this? “Flight attendant calls man disabled and won’t allow the use of the moveable arm rest, more at eleven.” But the thought circling my head was more about how he seemed to have a hard time being told what to do by the authority of the cabin. The purser is the lead flight attendant of the flight, after all, and every rule is there for a distinct reason. He’s made a request for safety and Mr. Boy Scout had to grill him, even taking notes, when having that reason explained.
He returned to his Suduko puzzle for a moment, and then stood and wrestled around in the overhead bin. He pulled out a small camera, knelt down and took a few photos of the seat and the arm rest. I was simply amazed. One of the flight attendants from the back saw this and asked him what he was doing. “I just need a photo of my seat.”
Inside an A320
He was a nice man and had been making small talk with yet another flight attendant on board, sharing information about cologne, which I also thought very odd. Men don’t normally ask other men who they don’t know about their cologne and then offer a napkin with a sample sprayed on it, as Mr. Boy Scout did. Was he hitting on the male flight attendant?
Mr. Boy Scout never said another word to the purser, even when Jeff later came through the cabin to pick up trash. The man seemed cold to Jeff, but jovial to the rest of the crew. He obviously had a problem with authority and didn’t like Jeff telling him what to do. Falling out of your seat is bad, and could hurt others, as well. But the skies can be full of selfish passengers who are only concerned for themselves and their own needs. I can only hope Mr. Boy Scout isn’t as selfish as appearances can lead one to suspect, and I’m happy he kept the arm rest down for the rest of the flight.
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Passenger of the Day: The Lovers

International pre-departure can be as fun as your 5th fruit cake of the holiday season- trying to maneuver the aisles during the busy boarding period to ask first class passengers for drink orders, taking and hanging coats, passing out amenity kits and menus and answering questions. All that and while not getting paid; the money starts flowing when the brakes of the plane are released, not when we start sweating for the needs of first class passengers, the neediest of whom seem to be upgrades from economy.
I approached the couple in 4K and L during the boarding process. She was attractive with dark features, straight black hair pulled back, a striped blouse under a black sweater and a cheery disposition. He was equally handsome with a full beard and wore a tee shirt and gray sweatpants. Very classy for first class, and quite comfortable, which apparently wins the contest. He was more into the young woman seated next to him than anything else.
Ignoring their attire, I smiled and asked if I could bring them anything to drink. My tray was already full of sparkling wine, orange juice and water; should they ask for these popular selections, it would save me a trip back up the aisle full of people headed to coach. Swimming up stream with a tray of drinks always brings the fear of bathing someone in a concoction of sparkling wine, orange juice and water. My poor heart.
He smiled back and said no, thanks. I looked to the young woman, who turned to the man attached to her right hand, and whispered to him. He looked into her eyes and then looked back to me to say that they would indeed like some sparkling wine. I smiled again and placed their drinks down, moving to the next row of seats.
Several passengers seemed very excited about their travel. Santiago, Chile was our destination, a new route for Mother Airline. Actually, we had the route many years ago. Santiago was always the city that got away from me. After the events of 9-11, I was furloughed, but spent time away from work taking advantage of my flight benefits. I made one big trip a month and had gone to such places as Hong Kong, Milan, Brussels and Taiwan. Santiago was the next destination on my list when Mother Airline called me back to work, so I didn’t get to make the trip; and then we stopped flying there. Since starting again, a lot of passengers are taking advantage of the renewed route.

During the initial beverage service, I asked to take the lover’s drink order. He declined my offer. Again, the young woman, now with her feet on the seat and her knees up to her chest, turned to whisper to him. She looked back to me like she had won a prize and he spoke up that they would like another glass of sparkling wine. “Oh,” she added, “and a glass of water for both of us.” “So, she does speak,” said my inner voice.
This is how it went every time I offered anything to them. He would say no, like a polite guest in a stranger’s home, too timid to actually take up any offers of hospitality. She would lean into him, whisper in his ear, change his mind and he would then accept the offer. She seemed to have the power over him to accept any of my offers. Would you like dessert? Would you like a cheese plate and port wine? Would you like to smell this rotten fruit? Would you like to chew on this piece of glass. Would you like a fruit cake?
The Lover’s, as we all started calling them, continued to hold hands and look longingly into each others eyes. They sighed and laughed. They did everything the same; like twins. What he ordered, she ordered. What he watched, she watched. She would get up to use the lav, then he would. It was the purser who pointed out that sweatpants on a man in love don’t do enough to hide his passion.
We looked on in awe, the three of us working in first class, all agreeing that we wished we had someone to steal kisses from on a vacation flight to a foreign country. The others from the back all came up to steal a peek at our lovers- giggling, smiling and in a world that only they occupied at 37,000 feet.
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Passenger of the Day: Mr. Ebola

Health scares come and go and I’ve never understood them, nor have I fallen for them. I remember in the months after 9-11, the media going berserk about a few cases of possible ricin; a poisonous white powder found in packages sent to a few of our leaders and possibly left in aircraft lavatories. To watch the news, one would think a ricin apocalypse were on the brink of breaking out and if we didn’t heed the warnings of the talking heads, we’d all parish to bequeath the planet to the cockroaches. But I don’t recall anyone dying from it in the US (and I am unable to find reports of deaths on line in writing this).

When SARS broke out, I lost my job for a few months because people stopped flying. When first reported, again, one paying attention to the news reports would think the world were about to end. A report issued in the early months advised those paying attention that a common disease like influenza kills 20,000 people every year; 200 times as many people who had died of SARS.
But new health scares are what sells. Bird flu, penguin pox, fox news syndrome, hokey-pokey disease and most recently it was Ebola getting people’s attention. There were 18 cases of Ebola in Europe and the US. But to hear the chatter from friends and even some of my flying partners, you’d think there were a few zeros behind those 2 digits. I spoke to a friend who told me he’d kissed someone who had just been to Africa, and he was waiting for the incubation period to end to see if he had contracted the disease. Dr. Penguin assured him that, while he may have contracted something, a deadly African disease was not on the short list!

During the scare, friends asked me what procedures and training we have undergone at Mother Airline in the wake of this new threat to our way of life. In return, I tell them I no longer pay attention to the news reports!
Our training is already in place for dealing with health issues, and since this latest one, named after an Italian bowling score (ebola a perfect game-a) is only spread via direct contact with bodily fluids, and not an airborne contagion, I’m not all that concerned. Our universal precautions and frequent hand washing do the trick.
This isn’t to say that I totally ignore what is going on around me. I have the information I need, I have the tools and smarts to deal with the risks, and I have the knowledge that I have a greater risk of dying in a car wreck, from a tragic incident involving a mule or being hit by a fruit cake. Contracting the Ebola virus is extremely unlikely, but unlike with a mule, the potential threat is serious.
On a trip, to Oahu, Hawaii, I was in the aisle with the beverage cart during our initial service after taking off from Houston, when the girl I was working with came up to me with a bit of a frantic look on her face. “Why did they board the duty free catalogs and remove the Sky Mall magazines? We don’t sell duty free going to Hawaii. This gentleman in the hat asked to buy some cologne and I told him we don’t sell it. Then he told me he was disappointed to hear that, since he left his back at home in…” wait for it… “NIGERIA!” (Cue the music of impending doom.)
I looked over to see a very healthy looking man about my age, dark, black skin, nice shirt and a silly trucker-style ball cap, looking through a magazine. Yeah, he’s a killer, and he’s my passenger of the day; Mr. Ebola.
We advised the other crew members of the man on board who was transiting from a region of the world known to have a contagious disease, as we are trained to do. What didn’t help things along was that a woman in 3A got sick in the first class lavatory after asking for an air sickness bag, and the flight attendant came to ask me if I thought we should lock it off. I asked if she had made a mess in there, but the flight attendant was too scared to open the door to take a look. She wanted to ask if the woman had come from Africa, but was too frightened. To quell her fears, I went to the woman and first comforted her, “I hear you’re not feeling well, is there anything I can get for you?”
“Oh, no, I’m feeling much better,” she said, and she looked quite chipper and was smiling. She assured me that she had just had too much chai in the airport; 2 cups, back to back, in fact, and now that she got it all out of her system, things were feeling normal again.
“That’s great, and you do look very well. By the way, have you been traveling to any place that would be of concern to us?”
She smiled, knowingly and I got the answer I suspected, a ‘no’. I informed the nervous flight attendant, who seemed to have a large weight taken from her shoulders, and she thanked me profusely for dealing with the situation for her.
Later in the flight, I was told the story of when Mr. Ebola walked to the aft galley to purchase some food. In handing over his credit card, he first licked his finger, as if he were thumbing through the pages of a book. Ebola or not, that was sort of gross. I asked if surely she didn’t handle the saliva-soaked credit card after his doing so. No, she turned around and got a paper towel from the dispenser, took the credit card in the paper towel, never touching it, and returned it to him in the same fashion. Nice.
I’m very sensitive to the manner in which I pick up trash from passengers. Five years ago, I contracted a virus, most likely from flying, that nearly took me from this mortal plane. I always use a bag for picking up trash and always wash my hands afterwords. I’m cautious, but not paranoid.
After we landed, a group of us went to dinner, and while the Giants played Kansas City on the TV, I asked, “Well, now that we all have Ebola, who’s buying dinner?” Nervous looks were thrown around the table for a second, and upon discovering that none of us had bought into the fear, we all had a good laugh. Penguin 1—Ebola 0.
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Adventures in Flight: The Enabler

FA Penguin, at your service

This is how it usually happens; I ask a first class passenger what they would like to drink. They ask what wines we have and after listing them, they find they don’t like what we have to offer and instead order a diet coke. I ask, “We went from wine to ordering a diet coke?”

Or the time I asked the young woman on her first trip to Chile along with her husband for her drink order. She asked for orange juice. I comment, “Just orange juice?… nothing more exciting, like a mimosa or a screw driver?”
Or the young college guy on my flight to Buenos Aires, who looked like he wanted to ask me a question as I picked up his dinner tray, from which he’d eaten every morsel. After pressing him, he said he would love a second meal if that was possible. I told him it was quite possible, as we had a few left. Later, during the landing service, I asked if he’d again like a second meal. He smiled wide and nodded, as if I’d offered the keys to Shangri La. It wasn’t so much his nice demeanor and smile, all though, that’s the quickest way to a flight attendant’s heart. I’m an enabler!
Life is short and one has to live it to the fullest before it throws you under the bus. Or in my case, under the plane (although, these days, it’s harder to tell the difference between the two judging from those who travel).

I’ve been an enabler for many years, and it’s only intensified after my 2 close calls with death. If there’s something you want to do, something you want to try, something you want to experience, I say, get out there and do, try or experience while you still can! You’re never promised tomorrow.

One of the things I enjoy about being a flight attendant is being part of people’s life adventure. I deliver passengers to weddings, to vacations, to job interviews and even funerals. Travel is such a rich experience. Some of us get to do it all the time. Others, only once in a while. I strive to do my best at making sure people who need it, can have a memorable experience while on board the aircraft.
Some of the girls going to PVR

Just a few days ago, I was flying to Puerto Vallarta. On board were 10 attractive young ladies, all wearing identical tee shirts, all quite vibrant and happy. One asked if she could buy all the ladies in the group a drink; all 10 of them. I said, certainly! What’s the occasion? They were all friends of passenger18A, who was about to get married, but not before this bachelorette party let them loose on the Mexican beach resort. I asked what the men were doing. They were all taking a cruise! “You guys know how to do things right!” I told them.

The rock star life in Lima

Currently, I’m writing this from Lima, Peru, where I dined on Peruvian dishes for both lunch and dinner in the hotel executive lounge. Last night, after arriving to our swank hotel, I enjoyed a few Pisco sours at the casino bar with some of my crew. I am enjoying the view over the Pacific ocean from my 15th floor room. I live like a rock star! I could never afford such a lifestyle without this job; staying in deluxe hotels all around the world, meeting fun people, working with great crews and trying local dishes and drinks. I truly am wealthy for my life, my friends and my family. 

I don’t care about your diet, I’ll offer you dessert. I don’t care about your beliefs, I’ll tempt you with sin. I don’t care about your conservative ways, I’m going to keep having fun, and go sliding into my grave sideways, shouting for joy! I just want you to accompany me. Not in the grave part, but in having fun getting there!
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Passenger of the Day: The Aisle is an Ocean

One of the questions a flight attendant hears often is, “We didn’t get seated together, can you help us move people so we can sit together?” The short answer is, no, we can’t. Mother Airline doesn’t allow flight attendants to re-seat passengers. I’m not sure if it may be a union thing; we also aren’t allowed to lift passenger bags into over head bins and are not covered by workers compensation if injured doing so. So the quick answer we normally give is that they are welcome to ask passengers to move and usually they are accommodating. (And as far as putting the bag in the overhead bin…if you can’t lift it we can’t lift it. I’d be glad to check it for free!)

Every time I’m asked to help couples sit together, I’m reminded of a time my parents came to visit. This was back when one could meet the arriving party at the gate. I noticed Mom filing out of the jet way before Dad. When I felt sorry for them not sitting together, Mom said, “I love not sitting next to him. He yammers on and on the whole flight and I don’t get a moment’s peace. It’s nice that he can bother someone else for 3 hours!”
Lady Bossie boarded the 767 with dual aisles and immediately went into her hissy fit. “My husband and I were originally seated together, but now we have been re-seated and we’re across the aisle from each other. Can you move the passenger in his seat so he can sit next to me?
Really? Across the aisle might be a good thing for your husband, who might like the break!

The inside voice said, “Um, nope. You can ask the man in the window seat just like all the other passengers with this issue. You’re a big girl. You can do it!”
The man refused to move when asked; most likely because of the pushy manner in which she did so. The woman was fuming at the possibility of having to spend the next 6 hours on a flight with an aisle separating her from the poor man. And he seemed as if he couldn’t care any less. He was quiet, calm, and more into his portable electronic device than the commotion she was causing during the entire boarding process. Bossie, came marching back up to the boarding door to protest.
Originally, they were seated together. But upon finding out that their seats were inoperative, they were moved to seats that worked, and placed in 5B and 5D (in first class, there is no C). It turned out that their seats had been repaired before boarding, but in the mean time, they were given to other passengers. She was referred to the purser, who referred her to the customer service agent. She was told, if the passenger refused to move, they couldn’t do anything about it.
She next went to the captain, who looked as if he was ready to handle it his way: we can find you seats on another flight! She learned quickly that one should never bother the pilots when they are busy with their take-off check lists with something as minor as seat placement.
In the end, her loud protests were heard by other passengers, who in the interest of a peaceful flight and an on-time departure, moved, so that she could sit next to her precious husband. In their new seats at 3J and K, they proceeded to spend the next 6 hours of flight…glued to their TV screens watching 2 different movies with noise-reduction head sets on their ears. All that fuss to sit next to hubby just so she could ignore him the whole flight!
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Adventures in Flight: Prima Donnas and Princesses

It was just a trip to Los Angeles and back; two and a half hours there, sit for an hour, three hours back. It looked good on paper, sounded decent; nine hour duty day. But this was one of those days where I got to use my saying: I really earned my money.
Normally, I enjoy being purser on domestic trips, but I’m not all that experienced in doing the position on wide body aircraft. I can manage just fine, but I’m not very comfortable and I’d rather not. That was just how the rest of the crew felt about this 767, and since I was the most junior, I was stuck doing it. The purser works in first class, is responsible for making announcements, is the main contact with the pilots and handles any unusual situations that pop up. The pay is slightly higher, but it’s not always worth it.
It was a day full of prima donnas, princesses and an ass hat or two. Let’s start with the first ass hat. He was tall, odd looking and very special- at least that was what he thought. The flight attendant working first class with me asked if I knew him, like if he was famous. She thought he looked like a magician or something. I had no idea. I just know he was special; the manner in which he demanded things instead of asking, complaining about our Wi-Fi, getting up to use the lavatory, which was locked for take off, while I was in the middle of making the announcement to stay seated when the seat belt sign was on.
Of course, he had to have two drinks, asked for more hot nuts, of which there none, and let me know as I was still passing out trays of food to other passengers that he was done eating and I could take his. Since I don’t pick up dirty trays while still serving other passengers, he got to sit there with his tray until I was good and ready to pick it up. He even waved me off once, which I just ignored, as I always do when that happens. I’m a safety professional, not your waiter!
Then, there was Princess Wine, who would continually ask for more as I passed her seat. It seemed like she would always ask for it just as I was returning to the galley to get it, which made me feel as if I were acquiescing to her demands each time and not just doing my job. It was classy, how she reached a point to where she would just tap her glass while looking down her nose at me to indicate that she wanted more. It was like, “Hey, I’ve got 18 people to serve dinner to here, you’re not alone in first class, I’m only one person. You’ll get your wine, just be patient.”
Just behind her was Princess Salad. Another task of the purser is to take the meal orders. My galley guy had told me we were serving salad with chicken and a side of tomato soup, or a hot chicken sandwich. It turned out that the salad had roast beef and it was onion soup. I sat her tray down and before I could explain what was going on, she scrumpled her face and huffed, “Um, what is this? I don’t eat beef!” I offered to bring her a new salad with no meat. “I don’t eat lettuce!” she demanded.
“You don’t eat lettuce?” I asked.
“No!”
“But you ordered the salad…” I shot back.
“I was expecting ‘chicken salad’.”
“No one expects chicken salad,” said my inside voice (among other things) a-la the line from the movie “History of the World”… “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!” Oy.
Soon after this, Mr. Lost and Confused asked to buy duty free items. “Sir, that’s only available on international flights.” He’d just have to wait for his next flight, which was to South America.
A few seats back in coach was a prima donna. Her greeting? “I don’t have a tray table!”
“Well, hello to you, too,” (inside voice again). Her response after showing her that it was in her arm rest, “Oh. Well…my video monitor isn’t working! My movie quit playing and all I get is this.”
“Ma’am, it’s not working because ‘this’ is the safety demo. You have to watch it. Everyone has to watch it.” She huffed once more and I had to stop myself from laughing.
And then, sometimes it’s the little things. While taking meal orders, a man approaches and asked me for assistance. I follow him to his seat and he shows me a spill. I see a white liquid…some sort of…milk? It’s spilling from his video monitor, mounted on the back of the seat pod in front of him, where, somehow, milk was spilled during take-off and was now running down and spilling onto the seat pod behind. I grabbed some wet towels and assisted both he and the woman in front in cleaning up the mess. Next to the woman in front was Daddy, holding a sleeping child of only several months. He simply sat there smiling at me, holding the swaddled life form. It was then that I realized the milk I was cleaning up, and that was all over my hands, was BREAST MILK! Yes, classy times in first class, as usual.
And, it’s the little things, such as at least 3 people not paying attention, so oblivious, that even waving my hand in front of them, it took several seconds to notice me, standing there with their food. You’re in row 3. You’ve seen me serving all the people in front of you. You ordered a meal. You have your drink. The next step in the progression of things is a tray of kibble delivered to you. Put your laptop away and pull out the damned tray table so I can put this heavy tray down in front of you. No, don’t try to take the tray from me…where do you expect to put it? Pull out your tray table. Yes, that thing there. Really? (You know, your flight attendant can tell who got the upgrades from coach, right?)
An LAX landing
Then I get to the last row of first class- center seat. He was a dead heading captain; a nice guy. He didn’t ask for much, a can of sparkling water, a ramekin of hot nuts, no meal, thank you. After the service I went to check on him again to make sure he had all that he needed. He told me he’d been watching me do the service, and seeing that there were some difficult passengers, and that we were dealing with a very bumpy flight, that he was very impressed at how I managed things.
He went on, “You know, a passenger can have a bad day, a lousy drive to the airport, a curt gate agent, a gate change, a long wait in line to board. They can have so many negative issues before they get on the plane, but the thing that really makes a difference is the flight attendant. A flight attendant who gives really good service can make all that other stuff melt away. They land and walk out of the terminal and are asked, ‘how was your flight?’ and they say it was great…because of people like you, who care about their jobs and smile and make things seem flawless. I’ve been doing this for 24 years, and you’re one of the best.”
I listened to him as my head swelled, I smiled, touched his shoulder and thanked him. It was a long work week, only four days, but days where I had to drive to work each one of them; no layover trips. Two days were on standby at the airport, hoping for a flight, but not being used and after sitting for four hours, was then sent back home. Days tired because of yet another bout of insomnia, a terrible affliction very common to flight crews who deal with an ever-changing schedule, where I had not gotten more than 5 hours of sleep in a row but once in over two weeks.
“Sir,” I said to him, “thank you. That makes my day. I’m fortunate to love my job.”
Another saving grace of this trip was that I worked with a fantastic crew. One thing that really makes my job easy is a galley person who knows what he’s doing, anticipates needs and can handle being delegated little tasks while the aisle flight attendants are doing their thing in the aisles. We all got along, shared stories and laughs, and after the flight was over, compared our ‘war stories’ from the flight.
You land, walk to the bus, get to the parking lot, drive home, and it’s all left behind. This was my Friday and I have three delightful days off. I earned my money today, but it was a great day and now it’s all left behind me. I’ve said it before, even some of my worst days at work are better than many people’s best day at theirs.
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Passenger of the Day: I Just Serve the Coke

 

It was another hot day in Florida. The passengers boarded and nearly every seat was taken. Just as the door closed, we were told by the captain of a ground hold; there was a large thunder storm headed towards Chicago, which would hit the airport just at the time we were scheduled to land there. We were going to push back and hold for at least an hour, to give the worst of the storm the chance to pass through.
As is standard practice, we pushed from the gate and went to the holding area off of the taxi way; what we endearingly refer to as ‘the penalty box’. Since we’d be on the ground for at least an hour, we began going through the aisles to offer our passengers water.

When this task was complete, I was in the aft galley, putting things away. A man approached and asked in a heavy accent a series of questions. He was thin, almond-skinned, slightly taller than me, and wearing a brown corduroy jacket over a striped shirt. He was going to Chicago to connect to a flight to Frankfurt, Germany- and he is my passenger of the day.

“Why are we waiting here over an hour? I just spoke to my sister in Chicago and she said there is no bad weather,” he said. I replied, “Well, you should let her know that in 2 hours, there is going to be a big storm rolling through. We aren’t really concerned with the current weather, we’re concerned with the weather in a few hours…when we will be landing there.”
He seemed to understand, but I wasn’t sure. I’m not always good with knowing the difference between the look of ignorance and that of disdain. He looked at me as if I had some power to change the situation but was refusing to do so. If that were the case, I think I could make a better living than a flight attendant. He turned around and left me alone, but not for long. A minute later he returned, “Do you know when we are going to take off?” he asked.
“No, I don’t,” I stated.
“Do you know when we will arrive in Chicago?”
“No, not until we take off,” I replied.
“I’ve got a connection to the Frankfurt flight. Will they hold that flight for me?”
“I have no idea, but with so many flights being delayed, I would speculate that Frankfurt will also be delayed.”
“Well, how much longer do we wait?” he asked, again, and then followed with, “Will the captain be able to fly faster?”
I was getting pretty frustrated. He might as well have also asked how much fuel we were carrying, over what airports would we be flying or where did our pilot learn to fly, but I decided to attempt a little humor, “Sir, I can’t answer any of your questions. I just serve the Coke. If you have a phone, you could contact Mother Airline and find out the status of your connecting flight.”
He gave me another blank stare, which seemed to linger for a minute or more. I went back to my duties praying he was done tormenting me. He turned and I watched him return to his seat, which was about 3 rows from the back. I soon forgot about him, as I returned to the tasks I had been working on before the distraction.
When the captain informed us that we were ready to depart, we completed picking up trash while making safety checks. It was humid in Florida, and as we began to taxi to the runway for takeoff, the air got cold in the drying cabin as it became pressurized, and turned to white vapor as it flowed from the air vents along the ceiling. As we gained speed rolling down the runway, a woman screamed out, “There’s smoke in the cabin!” I turned in my jumpseat to check, and upon seeing the vapor, yelled back, “That’s the air conditioner, it’s normal!”
My flying partner rolled her eyes, “Smart ones, today, eh?” I laughed in agreement and told her about Mr. Frankfurt with all the questions I was unable to answer. She told me she must have fielded at least 5 other comments about making connections, like the flight crew are some sort of gods with untold powers of knowing the entire flight schedule of our airline when things go awry due to weather.
An hour later, we were nearly done with our service, with only a few rows left to serve drinks to, then we could pick up the trash and have a moment to rest. I leaned over to ask a man in the window seat what he’d like to drink. I recognized the tan corduroy jacket. He said something about Coke, so I repeated his order. “No,” he said a bit louder so I could finally hear him, “I said I don’t like your comment about the Coke. Earlier, you told me you just serve the Coke.”

“Yes, I did, sir,” I responded, “because you kept asking me questions I could not answer. I’m sorry that you didn’t appreciate my humor, but I only know what the captain tells us and you have a phone on which you could call and find out, and I don’t. I didn’t know what else to tell you. Now, can I offer you a damned drink?”
OK, I didn’t say “damned”, but I sure wanted to. It’s nearly a daily blessing that passengers can’t hear the comments going on inside my head. He asked for a coffee and said nothing else to me. Actually, he didn’t ask- “I’ll have a coffee.”
“Great,” I responded, “how do you take it?”
“Black,” was the cold response.
“Like your soul…” replied my inside voice.
We landed on a very wet runway after hitting some turbulence on our descent into Chicago. Dark clouds and visible flashes of lightning were in the distance. There had even been a tornado cloud in the area, although it didn’t touch down. I hoped Mr. Frankfurt had warned his sister and that he made his flight to Germany. At least I knew I’d not be seeing him on my flight home!
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View to a Thrill: Sao Paulo, Brazil

 

Architecture of Sao Paulo
There are a few things of interest I’ve noticed about Sao Paulo. Sure, it’s got many high rise apartment buildings, many of which seem too thin to comfortably stay erect. They say it has more helicopters than any other city, but I don’t see as many as I would have thought I’d be seeing for such a claim to fame. It seems like I see more in Houston than I have in my visits to Sao Paulo.
One of the narrow buildings
The Sao Paulo I’ve seen has a lot of civic pride. Each morning I always find most apartment buildings with someone out front sweeping the sidewalk. And they don’t just sweep it into the street, they pile up the debris and actually pick it up. Most buildings have stands out front upon which one can place their trash cans, keeping them off the ground, safe from critters. They also enjoy washing the sidewalks down with water.
In the apartment buildings across from my hotel room, I see in numerous units, women cleaning the windows; inside and out. They are very adept at doing so, contorting arms and hands to reach every square inch of the exterior of the windows while they remain safely inside. It would be a deadly fall, otherwise.
Apartment building with clean windows.
It’s odd seeing this cleaning regimen taking place when looking at all the graffiti. It’s one of the more graffiti-filled cities I’ve seen. The artists seem quite skilled at reaching places you’d think they couldn’t. There are buildings where the graffiti is 8-10 stories high; many having some sort of a ‘tag’ under each and every window at least 3 or 4 stories up. Bridge overpasses have a lot, as well. Some of it is cute, but most looks like an alien language- not even familiar to the Portuguese spoken here. Not everyone loves it, though, as one morning, I saw a shop owner scrubbing the white tile wall outside his front door of this alien writing.
Some of the more tame graffiti.
Graffiti on a building

Another thing I find amazing is how this city looks as though it would do well in the zombie apocalypse. (I may be watching too many shows about zombies.) So many buildings and parks are surrounded by large fences and strong gates. As long as you clear the inside of the dead, you can live in relative undead solitude.
They really like their bread here. It’s packed in all sorts of ways; in the store, I saw what looked like a bag of chips, but instead, it was full of dinner rolls. Stacked high near the registers were boxes of round loaves. Some had raisins and others had chocolate. I went for a walk at 7 in the morning and wondered at the numerous small tables people had set up, at nearly every corner, with the most delicious looking breads cut into wedges from their round loaves. But act fast, by 7:45, they were all gone and replaced by vendor tables full of jewelry, trinkets and sweaters.
It’s a neat place and I enjoy going, even thought it’s a very blue collar town and there doesn’t seem to be a lot to do of touristic value. I have never been to South America before going to Sao Paulo. It’s a new experience for me, going on a 9 hour flight and only being 4 time zones ahead. When I went to the international destinations out of San Francisco, I would be 14 hours ahead…and in another day! But I love the trips and experiencing new cultures, which, after all, is one of the best things I love about my job!
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Adventures in Flight: Jetset in 3…2…1

One minute I’m home on my couch enjoying what I thought might be a day off. Being on call with my job is a beast unlike any other. Waiting by the phone for a call from the crew desk to be off to a host of possible places: Sydney, Denver, San Diego, Orlando or sitting at the airport for 4 hours in the event that something goes awry and I’m needed, were all in the realm of possibilities. After 14 years, I still have sit on call every other month. I used to love it much more than I do now. Having a line, where I know what trips I have all month, is better for having control over your life. With a trip, I can trade for others or attempt to drop it for a day off. When on call, I only have a single day at a time that I can trade and there are so many rules; you must have at least 3 days in a row, can’t have more than 6, can’t create a new block in the month,…I’m sure there are more that I am forgetting!
So it was a day spent wasting it away on my couch watching Air Disasters on Netflix – not for the faint of heart, to be sure, especially before taking flight. But watching shows about what can go wrong seems to instill in me the knowledge that things will go right because of the lessons learned. It’s funny how I can do this, but wouldn’t want to watch Jaws before going swimming in the ocean!
Thoughts of a possible nap crossed my mind as the hours passed and the chances of a late trip grew greater…or I’d find out at 7PM what trip I’d get for tomorrow. Either way, a nap was sounding like a doable thing.
I was a call-in reserve for the month, which means each night at seven, I can find out what my trip is the following day. However, there are times we are not given a trip. The options here would be released for the following day, or converted to ready-reserve, which is what happened to me the previous day and was why I was sitting around wondering if the crew desk would end up calling me.
Then my phone rang – the ring tone familiar – that of one of my favorite songs by Stevie Nicks, perfect for a call that is to whisk me away to a far-off place…“You will fly like some little wing,” she sings, “straight back to the sun”. It was the crew desk calling with an assignment and I was soon to be jetting off.
Normally, the phone rings and I’ve got at least 4 hours before flight. This call was different. I was asked if I could be at SFO in 2 hours. I looked carefully at the time and considered that I wasn’t packed nor showered, but I was within my normal prep time. Yes! I don’t receive a lot of short call outs, but when we do, we only need to do our best to make it, and I knew I could.
The next minute I was getting ready for a trip to Honolulu; deadhead there in a coach seat, lay over for 14 hours, work one leg home…great trip! This job can have such a sense of urgency at times. “I’m needed in Hawaii!” Drop every thing and jet off.
Taking off from SFO

From wasting a day on the couch in front of the TV to sitting in the window seat on a jumbo jet watching the traffic on Highway 101 flow by as we taxied under a clear, blue sky to the start of the runway. It was such a gorgeous day, what was I doing at home on the couch? Oh, yeah. Waiting for a call from work. Had I not been ready so quickly or not lived as close to the airport, I might not be on my way to Oahu.
Seated next to me was the first officer who would be flying me home the next day. We talked briefly and then he lost himself in a movie while I played tunes and did a few crosswords. Four hours later, we flew over Pearl Harbor. I could see the white monument of the USS Arizona clearly. Further back in the harbor were naval ships; a carrier and a few destroyers. Beyond that were the mountains of Oahu and the Western shore of the island. We made a sweeping turn and lined up with the runway and soon our 767-400 was parked at the gate.
When we got to Waikiki Beach, it seemed that everyone was there…it was packed! I checked in and changed clothes, then it was time to jam in a short vacation; a couple of Mai Tais at the hotel pool bar, enjoy the sun set, a bite to eat, a walk on the beach and then time to head to my room. Not a bad day at work.
The following morning I would regroup with my crew in the hotel lobby to be on our way back to the airport. Once through security, we reached the gate and found out why we, along with the pilots, had all been flown to Oahu to work back. The inbound flight had diverted to Hawaii from Sydney due to pilot legalities; it was as far as they were allowed to fly. The passengers had all cleared customs in Oahu and had been waiting in the gate area for a few hours. This sounded like bad news for us, but they wound up being quite nice, just very tired; most would sleep the whole way.
I was assigned to work the aft galley, which was a task since we were boarded with a full-on breakfast service. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had to do a full-on meal service of any kind on a flight that was not international. The crew worked well together and we had a very good time. Before we knew it we were starting our descent into the Bay Area. We landed under the same beautiful skies as we had left the previous day.
I got home, repacked my bags for the next assignment where I would be off again, seeing the world, tending to the tired traveler and happy I love my job.
Diamondhead crater from Door 4
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Passenger of the Day: Brown Shirt

Passenger of the day:
At first there wasn’t much remarkable about Brown Shirt. Sure, he was fit, that was the first thing to notice about him. That, and his youth. Together, as well as the tight brown tee and snug denim jeans he wore, it was the kind of look that garnered second glances from many of the passengers who had already boarded and settled into their business class seats, but attractive people aren’t anything new. I noticed the middle-aged woman in 8F eying him up and down as he made his way to his seat. Our eyes met and she quickly looked down, having been caught checking him out.
Brown Shirt, at first look, seemed to be in his mid to late twenties. After closer inspection, I think he was more likely to be in his mid thirties. He had a full head of light brown, almost blonde hair. His skin was youthful, but was just starting to show signs of the recklessness of youth; too much time in the sun, not enough moisturizer.
It wasn’t his strong physique that piqued so much interest in Brown Shirt for me to feature him as Passenger of the Day. It was hard to ignore, with his tight brown shirt with super short sleeves. It showed off his well-developed arms, the kind more akin to a gymnast than a body builder. The tightness of the shirt also showcased a tight pair of pecs. I would imagine that 8F would have liked the rest of the torso, with a six, no possibly an eight pack.
He reached his seat at 6G and before placing his carry-on items away, he removed the things he would need for our 5-hour flight to SFO. A small laptop, a pair of bulky and expensive head phones, a few power adapters with the cords neatly wrapped around, an electronic tablet and an Ipod. This was a guy who’s security blanket was technology, but this isn’t what stood out, either.
The space above his seat had already been claimed. The man in 6F had arrived just before him and placed his larger item there. He pulled down the overhead bin across the aisle, towards me, and found a spot for his larger item there. When he reached up to put his bag in this space, even the large surly man seated next to me took notice. The arm muscles went taut with the weight of the suit case and the shirt lifted up over the waist band of his jeans exposing a bit of skin. His jeans were low and a decorative band with bright stripes was exposed; flashy and expensive underwear. I guess if I had a body like that, I’d be a little showy as well.
Still in need of space for a smaller back pack, he moved a row back and found space in a bin, but there were a few blankets that someone had placed there. He half picked one out and asked the man in 6F if he needed the blankets. Being told no, he pushed them back to make space and then leaned down to pick up the back pack he’d placed on the ground. While he did this, 6F put his back pack in his space. It made me chuckle as I could see Brown Shirt roll his eyes, 6F clueless to the fact that the space was not arranged for that of a stranger. Without hesitation, Brown Shirt shoved 6F’s small bag to the back and placed his back pack in front and then lifted the large bin closed, again exposing the flesh above his colorful underwear waistband. The woman in 8F again taking note, and this time not looking to see that I noticed her.
What I noticed next and what happened for much of the flight is what was so remarkable about the young man with the rock-hard body in 6G, Brown Shirt. It was an activity I’ve seen before but never with such vigor, and I know my writing abilities will fail to provide a picture that does this story justice.
It couldn’t be from stress. Brown Shirt was too young for that much stress, and judging from the head phones and Ipod and the fact that he seemed to be watching shows on his computer, it’s not like he was overworked. Although, seeing a young man such as Brown Shirt having a business-class ticket made me wonder just what he did for a living. We were leaving the nation’s capital for Silicon Valley. Perhaps he was a big shot with some technology company visiting DC to talk lawmakers into opening up loopholes so his company can further cash in. Or maybe he was just visiting family, a rich fortune 500 member, perhaps, who demanded certain results in the lofty expectations that the rich have on their family.
Maybe it wasn’t stress, but simply a nervous tic. Or maybe, just maybe, Brown Shirt had the best tasting fingers of all time! Yes, Brown Shirt spent much of this trip biting his fingernails. But this wasn’t your grandfather’s fingernail biting. This was a craft honed and perfected by a pro.
Think of a young boy at a picnic. He’s not eaten in hours and has been playing rigorously on the playground with other boys his age. He’s not worn out yet, but he’s got a voracious appetite. Mom calls the boy to the table and hands him a plate of chicken wings. Some of his friends are still playing, so he’s in a hurry to eat so he can get back to the jungle gym. He eats one wing in less 15 seconds and moves on to the second. While eating the second he’s already eying his plate for which wing will be third. He eats quickly and with passion.
This is the image I had in seeing Brown Shirt attack, not only his finger nails, but cuticles, as well. Placing his finger into his mouth, he’d move the finger this way and that, while his jaw moved the teeth up and down to get at the good part. He’d take it out and regard it briefly for a new plan of attack and then pounce on the victim. Every now and then, he’d free a piece of dead skin and roll it around in his mouth, letting his tongue feel it against the back of his teeth, moving it from one side to the next before ingesting it. Then he’d go at it again.
He moved with quickness. He was a professional. This was a race and he was far, far ahead. There was so much to eat and not one, but TWO hands with five fingers each. One finger, then the next; nail and then cuticle. Right hand and then left, all the while intently watching the images on his laptop and oblivious to anything else going on aboard the plane. Finger in, chew, turn, gnaw, turn, chomp, chew, gnaw, turn, bite, finger out, observe, finger in, chew, gnaw, turn, scrape, scrape, chew, turn, gnaw, turn, chew, scrape, turn, gnaw, finger out, another finger in, chew, scrape, gnaw, turn, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, turn, chew, bite, enjoy.
Then the airplane door was closed and we pushed back. My seat was rear-facing and in the center of the plane, his was forward-facing, next to the window. I had only to turn my head to look outside and I could see him clearly, going to town. I would eventually lose interest in watching his appetite for fingers as I enjoyed a meal (not finger food) and a movie, followed by a nap. When I awoke, I noticed he was still at it. It made me chuckle. This was some good entertainment, here!
I’ve never seen anyone chew their fingernails with such vigor. I am certain to never see this again. It wasn’t for the tightness of the shirt to show off the hard work in the gym. It wasn’t for the youthfulness of being in business class, surrounded by business travelers. For looking like a squirrel going after a meal in the park, you, Brown Shirt, are passenger of the day.