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Passenger of the Day: Karma Airlines

Mr. Sir stepped on board the full 737 and immediately started in on the customer service agent who was standing in the galley drinking a cup of water and chatting with the flight attendant. “I’m NOT going to check this bag and you can’t make me!” he demanded. The agent slowly turned his gaze to the man and took a drink of water. He said nothing and continued his conversation with the flight attendant.
Mr. Sir was a tall and broad man. I was happy he was not seated next to me. Next to me was a demure and quite attractive young black woman, who spent nearly the entire flight reading a book; one of the best kinds of seat mates there are…besides an invisible one! He wasn’t next to me, but he and his wife were behind me. He sported a very full beard, nearly white, to match his hair. He looked to me like a Harley rider, one of the cookie-cutter variety, big, intimidating, hairy, like so many I used to know when I was the GM of a dealership. He probably carried a rifle in his arm and Jesus on his sleeve and his mind would be as open as a gift shop on Christmas Day.
Looking to store their luggage, the two of them began opening overhead bins, since most were closed now that we were only moments from the time when we are supposed to be pushing back from the gate. I thought I had seen an open spot over 3C, and mentioned this to the wife, but when she opened it, there was no room. I made an apology, but she didn’t seem to hear as she continued her search. I was getting frustrated in watching them, so I turned my gaze out the window to watch the ramp workers load bags onto the plane, instead- I supposed there was a good reason they place every bag on its belly and not its back. Mr. Sir asked his wife if she wanted the window or the aisle, and her decision placed her immediately behind me.
This really began my in flight entertainment. The two began a conversation of complaints that would last over an hour: Airline booked their flights so they had to come from one end of the terminal to the other to catch this flight. He noted that even had their arriving flight been on time, boarding for this flight would have commenced before they were scheduled to reach the gate, so it was a good thing this flight was running late, too. I thought to myself, yeah, Airline sits there and schedules gates just for you, knowing you needed the exercise. “Well, at least this flight will be safer than that last.” she responded. “Let’s hope so.” I wondered what was so unsafe about their last flight.
I tried to block them out as best I could, watching the goings on out my exit row window. Soon I could see us enter the penalty box and I knew something was up. Sure enough, we came to a stop and the engines shut down. The captain came on the PA and informed us that air traffic control (ATC) had given us a ground hold due to weather and needing to space out incoming aircraft to SFO. We would be delayed for an hour, however, that can often be altered and we could be taking off sooner. Not on this trip. We’d be there for the full hour and I’d be listening to Mr. Sir and his wife complain and make calls altering their hotel and rental car agreements.
Mr. Sir now blamed Airline for this delay. I wanted to turn around to inform him that an ATC delay had nothing to do with airline, but I knew that would be futile and would most likely only enrage him further. I kept silent and just listened. I didn’t want to, but his voice was so loud. “Airline should buy all our drinks for this kind of delay.” he demanded.
The flight attendant made an announcement that due to the delay, the satellite TV system would be complimentary. Soon, it was determined that several TVs were not working properly, so the system was re-set. The re-set did little good and from my seat I could see there were a few not working. I quickly found out that Mr. Sir’s was among these. Of course he complained again, “What a great airline, they promise free TV for everyone, but not us.”
When the hour was up we were quickly racing down the runway and alighted from Dulles Airport. The complaints came to an end. When the drink cart arrived to his seat, he ordered 2 rums and 2 Baileys. The flight attendant kept to company regulations, telling Mr. Sir that we are only allowed to serve one drink at a time. While an actual company policy at Airline, it’s one mostly ignored by flight attendants. Mr. Sir acquiesced and then, the flight attendant made my day by charging him.
It was later, in flight, when hanging out in the galley, when I found out about Mr. Sir’s attitude when boarding the plane and I also heard that he was the only one they charged for alcohol on the first round of drinks. So it’s true, bees really do get more honey with sugar!
About 3 hours into the flight, his wife starts bumping my seat at regular intervals; slamming into it, pushing the seatback forward, bumping it. It began driving me insane. It would let up for about 10 minutes, then start again. Finally, at wit’s end and fearing for what I was about to start, I undid my seat belt and turned to face his wife. I smiled and I politely asked, “Is everything OK?” “Who me?” she asked. “Yeah, there seems to be something wrong and I thought I’d check to see if you’re OK. You keep hitting the back of my seat. Can I get you anything?” She said she was about to go berserk and was ready to get off this airplane, and Mr. Sir interjected that it had been a very long day. I casually glanced at him and then back to her, “Well, let me know if I can get you anything. We’ve got about 40 minutes left of flying time and we’ll be on the ground soon.” She thanked me and I took my seat happy that it went so well and that I decided not to change out of uniform for the flight.
Finally, we arrived at our gate in San Francisco. As his wife apologized to me for the seat, Mr. Sir scolded another passenger for not knowing how to deplane, “You’re supposed to wait for the people ahead of you to get out first!” At least this infraction kept his attention from me, as I had about reached my limits with his attitude. Welcome to SF, Mr. Sir, and good luck!
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One of the worst days

Another gorgeous Pacifica day; clear blue skies, slight breeze, wonderful ocean with mist rising into the air; I love living here. I had my plan: Chinese consulate to renew my visa, stop at Costco for gas and a few items, doctor’s office, then to the mall to conduct a mystery shop for dinner.
I left a little later than planned, so I felt rushed to get to the consulate before they closed. Traffic was heavy, like it was nearing rush hour, but it was only 1:20. I found a parking spot only 2 blocks from the consulate, which was good for the part of the city I was in. It was now ten to two and the sign stated no parking from 11-2. There were many other cars parked, so I thought I’d take my chance, but no need to worry. I got half a block and suddenly I realized I didn’t recall grabbing my passport. I checked my pockets and the contents of the envelope in which I had placed my application. Nothing. All that way, all that traffic, for nothing. Back to the car in shame.
                Because of the traffic, I decided to go back a different route, which did seem better. I found a good parking spot at Costco and as I grabbed my wallet to show my membership ID, I realized I DID have my passport. Now I was really kicking myself. How could I have not realized I actually had it on me? Why didn’t I feel it when I searched my pockets? And the whole drive back south I was racking my brain on where I had put it the night before after making the required copies for the application. I just couldn’t remember.

Cloudy
                My brain has been on vacation for a while. It was very bad after my illness in November of 2009. It’s been a long, slow process of healing and feeling like I’m on top of things again.  A few weeks ago, I nearly missed my first trip back to work after thinking it was on a Sunday, when it was actually on a Saturday. I still don’t know how I did that. Now this.
                I felt bad and a bit worried about myself so I called Mom and told her. She laughed, saying she does things like this all the time. I hear that a lot, when explaining odd things I have done in my recovery. But I was never like this. Mom used to always tell me what a great memory I had. I graduated in the top 10% of my class. I’m a smart person. Or I used to be.
                I told Mom I was in Costco to get some mouthwash. I also needed to buy ink for my printer, cash my annual cash back check and stop for gas. I walked around as I talked to Mom and got a few food samples. I found the mouthwash and got in line. Before leaving, I thought I’d treat myself to a mocha freeze. I pulled out of the parking lot to head to the doctor’s office, not half a mile away. I still had 20 minutes, so I parked in the garage with a view of San Bruno Mountain and texted a friend of mine, who I knew would enjoy hearing of my time with trying to renew my visa. He did laugh.
                As I sat in the waiting room, I realized I had left Costco without getting ink or cashing my check. Now I was really feeling stupid. I was also feeling quite tired and while I waited to see the doctor about my sleep apnea, I wondered if there isn’t something more seriously wrong than just, well, “I do things like that all the time, it’s normal.”
                Things checked out OK at the doctor’s. My next stop was the mall. My assignment there was to have dinner at Five Guys to evaluate customer service and timing. I had also received in the mail a week prior a post card from the mall. Turn it in to receive a gold egg and maybe inside will be a $500 prize. Taking a better look at it, I now realized I was in the wrong mall. It was the right mall for the assignment, but the prize was another mall entirely. Not sure how I didn’t realize that, either.
                On the way home, with my failed day still going through my head, I thought about how I now am constantly worrying myself. When I leave for errands, when I leave a hotel room after a layover, when I board a plane or walk into the briefing room before a flight, I’m always feeling like I’m forgetting something. I take careful notes on what time I have to be places and what things I need to take. For weeks I’ve been forgetting to buy aspirin. Last week I went to cook meals for the pilots, turning on the oven without placing the meals in them. It caused me to overcook the meals for the passengers. I think now know what it feels like to be 80! And it’s scary as hell. This constant feeling like I’m forgetting something is stressful. What if I forget something important, like arming doors for takeoff?
                As I drove down Highway 1 towards home I enjoyed the view of the Pacific Ocean as the sun neared the horizon.  The sky was clear and there was now enough mist over the ocean that it rose quite high and created a haze as I looked out to the ocean. The breeze blew this haze on shore to where it nudged into the hills and gave way to the blue sky above. The light on my gas gauge came on. I had forgotten to get gas at Costco. God damn it.
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Adventures in Flight: Penguin in the Left Seat

The sun had set and a dark purple curtain of darkness had fallen. There wasn’t enough light to be illuminating, yet it wasn’t quite dark enough to say it was night time. I could still see the features of landscape in the distance, but only as darkened objects against the lighter colored sky. I sat in the left seat of a 747 cockpit, the one normally reserved for the plane’s captain. I’m no captain. I’m not even a pilot. I would like to be, but I’m not. But there I was, sitting in the left seat; the engines turning and the lights at the forward landing gear lighting up the centerline of the runway.

In front of me was runway 28-right, the longest of the four runways at San Francisco’s International Airport. A real captain was in the right seat next to me and he hit a switch, turning on the plane’s landing lights, thus illuminating the runway from one side to the other. Past the runway I could see San Bruno Mountain with its antenna towers blinking on and off. I looked to my left and could see the headlights of the cars moving along highway 101 and was happy to not be sitting in the backup of traffic. To my right was the company’s large maintenance hangar and the San Francisco bay was beyond that.

Captain Henry was more than my co-pilot today. He was guiding me through the step by step process of our mission. He finished inputting data into the plane’s computer and we were ready to roll. But first he wanted me to experience taxiing this behemoth. At his instruction, I pushed the throttles forward just over an inch. I heard the engines rev up, felt the vibration and then the plane slowly started to move. With my left hand on the tiller, I began to control the direction the plane went. As we lurched forward, the wheels began to run across the centerline lights and I could feel the plane vibrate over them.

A747 photo by Penguin Scott

I felt like this was a dream. I’ve longed to ride in a 747 cockpit for a very long time. I remember taking a small Cessna from Maryland to New Jersey back in 1999; I was so excited. After we landed, I spoke to my pilot friend about how great it would be to fly in the cockpit of a commercial jetliner. He agreed, and I’ve since done that. But here I was, in the cockpit- the left seat at that- at the controls. It was no dream.

I was instructed to turn right, off of runway 28R, and return the plane to its takeoff position at the start of the long runway. Capt. Henry gave me a stern warning- I was turning too soon. “Don’t forget, the wheels are behind you. You have to pass the center line and then make the turn.” While saying this, he assisted me with the tiller on his side of the cockpit and corrected my mistake. It was a hard thing for me to learn as I did it again on my next turn, for which I was rewarded with another stern warning.

Steering a plane is nothing like steering a car. It doesn’t respond well to small corrections made often. Basically, what I needed to do was put the tiller in one position and let it go. Constant corrections only make the plane continually zig-zag down the taxiway. By the time I learned this, my taxi was complete.

Back at the start of runway 28R, we were now ready for take off. I was buckled in and ready for the task of letting this 747 loose, to tear down the runway and lift off into the night sky. Capt. Henry instructed me to push the throttles forward. There were four; one for each engine, and they all moved in sync. It took a second and then the power hit the engines and the plane lurched forward, gaining speed down the runway. I asked the captain when to rotate. He seemed impressed with my knowledge of this.

When I was in flight attendant initial training, nine years previous, I had the opportunity to sit in a cockpit for the duration of a flight, from push back to block-in. After taking off, I had the chance to ask questions. This is when I learned that the point at which the pilot pulls back on the stick to make the plane take off is the point at which one of the pilots say, “Rotate.” And now, in the 747 cockpit, not sure if he’d state that point of the takeoff roll or not, Capt. Henry said he’d tell me when to do so.

About half way down the runway, he told me to pull back. I did and the plane lifted up. Capt. Henry pushed a lever and the wheels retracted. I could hear them do so and could feel them take their place in the wheel well somewhere below me, just as I had felt so many times before from inside the airplane cabin. He pointed to an artificial horizon (or the attitude indicator) on a screen in front of me and showed me at what point to keep the nose on the screen to keep our current rate of climb. If the plane started to sink below this line, I pulled back a bit. If it started to get too high, I pushed down. Then I was instructed to make a left turn.

As I began to turn the stick, and as the plane began to bank to the left, I noticed that I was losing my rate of climb, so I pulled back on the stick. It was difficult and took a bit of strength. I was concentrating so hard on keeping the rate of climb, that I ignored the turn. I got another stern warning from the right seat, “Watch your turn or you’ll end up in the drink,” which was slang for water, or in this case, the Pacific Ocean.

We were now over the water just off the coast of Pacifica, which was my home. I looked up and out of the cockpit window and we were in a very steep bank. He grabbed the wheel in front of him and corrected it back to a normal left turn. It was a good thing the cockpit has two sets of throttles so he could make the flight corrections we needed.

His warnings reminded me a lot of my grandfather teaching me to drive. I spent my summers visiting my grandparents in the Texas Panhandle. Once I had my learner’s permit, he went with me on a short drive. He had a tendency to sound a bit more stern than I’m sure he meant to, but he made his point and was concerned about me wrapping his nice car around a pole, or worse, another car. And like my grandfather, Capt. Henry was concerned about our safety, not to mention that of our flight.

The turn was completed and we were now flying steady at about eight thousand feet just off the coast of California. I could see the car lights on Hwy. 1. Capt. Henry instructed the woman in the jump seat directly behind me to hit a switch and suddenly the windows went blank; nothing to see but a gray screen. Another switch was hit and the windows came back to life. Suddenly, the view changed to about five miles south of the airport. We were now over the bay, frozen in time, suspended as if in a video game.

But this was no ordinary video game. This was a multi million dollar simulator, used by the best pilots of the company for training purposes. My captain in the right seat was a flight instructor. And I had just taxied and taken off a 747 airplane. Not a real one, of course. But you can’t get any closer to the real thing than one of these simulators. From the traffic on highway 101 and the blinking lights of the towers on San Bruno Mountain, to the wheels crossing the lights on the runway and the feel of the wheels retracting after takeoff, everything was as real as the real thing itself.

From the outside, I was in a contraption supported by numerous jacks that control a motion platform. On the inside, I was in a 747 cockpit just like any other in our fleet. Inputs made from inside controlled the motion platform, which was calibrated in such a manner that even the slightest motion, like the wheel going over the center line, made a movement noticeable in the cockpit.

A flight simulator

We were now ready to land, and with the hit of another switch we were again moving. The lights of the city below were angled as the nose of the plane was pointed at the beginning of the runway we were about to land on. As we crossed the San Mateo Bridge, he lowered the landing gear. As they locked into place, they added drag on the plane’s flight, and we could feel that in the cockpit as slight vibrations. Looking at the attitude indicator, I kept the box on the artificial horizon where it was supposed to be for our landing. I thought Capt. Henry did most of the flying on the approach, but he swears it was all me. I know this plane can land itself, and it really did seem to fly quite easily.

The plane came to a stop. I had landed. The switches were hit and the screens went blank again. When they came back on, we were at the start of runway 28R once more. I got out of the left seat and Sandy, the flight attendant seated behind me climbed in. Now it was her turn to fly and mine to observe.

I was at our main training facility for my annual recurrent emergency training (RET) to refresh my skills of being a flight attendant. Once a year, we are required to practice opening and closing airplane doors, drill emergency procedures, recertify our AED and CPR skills, and get hands on experience using emergency equipment, such as fire extinguishers. I normally do this at my home base in the Bay Area, where I also live. But for some reason, this year I was sent to the facility where the pilots also train. And after a few of us in class expressed interest in a tour of one of the huge simulators, our instructor was able to arrange for Capt. Henry to meet us early the next day. I had no idea he’d actually let us “fly”, but it was the thrill of a lifetime!

After we completed our takeoff and landing, we went to class, a bit later than planned. I was so excited that I was actually still shaky from the experience. The instructor had informed the class as to why we were late and he asked me how I liked it. I told him that I felt much the same way after my first time sky diving. It was a thrill, exhilarating, and a dream come true. I was on a high like none other! Every nerve tingled. Every sense was alive. I had just taxied, taken off and landed a 747. Not a real one, but the realest I’ll ever get. It was an amazing experience that I’ll not soon forget!

A 747 landing at LAX

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Stop Causing Trouble


Photo by Penguin Scott

OK people, stop getting on my flights and causing trouble. When you get on my flight and cause trouble, it just means I have to fill out paperwork. Paperwork is in triplicate and if you get on my flight and cause trouble when I’m not at my home base, I have to make a copy of my report and send it to the base where we landed just after you caused the trouble.

But before there is paperwork, there is calling the captain to advise him that you are causing trouble. After we land I have to describe the trouble you caused to a police officer and a supervisor. Sometimes the two of them are not together when one or the other asks me to describe the trouble you caused on my flight. This means I have to repeat myself- and I hate repeating myself.

After I’ve described the trouble you caused to the police and local supervisor, (who then relay the trouble you caused to the FBI) chances are, the other flight attendants then also want to hear my version of the trouble you caused on our flight.

Really, all I want to do is serve you a drink. If there is food to serve, I’d love to do that for you, too. If you have questions about planes, airports, air traffic control, my job or penguins, and I’m not too busy serving other passengers, I’d also love to answer anything I can. But when you come onto my flight and start causing trouble, I get upset.

On my flight to Denver, after we’d gone through the cabin preparing for landing, my flying partner comes up to me in the first class galley and tells me a passenger just grabbed her and was causing trouble when asked to stow her belongings for landing. My flying partner grabbed my arm to show me what it was like. It hurt. I told her to let go and wanted to hit her back. I asked if I needed to go talk to her and was told yes, I did. Since I was the purser, or the head flight attendant on this trip, I was obligated.

I was told she had alcohol on her breath, although when I got to her seat, I couldn’t tell. The woman in 12C was a nicely-dressed woman in her 50s. Her outfit indicated that she had taste. Her jewelry indicated she was not hurting in our troubled economy- after all, she had my annual salary on her right hand alone.

I asked her a few question and she seemed a bit sluggish in answering; not that she slurred her speech, but it took a moment for her to process my questions and come up with an answer. She indicated that my flying partner had been badgering her. The couple seated next to her looked over to me as if to say, “Nuh-uh!” I told her that it seemed unlikely that the person in question had been badgering her, being that she had been working in first class with me, and spent very little time, if any, in economy.

She told me she lives in three different homes and flies my airline often, commuting from one to the another. She said this was the worst treatment she has ever had. I thanked her for her continued business but let her know that someone would need to speak to her when we landed. “Oh, I can’t wait when we land, my husband is meeting me and I have another flight to catch.” “Well, unfortunately, a chain of events has already been triggered, so you will be detained a bit when we land,” I shot back. And if this was the worst treatment she’s ever had at our airline, she is lucky to have been treated so well for so long!

At this point, a glance out the window showed that the ground was ever so close. I excused myself to return to the first class galley so I could finish putting things away and then took my jump seat for landing.

Sure enough, upon landing, we found four police officers and two supervisors waiting. The lady stayed in her seat during deplaning, while my flying partner first spoke to the authorities, then it was my turn. By the time I’d finished, the last passenger stepped off the plane and a young officer went to her seat to speak to her.

Our flight was delayed and we had arrived a little late, so they took her off the plane. Another supervisor asked if we were OK to continue flying, like maybe we were too phased to continue the trip. Yes, we were just fine. Could we now board the plane? Yes, let’s please, since we were now 30 minutes behind schedule and we had to first stop in Chicago before eventually arriving in Philadelphia for our layover.

She had to go and cause trouble. Now I have to go and write up my report. In triplicate!