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View to a Thrill: Checking Inn

A Marriott

Inside Voice has a sassy personality that I can’t always control. I try to keep Inside Voice silent, but sometimes it just blurts out. Inside Voice’s favorite response to the question, “Does Mother Airline pay for your hotels?” is, “No, we sleep in the terminal in makeshift shanty towns of lost and found coats and jackets and old seat cushions.” Inside Voice can be so sassy. Of course Mother Airlines provides for our hotels.
It’s said that back in the day, flight attendants had to bunk up and share a room. Today, our contract provides language of certain expectations for our hotel layovers. They must be of a certain standard (sorry, Best Western and Howard Johnson, our standards are high), be located in a safe environment, have food available, provide Internet access, provide no smoking rooms and a room for each crew member. Bunking up is strictly at the whims of the crew involved. (And yes, there have been times I’ve willingly bunked up, but that is for a completely different series!)
Most of our crew hotels are of the caliber of Marriott, Doubletree, Hyatt or Sheraton. One of the things I enjoy about my job the most are the layovers. I love the chance to get out and explore, engage in new cultures, see how people live and work, and enjoy a nice hotel room. Some hotels are fantastic to stay in. Others are quite mundane. Only a few were bad enough that I would never wish them on anyone else! (I’m looking at you DC.)
Almost any crew member will readily admit that there is nothing better than staying in a hotel that is attached to the airport. Not having to wait for the van, tip the driver or spend time in transport, are a huge bonus! It’s a fairly rare, bonus, however, as most of our layovers require the van ride.
My favorite hotel chain is probably Marriott, although I love the free cookies when you check in at a Doubletree. But with Marriott, you know that no matter what city you’re in, you’re going to have the same basic room…down to the same desk and lamp. It’s sort of nice to have that expectation. Of course, that doesn’t help in trying to figure out in which city you’re in. “Wasn’t I in this room last night?”
I’m often hear jealousy from others of all the room service I must take advantage of. Room service is a nice luxury, however, if I were to do it on a regular basis, I’d need another job to support the habit. Yes, most hotels give us a small discount- usually 15%. But most hotels tack on a 20% charge plus a fee for the opportunity to have someone bring your meal to your room. I’ve only taken advantage of room service at a hand full of hotels; once when the crew discount for food was 50% and perhaps a few times when I just didn’t feel like getting dressed and going down for food.

The Peabody Hotel in Memphis
I’ve found a routine in entering a room and I’m not sure if I should attribute this to be slightly anal retentive or just comforted in having a routine for the many hotels in which I stay. Number one is safety and locating my exits in case of emergency. I enter the room and inspect it for intruders and odors. I refuse rooms that still have a lingering odor of cigarettes.
Off comes the tie and my airline ID badge, then the shoes. As I take off my watch, I verify that the room’s clock is correctly set; you’d be surprised at how many times I have to adjust a clock. After this, I adjust the thermometer. I like the room to be between 67-70 degrees. In a hot locale, I may turn it down as low as 60!
Now it’s time to lose the uniform, hanging it in the closet. Then I set out the items in the bath room on a washcloth; toothbrush and paste, comb, meds, deodorant, cologne, cotton swabs, liquid soap (I bring my own so I don’t waste the hotel’s on a single use) and like a rock star’s dressing room, it’s always set out in the same fashion. After all, I am a rock star. Of sorts.
Once this is complete, I may need to facilitate…or as some might say, use the oval office. Usually, when I get to a hotel room, I’ve been working a long day—as long as 16 hours. Airplane lavs are disgusting and I avoid having to sit in one at all costs.

Not every hotel has a heliport…but this one does!

As my name-sake might suggest, I don’t like a lot of heat, so the next thing I do is remove the down comforter from the bed. When I started this job 15 years ago, it was rare to see down on any hotel bed in the US. But today, 99% of the hotels in which I stay have down. It gets old ripping the bed apart and making it back every time I’m in a hotel room. The only times I can handle sleeping under a hot down comforter is when I make the room 60 degrees or colder!
It’s at this point that I can do what I need to do. On a short layover, that means going right to bed, as by this point I may have an alarm set for as little as 6 hours later (Flight attendants often have only an 11 hour layover, which is block-to-block, meaning once you subtract deplaning, getting to the hotel, checking in, doing the above settling in, getting up, showering, dressing, getting back to the airport and starting work an hour prior to takeoff for passenger boarding, you’re only left with 6-7 hours for sleeping!)
If sleeping is not necessary right away, I’m usually on my computer to write a story, checking email or chat with friends all over the globe. When I have a longer layover, I really love getting out to explore and take photos or working out in the gym.

Exploring on a layover in Pittsburgh

They are our chance to recharge. They are our home away from home. They are nice, comfortable and if we’re lucky, close to things we enjoy doing if we have enough time to do them. Yes, a nice hotel after a long day flying the skies is just the thing needed between flights.

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Passenger of the Day: Emotional Baggage

Penguin in Denver
At the airport in Denver, I was waiting at the gate for my next flight when I saw a woman approach the counter. Under her arm was an over-sized, cute, stuffed kitty. It was white with pink ears and paws and it seemed to be smiling at me from the across the gate room, even though the kitty was upside down under her arms.
When I first started flying, pets were allowed in the aircraft cabin only if in carriers. When I was hired, Adelie and Kipper, my two fur babies, lived in Houston with my father while I was in training. After getting settled in California, I flew to Texas to retrieve them, flying them to their new home in 2 small carriers. The flight was not full and the captain, upon seeing my boys, saved space in the first class closet for them. During the flight, he even came back to my seat in coach to let me know he just looked in on them and that they were doing fine.
Today, humans are full of emotional baggage, and needy, selfish Hollywood socialites have glamorized traveling with small dogs wherever they go. With the

Air Carrier Access Act bringing fines of up to $150,000 for refusing someone with a legitimate emotional need, people now search for unscrupulous doctors for fake emotional pet notes. Some then purchase fake animal assist collars and vests just so they can bring Fido on board and avoid paying the airline fees for pet carriers. What’s worse, some passengers are now allowed to bring Fido out of the carrier and sit them right on their lap during flight. Fido isn’t always well behaved.

Supposed service animals have pooped, bitten others, gotten loose, and humped people’s legs while on aircraft. More and more people take advantage of the system and it upsets those who have serious reasons for needing a support animal, not to mention that it can be stressful for pets. Today, there are groups trying to reel in the abusers, but everyone is afraid of stepping on the exposed nerves of someone who really has issues.
I startled a dog half to death once. She was settled between the owner’s leg and the side of the seat in first class. I had no idea the dog was there, hidden under a thin blanket! I reached down with a ramekin of nuts, pulling out the small tray to set them down. I’m not sure who jumped more, the pooch or me!
Flying during the holidays, I sat next to a woman who had Jesus at her feet. Jesus was a little Chihuahua they had taken in from a neighbor. The woman was explaining to her daughter on the phone how it cost over $100 for Jesus to fly with us today, but she was going to contact a doctor when they got home to get a note so Jesus could fly for free.
I love seeing pets on my flights, especially the kitties. I’m seeing more and more animals (actual animals, not just people acting like them) and usually the animals stay in the carriers during the entire flight. For the most part, no one ever knows they are there. Only a few times have I had issues with other passengers who have allergies, but we usually accommodate them easily enough by moving the affected person away from Whiskers or Fido. So far, I’ve not seen the more exotic passenger pets, but I’ve heard tale of turkeys, pigs, miniature horses and even penguins gracing the aisles of aircraft.
As I sat in my window seat watching the goings on outside my aircraft window, the woman with the kitty walked down the aisle and began eying the empty seat next to me. As she sat down, I commented on how cute the cat was. She hugged it tight and smiled. No hissing, no allergies, no mess. Just a woman and her stuffed animal. I miss the simple days when people traveled with stuffed animals.
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Passenger of the Day: Do Fries Come with that Shake?

A snowy day in Chicago

Nothing like flying over the holidays. Most people are in good spirits. They are on vacation off to visit loved ones they’ve not seen in some time. It’s such a joy to be around those we love and miss, enjoying great meals together, exchanging gifts, playing games, singing songs, full of good cheer.

There are, however, holiday travelers who are the complete opposite. The holidays are stressful. They have to visit family, those miserable judgmental miscreants responsible for years of therapy and perhaps the biggest reason, besides a fear of flying, for now traveling with a service animal yapping at crew instead of flying with a more silent stress relieving stuffed bunny, which just looks ridiculous with that ensemble they are wearing to show up Aunt Bealle and that horrid pleather outfit she wears in an attempt to look 20 years younger. And if that’s not one of the longest sentences I’ve ever written, it must be true!
One of the best parts of the holidays for people on a budget is shopping the post holiday sales. After just landing in Denver, I found myself in line at a store offering up big discounts. It’s rare to find big discounts in an airport, but who wants to buy Santa scarves and snowman socks in May? I found myself looking at tired ornaments, frayed garland and stale cards with enough glitter to make a fairy puke. Maybe it was the bustle of the other shoppers, but I found a reason to be standing in line to make a purchase.
The woman in front of me had an armload of finds. She was a pleasant woman who offered a smile as I took my place behind her. The woman at the register wore a sweatshirt, which, surely was once as white as snow, but now looked like it had missed the weekly laundry for about 4 months. Her hair was a most unnatural color, something between a blonde and red; a look achieved after a few too many hair colorings.
A plane and ugly snow

She had been at the register for some time when the woman in front of me asked somewhat to herself, but out loud, if Miss Sweatshirt was changing her mind. It seemed as if she was buying items and returning them. Miss Sweatshirt turned to look at the woman in front of me, with a blank stare. She turned back to the cashier and said, “Don’t shake your head at me.” For a split second I thought they might have known one another. The woman in front of me seemed nice enough, and her comment didn’t at all sound rude. But Miss Sweatshirt turned again and with a face as ugly as that damned sweatshirt, she said, “You just keep shaking your head until if falls off your ugly body.”

It must have been the sudden shock at such hostility that had inside voice revolt its role and suddenly I found myself saying out loud, “Now, there’s no need to get rude.” Others in line were just as appalled and the woman just behind me said, “I’m shaking my head…look, I’m shaking my head!”
Taking a look at the other line, I decided to move over to give it a try. No drama was to be found here. The cashier was cheery and very quickly I was on my way out. Having to walk past the other cashier with the old grump, Miss Sweatshirt was still in line doing whatever it was that she had been doing. The pleasant woman in front of me had also left that line. I have to admit, I found myself shaking my head; and no, it did not fall off my ugly body!

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My Favorite Things: The Double Chime

An arrival in Lisbon

Whether it’s a great flight or one where, as I say, “I earned my money on that one!” there is no better sound than the double chime. Any flight attendant would agree. Ding…ding. At the end of the flight it means get in gear, the plane is now on final approach. If you’re working with a crew member as dry as a slice of fruit cake, it means in half an hour you most likely won’t fly with them again for a very long time. If you’re about to start vacation, it means that all though your brain has been on vacation for a week, your body is about to finally get in synch. If at the end of a trip assignment, it means that you’re home. After a long 4-day domestic trip, it’s simply the best sound in the universe.

The pilots engage the double chime when we descend to 10,000 feet. They do so by cycling the no smoking sign off and back on. Right after take off it tells us the cockpit is no longer sterile, a term that means we are not to disturb them. On approach it’s our signal to prepare for landing and that we can no longer bother the pilots with anything but safety related business.
At this point, we’ve picked up the trash and now we conduct our safety checks. No more pillows and blankets to hand out. No more water for your medicine. No more milk for your baby. It’s go time. Safety checks (seats forward, bags, tray tables, and head rest are stowed) and a jumpseat away from what we hope is a short taxi and then get off the plane…we want to go home!

Jet bridge controls

What is better is when the double chime sounds early. Flight crews, just like our wonderful passengers, love arriving early. I once had a layover in Hawaii and arrived an hour early, which was splendid. On a horrid, short layover in a worn-out airport hotel, an early arrival means just that much more rest before going at it the next day. And when home, I love it when I reach my car and look at my watch and think, ‘gee, had we been on time, I’d just now be touching down, yet here I am, in my Peng-UV, about join the masses on my commute home’. (Yes, I call my SUV a Peng-UV. Why not?)
There can be a down side to an early arrival, and don’t even mention it, for it is likely to happen. The dreaded ‘gate-is-occupied’. That’s the worst…arriving early and having to sit on the plane…on the ground…even longer after a long flight. But when the gate is free, and we’re early, that’s a good day.
Waiting for the jet bridge

Another bad thing is having a gate, arriving to it, the engines shut down and the passengers are right behind me, waiting for the door to be opened, but there is no gate agent to bring the jet bridge up. “I guess they weren’t expecting us this early,” I’ll say to those just behind me.

And it’s funny when we are due in early, the captain has stated as much on his several announcements, but a passenger will stop me to ask about a tight connection. I’ll look at their ticket and see that they had 50 minutes when we were to be on time. “No worries, ma’am, we’re due in 20 minutes early.”
You may notice often, flight crew standing in the galley at the end of the flight after the seat belt sign is on. We may be talking about our weekend or our next trip. We may be talking about the strange dude in 22A. We may be talking about the overly talkative pilots. But when you hear the double chime, you’ll see us smile and maybe do a little dance. The double chime. It’s my favorite!
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Passenger of the Day: The Gobbler

Lights of the runway
It looked rough on paper and by the fourth day, it felt rough. It proved to be a long, tiring trip, which drained our energy and Mother Airline saved the worst for the last day…3 flights and nearly 13 hours of working, after the shortest layover of the 3 nights away from home. The first day was easy; flying to Philly for 15 hours. The 2nd day had us end up in Memphis for 16 hours after 2 flights. Day 3 was the easiest day that had us dead head to Houston and then work to Austin, but even that was stressful with weather-related delays. Austin was the shortest layover of the 3, shortened even more thanks to Mother Nature. It’s a shame Mother Airline and Mother Nature are often at odds with one another. Day 4 began with only 6 hours of sleep with flights to Denver, Tampa and back home to Houston. By the time I got to Tampa, I was toast!
I love 4 day trips. I got this job to travel and I love staying in the hotels and meeting interesting people. On this trip, I was purser, which means I was in charge of the cabin and the liaison to the flight deck. We got to Tampa and all 3 of us, working the flight, were feeling the effects of the long trip and the short layover the previous night. We were a bit giddy and laughing at the smallest of things. I found myself making quite a few mistakes when making announcements. I’d made the safety announcements 7 times in 4 days. There should be no mistakes- it was practically memorized. I’m sure no one but me really noticed them, but I pride myself on excellence.
I love working the purser position on the Airbus. There are either 12 or 8 passengers depending on whether it’s the A320 or the A319. On a longer fight, I usually get to know a few of the passengers, who enjoy engaging in conversation, as I find out where they’ve been, where they are going, what they do for a living, or a variety of other topics.
Fifteen years ago, I’ll never forget being told while in training for this job, to engage passengers whenever possible. It makes their day and most people enjoy being singled out to be spoken to by the flight crew. I was flying since I learned to walk and I’ve always loved the attention given from crew, flying on my own at such a young age. It’s something that has never left me, and now that I’m on the other side of the ticket, I do what I can to be present for all passengers. I comment on jewelry, hats, blouses, shoes, travel bags and especially great smiles.
A baggage loader seen outside the window
The passengers leaving Tampa for Houston in first class seemed to enjoy my levity and humor. Even when tired, or especially, perhaps, I can be entertaining as I welcome people, take pre departure orders, and assist people with checking bags at the door. The woman in 2B seemed to smile a lot and watched me as I worked, more than the others seated in the front of our Airbus. So it was to her whom I most devoted my attention during flight.
She was a lovely, young woman of about 30 with long, dark hair. She and her boyfriend in 2A were dressed nicely, the way people used to dress when flying first class. She admitted that I looked a little tired and asked if I had a short layover the night before. So I briefly detailed my trip and she could understand why I was so looking forward to arriving in Houston and having 5 days off. She mentioned that she and her boyfriend lived in Houston, but had a home near Tampa, as well. I mentioned that I recently moved from San Francisco, and she gushed at how lovely it was there. I agreed, as we talked about the weather, the beauty and open minded people.
She informed me that she and her boyfriend hadn’t had the chance to spend much time in the Bay Area, but would be returning soon. They were only there for a day to look at a ring being sold in an antique store. She smiled and nodded towards the young man in 2A, deeply involved in a movie on his personal device. I watched as she displayed her hand, sans any metal on her ring finger and understood her meaning. “Well, good luck with that! I hope you get it!”
We talked on and off for the duration of the flight, as most other passengers were busy watching movies and shows and pretty much ignoring me. As I made my safety checks on the Houston approach, I noticed she was placing an object in her purse. “Oh, is that one of those dancing solar animals?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s a turkey,” she said with a wide smile, showing it to me.
“I love those! They have them at the dollar store and I love buying them for my nephews!”
“Yes,” she gushed, “I got this one at the dollar store!” I told her of the ones I had in my window at home and how I often dance with them, giving her, and the rest of the aircraft, a little demonstration, shaking my hips and head in opposite directions. It made her laugh. I love the laugh reaction from people!
My new dancing gobbler on display at home.
As I passed back by to take my seat for landing, she handed me the dancing turkey. I tried to refuse it, as if she were trying to hand me a hundred dollars and not an item that cost as much as a slice of fruit cake. I finally acquiesced and accepted it. It’s so rare that a passenger offers up a gift, other than a piece of chocolate, so I quickly wrote her a thank you card.
As we taxied to the gate, I made my usual announcement, “…I hope you enjoyed your flight and we look forward to seeing you again. On behalf of the entire flight crew, happy travels and many returns,” and with it being the week of the US Thanksgiving holiday, I added, “and have a happy Thanksgiving.” A woman shouted out, “You, too, Penguin!” I’m pretty sure it was my new friend in 2B, who, next time I see her, will hopefully have a new antique engagement ring on that finger!
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Passenger of the Day: Grape Ape

He looked like a giant grape- hulking 6′-5” frame with broad shoulders in a purple polo shirt. This grape ape was topped with dark, curly hair, and had a beard. He sat in 4A next to a woman who appeared to be his mother. She was less than normal-sized- a petite thing, also with curly hair but a strange tan/brown combination, maybe from a few too many dye jobs. They were on their way back to Houston from Santiago and seated in first class.

During boarding, I asked what he wanted to drink. Champagne was the response and I thought to myself, “Good for you! That’s what I would order.” Mom had a gin and tonic. Ick. I like a gin and tonic about as much as I like fruit cake.

He asked for a second glass before we closed the door, just as I would have. Nothing like a bubbly induced tipsy feeling when headed down the runway at a few hundred miles per hour. He tasted every course served during the dinner service, practically licking the plates clean. He asked for wine with his meal, followed by a coffee with Baily’s and then a Jack and Coke. He was taking advantage of every little thing in first class, as if he were an employee, non-revving (flying for free), and not able to enjoy this kind of service too often, as most employes would.
Consulting with the passenger manifest later in flight, I discovered he and Mom were, indeed, employees. One of the most popular benefits of the job is enjoying the best seat on the plane that is available. The seats are divvied out by seniority, and that’s why any flight attendant you may know always talks about their hire date. Seniority can be better than money!
The Grape Ape was a very nice man; polite and soft mannered. He was never presumptive or rude. He knew his place, automatically ordering his second choice entree, knowing that being low on the totem pole meant he might not get his first. Mom was quite kind, as well. It is a nice thing when coming across manners in first class. Not everyone who flies in first class acts first class!
Serving the Grape Ape was fun, as I very quickly realized that he enjoyed first class in the manner to which I do, and I was able to anticipate his desires. Without asking, I handed him the fruit and cheese plate following the main meal and had already began to hand him a glass of port before asking if he’d like it. The Grape Ape consumed his fruit and cheese just in time to take advantage of the ice cream sundae as the credits to the movie he’d been watching began to scroll.

During the landing/breakfast service, when asked what he wanted to drink, he asked for a mimosa. I still don’t understand ruining good champagne with orange juice, but knowing this passenger so well, I brought him a small bottle of champagne and two glasses half full of orange juice, so he could make his own as strong as he wished. He was quite impressed, as was his mother. They thanked me so much during the services, I was this close to suggesting they simply hold off and give me one big thank you at the end of the flight.
As they left the plane, they looked around the galley corner to find me standing by door 1 Right. They thanked me once more, reaching out to shake my hand. It’s always nice to give someone a great experience on a flight. To me it doesn’t matter if a passenger is an employee, a high yield flier or someone flying for the first time; I want everyone to have a great experience and I’ll do what I can to make that happen.
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Adventures in Flight: Skip to the Loo, My Darling

Penguin and plane will travel
You’d think, with all the countries to which I’ve visited, I’d be more than capable in choosing the correct rest room when the need arises. Well, I do a very good job at it. In fact, I seem to have a more difficult time deciphering the crazy gender codes used in the States. We can be pretty crafty when coming up with rest room door signs. We’ve all seen the stick figures, or “Dames and Gents. Recently, I saw doors in Seattle- one said “Sitting” while the other said “Standing”. Could be confusing for a guy needing to do number two. Whether it’s Caballeros, Men, Hombres, or just an M on the door, I very rarely have an issue.
I once had to make an emergency stop while driving through a city on the interstate. Upon seeing a Target store, I thought, ‘that should be a clean facility in which to sit.’ It was early in the day and the parking lot was near empty. I walked rather quickly into the main entrance, happy to see the restrooms immediately to my left. I looked up quickly and saw “Men” and went right in. It was very clean and I had the whole room to myself. I did my business and as I was washing my hands, was shocked to see a woman enter, followed by a second. Looking at the ground to avoid eye-contact as I made a hasty departure…without drying my hands…I discovered that the “Men” sign was actually a “Women” sign, but the “Wo” part was hidden behind part of a wall. Had I kept looking as I rounded the corner, I might have noticed my folly.
Lady and Gentle restroom sign in Beijing
A few months ago, I was on holiday in Chile and was at a fine dining establishment in Valparaiso. When we arrived, the first thing I wanted to do was wash my hands and make room for the copious amounts of wine I was about to consume. The rest room was just outside in a central atrium. It was very deluxe. I looked at one sign, and then the other. I was not familiar with either. Realizing I was in a country where Spanish was the official language, I entered the door that had the more masculine sounding name. It was a very nice facility, floral aroma, nice art. This was, indeed, a nice restaurant. This was also, indeed, the women’s rest room!
Ladies sign in Chile

So I marveled on a recent Buenos Aires layover with fellow flight crew in yet another very nice restaurant. After a few glasses of wine and some loosening chatter, I was the first in need of finding the facilities. Door one had a boot. Door two had a ballet slipper. Cute, and obvious. I would make no mistake this time. I commented on the clever use of foot wear signage when I returned to the table.

Signage in Peru
Our first officer was the next to use the facilities, and a few minutes later was followed by the bunkie pilot, who, on this trip, was a female. As she got up, the first officer said, “It’s the first door on the right.” He was joking, as that was the door with the boot, so of course she returned with a humorous comment and evil glare at the first officer, and soon the whole table was laughing about restroom humor. You can dress us up…but wit plus wine often ends up going down the drain.
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Adventures in Flight: So What is it that you…do do?

Everyone, it seems, can relate to the airline industry. Everyone has airline stories- good and bad- and seems to love sharing them, regardless of who might listen. Most times, I’m happy to talk shop with others, that’s what having Airline Disease is all about. But there are times when I enjoy one of the more popular perks of being a flight attendant- not taking the job home.

You may have flown next to a flight attendant and not realized it. We are keen to changing out of uniform any time we can and many flight attendants are even known to hide bag tags that can give them away. I know when I get a first class seat, I want to fit in and just be a customer; able to enjoy the privilege of flying in first without being looked down upon as just an employee by someone who paid thousands of dollars to sit next to me (I know, I’m worth it!).
Many flight attendants keep an assortment of stories at the ready for the question, “What is it that you do for a living?,” but are just not in the mood to hear horror stories or to be asked a ton of questions. Imagine a long day flying across timezones, dealing with screaming, unruly kids, attention-needy business passengers and the companion animal who tried to bite you every time you walked past. You get to your layover hotel, starving and in need of an adult beverage. You plop your bags down, shower the day’s scum from your body, dress in humane clothes made of natural fibers and find your way to the hotel bar. Ah, human time, at last. Then the person next to you, already on their 4th beer asks what you do for a living.
Some of the better skilled flight crew are quick to bring out one of an assortment of talk-killing jobs; “I’m here for a plumbing convention,” or “I’m an accountant for a bakery that specializes in fruit cakes,” or, “Oh, I’m just a process server, still looking for my piggie. So, what’s your name?” Yes, the faces are often priceless and it squeezes the life out of the desire to get to know you. “I’ll have the flat-bread pizza and keep the ‘Ritas flowing, Barkeep!” Peace at last!
One of the riskiest things about this job is being in a metal tube with germ-carrying folk who love to share them. I’m always afraid my doctor is going to think I’m a hypochondriac, but fortunately, the tests are always coming up positive for this and that. In the past year, I’ve had Type-A influenza, numerous colds and now, strep throat twice! So off to the doctor I go. It was a slow Saturday at the clinic, (my regular doctor’s office was closed) so I got to see every staff member in attendance, you know, to justify the numbers. Check-in lady needs this filled out and a copy of my ID. Nurse 1 takes my temp and vitals. Nurse 2 takes my history. The doctor comes in and this is where it all falls apart.
After asking if anyone in my household is ill, he asks what I do for a living. I tell him, and am next asked for which airline. With the straightest of face he then has the balls to ask me if I could get him a discount ticket. Really? I didn’t think I had a fever, surely I’m hallucinating. “I can buy you a drink,” I shoot back, dryly.
Doctor Nuts goes into a few minutes of wondering why ticket prices don’t go down when gas prices do and how you buy a ticket thinking you have a great deal, but then find that you have to pay for this and that and if the bag is over 40 pounds you pay another $5 per pound and suddenly I am not listening to him any longer, but begin looking at the art selected for the walls of the exam room and wondering why it is that I can’t get my photos in a place like this. If I didn’t look sick before, my face was contorted in pain now from hearing him drone on and on and he picked up the pace, perhaps afraid I was about to pass out.
He finishes his portion of the visit and nurse 1 returns. She must have spoken to Dr. Nuts about me and wants to know if I know her sister, who also flies for my airline. Of course, I don’t, and I just want my shot and prescription so I can go back to my little cave I’ve made in my bed at home. A typical guy, I don’t do ‘ill’ very well.
I’m asked to see the receptionist to handle the last of my paperwork and she, too, had a bad flight she just had to share. I’ve heard the stories, and I drown her out as I listen to a woman in the waiting area who in the next 4 minutes would say the word, “like” at least 30 times. “It was, like, the best thing I had like, ever seen. And he was all like, I told you. Like, didn’t you hear me say that before? But I was like, well, you like, say that stuff all the time, and like, I just sort of like, ignore it…” Were there a gun within reach I’m not sure if I’d have shot her, or like, maybe myself!

Feeling bad is bad. Feeling good is where it’s at. Feeling bad and having to hear someone’s negative stories about your career is worse. Maybe for this doctor’s visit, I should have said I collect deceased animals for the city. No one likes to talk about road kill, or if they do, that might be one interesting conversation.  
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Passenger of the Day: Mary or Caesar; What’s in a Name?

Catering on an aircraft can always be spotty. I’ve yet to tour the kitchens and catering facilities, but I know from watching them board the aircraft that it must be quite a performance to stage everything, load it into our serving carts, strap them into the back of the lift trucks and transport them to the plane.
After boarding, one of the first things a flight attendant will do besides safety checks is to begin checking the carts and ovens for catering items. Of utmost importance are the crew meals; certainly for us, but also for the pilots. There are certain people I know, and I won’t name any names, but you know who you are, who get a little grumpy when hungry. Neither we nor our passengers like a grumpy pilot!
The catering truck arrives.
Often we are missing items. Some, we can make due without. Others, we have to call for, such as missing meals, which is why we have to check our catering items first. It’s the times we get items out of the ordinary that make the day more exciting.
It’s not uncommon to see wine glasses from other airlines, and from time to time, I’ve even found glasses from rail service! I’ve seen napkins from other carriers, as well. More common, yet, are sodas from other countries. Coke Lite from China? Sure, why not.
Recently, I was in Canada on a nice layover. We started our day checking our catering in the aft galley. Everything was there and things were going fine. We performed our first service, picked up the cabin and had a few minutes to enjoy our crew meal and relax before setting things up for our second service.
My flying partner set up the cart and noticed an odd can in one of the bins from the back of the supply cart. Rob pulled it out and read it aloud, “Clamato.”
“Huh?” I asked.
“They gave us Clamato juice. Two cans. The Canadians love Clamato. This must be from Air Canadianland. It’s made with clam juice. I’m going to show Seela.” Seela was our purser, working up in first class. Rob went up and returned a few minutes later with the can. I finished my meal and as I put the tray in the trash cart, he opened the can to give it a try. He made a sour face, waited a minute while looking towards the ceiling, and took another sip. “Nah, I don’t like it,” he reported.
I grabbed a cup and also gave it a try. It was very salty, but not bad. It certainly wasn’t something I’d drink on it’s own. “It’d be great in a bloody Mary,” I told him.
We continued setting up the cart and I found another can of Clamato in my bin, as well as a can of regular tomato juice I’d never seen before. We served our passengers the drink of their choice, and as we neared the last few rows, I heard a woman ask Rob for Clamato. As he was pouring it, the lady next to me says, “I would like a Clamato.” I’m thinking, good grief, what’s with all the Clamato?
“See?” said Rob, “They love it.”
Catering knocks and checks for visual confirmation of a disarmed door.
As I poured the lady’s Clamato juice, I informed her that we normally don’t have it and that I’ve never seen it before. In fact, I had only just tried it. She said that she had seen Rob carrying it, so assumed we were serving it. She asked if I’d had a Caesar before. “Well, I know who Caesar is…a very smart talking ape,” I told her.
“What?” My Planet of the Apes reference went over her head.
“Never mind. Are we talking about a drink?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s a great drink, I love them.”

I asked her to tell me more about this… Caesar. “You salt a rim, use Clamato juice, vodka, celery salt and…” I interrupted her.
“A bloody Mary?” I asked.
She had never heard of a bloody Mary. I told her how much I loved them with pickled okra. Rob interjected at this point his dislike of okra…too slimy. 
“I never liked Rob,” I joked to her. We all laughed.
Rob showed her a can of spicy tomato juice- the one we normally serve. She was intrigued, so he opened it to give her a taste. She liked it, but not as much as her Clamato. He wound up buying her a vodka, so that she could contrast and compare, making a bloody Mary and a Caesar. I brought her a packet of pepper, saying, normally I like mine spicy with a dash of hot sauce, but this should help. She liked that even more. I also informed her that if she wanted, she could use tequila instead, but that’s called a bloody Maria. She thought that was cute.
In the end, we had made her day with a simple can of Clamato and a chance to try a bloody Mary. Thanks to a little catering mistake and receiving a few cans meant for another airline, I made a new friend on our flight from Canada.
Planes at SFO
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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.