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Passenger of the Day: All in the Family

I’ve been very lucky in the arena of medical incidents in my career. The first one I had was within my first few months of flying. It’s one of those things you never forget, like your first kiss, your first speeding ticket or the first time you realized you hate fruit cake.

I was working on a 727 and we were taxiing for takeoff from Chicago. There was a commotion a few rows from the back of the plane; a man was having a seizure and the passengers around him began to go crazy. I heard someone yell for a spoon to put in his mouth, something you never want to do. If anything, too many people already have silver spoons, but never place anything in the mouth of someone in the throes of a fit.
He recovered quickly and was taken care of by medical professionals, who were able to enter the plane via the air stairs in the tail of the aircraft. What a wonderful feature to have, as it saved us from taxiing all the way back to the gate.
On another flight bound for Ontario, CA, we had to divert to Las Vegas for a woman who had the worst panic attack I’ve ever seen. We were only 90 minutes late to Ontario, and could have arrived sooner, except that we came in so fast, we had to wait for the brakes to cool down.
My favorite experience (if you can call it that) was on a flight where I was the purser and a man had fallen ill on our way to Washington, DC. I called for medical assistance and a doctor came forward, as well as a nurse. They tended to the patient and the flight attendants working in the back took over as I returned to first class and continued to communicate with the captain. The captain asked me if it was serious enough to divert. The doctor, upon my asking this question, suddenly went from saying this was serious and the guy needed medical help right away, to saying, no, I think he will be fine to get to DC. Obviously, this doc had an important engagement he didn’t want to miss. It was too late for a good tee time, so who knows…
Mostly, I encounter people who simply need a bit of oxygen. We ask for medical help, and I don’t think I’ve ever been on a flight where there was no one available. The key is to ask for anyone with medical training. If you ask for a ‘doctor on board’, you may miss someone who could be a vital help, as even a veterinarian has the basic skills to assist where no one else does.
The worst we get is the occasional vomit on the floor, which we must clean up. I had one so bad, I worked for half an hour with a beautiful plastic apron and mask on my face, sprinkling lemon scented powder all over the mess, scooping it up with a flimsy scooper and finally placing down a large blanket to cover the mess.
Keeping my skills current, I was recently on a flight home from Lima, Peru. I was working the aft galley and a woman looking a bit pale entered. She didn’t speak English, but we had 2 language qualified flight attendants in the galley. She was not feeling well and clutched the walls. She went down and someone shouted for oxygen, which I obtained. I knelt down, turned it on and began to place the mask on her. She shooed it away and rolled to her side. Someone said she was going to be ill and asked for a bag. I moved back, praying it wasn’t going to be of the projectile variety.
She recovered and I got the oxygen on her and a call went out for medical assistance. Shortly, we had an RN and a doctor, who seemed very comfortable taking her pulse, comforting her, moving her purse out of the way. I had taken gloves from the AED to hand to him and thought it very odd that he refused them. No one refuses gloves when dealing with bodily fluids! Turns out, the doctor was the woman’s husband. He spoke to the language flight attendants and mentioned that she was also a doctor.
Soon, another woman, young, attractive, straight black hair, was hovering nearby, offering her medical assistance as well. I told her that with the doctor and the RN, I felt we had it covered. But this was not just another soul offering medical assistance, it was the couple’s daughter. It was then that I noticed the doctors very nice gold watch and the patient’s leather Gucci purse. I wanted to ask if the daughter was single! Was everyone in their family in the medical field?
In the end, our patient recovered quickly, which was a good thing, as the bag that was delivered for her to be sick in was clear and I could see that, like me, she had the chicken for dinner. The sooner we got that out of the way, the better we’d all be! She soon was on her feet headed back to her seat. Another happy passenger taken care of by a team of well-trained flight attendants who were happy to assist and to do what we do best…take care of passengers.
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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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Passenger of the Day: The Rotarian

Often, when I’m tired, I get a bit loopy. I’d been up before 6:00am for 4 days in a row and this was a long day, starting in Houston, flying to Phoenix for a 2-hour sit, then to Denver for nearly 3 hours before flying back to Houston; not my favorite kind of day. Three legs in a day is rough with 3 boardings (for which we are not paid), 3 galleys to set up on 3 different planes, long sits between flights (for which we are not paid), and 3 times taxiing out for takeoff on the jump seat trying not to nod off. It was a long 13 hour day for which I was only paid for 7. It’s a damned good thing I love my job!

One of the ways I combat such a day as this is to allow myself the chance to be a bit silly. I flirt a little with the ladies when doing the exit row verifications by asking if they are over 15, and asking the men if they are intoxicated…yet. When asking if they are willing and able to assist with the emergency exits I end by asking that they not ‘practice’, which always gets a few chuckles. I chat up the children, asking if they are out of school, where they are traveling to, and if they’ve flown before. I enjoy conversing with passengers, making them feel welcome and comfortable and trying be humorous when I can.

At one point in the day, and I don’t remember which flight this was, because they all tend to blend together, I met Bob. He was somewhere in his 60’s with thinning hair and a mustache and had come to the back of the plane to use the lavatory. What I noticed about Bob was his bright shirt, on which were elephants, birds, zebras, gazelles, and lions and a somewhat tropical design. It was much like a Hawaiian shirt, but for the African animals.
The lavs were occupied, so while he stood there I complimented his shirt. He told me that he had at one time lived in Africa. Intrigued, I asked where in Africa, and he tried to explain the area west of Victoria Lake and he then got very nostalgic over how beautiful it was there. I admitted that I would absolutely love to see it.
Then I noticed something else about his shirt; something not entirely noticeable from a distance. Within the pattern were also rotary symbols from the Rotary Club. He was impressed when I asked about this, and eagerly acknowledged that he was a member. This opened up an opportunity for me to share my Rotary Club experience.
When I was in high school, I was involved in a youth leadership organization which allowed me the opportunity to speak to the Dallas Rotary Club members several times. I had achieved a type of acclaim to where I was soon being invited to events to meet high rollers in industry and politics at various social and networking events. I once had breakfast with the female CEO of the Chesebrough-Ponds Manufacturing Company, who would later donate money to our organization. I shared appetizers with Governor Ann Richards. I met bank presidents, city mayors, actors, athletes, car dealership owners and members of congress, often speaking in front of large groups of people thinking very little of it.

Being congratulated by a delegate after winning office in 1985
I found it somewhat natural to be in front of these people talking about myself and my involvement in student politics. Not only was I on the student council of America’s third largest high school, but I was an elected officer to a state-wide leadership role in HERO- Home Economics Related Occupations (in those days, I wanted to be a chef).
It was through these talks and interactions that I lost any fear of public speaking and now allows me to make announcements on the plane standing proudly in the aisle and facing the passengers instead of hiding behind the bulkhead, as many flight attendants do. Years later, when I was the general manager of a multi-million dollar business, I found it easy to speak at various business council events in my town, networking with other leaders and promoting my business.
But I’ve never forgotten my breakfast meetings with the members of the Dallas Rotary Club, held in a fancy restaurant on the grounds of the Texas State Fair. Their interest in me and numerous invitations to come speak at their breakfasts opened many doors.
I thanked Bob for his involvement with the Rotary Club, which had been so generous to me. He looked a little surprised at this, so I continued, “The Rotary Club gave me 2 college scholarships, and I’ve never forgotten what an honor that was.”

Bob smiled and said, “You should become a member. It’s a great way to serve the community.” He told me how it’s no longer reserved for business leaders. Their membership started to shrink so they opened their ranks to just about anyone wanting to join. He said they even allow women now, after apparently losing a court case.
I assured Bob that I’d look into it and then a woman emerged from the lavatory. He started to enter and I told him he was going into the woman’s lav. He did the usual shocked body-jerk when you tell someone this, and then I laughed, “I’m kidding Bob!”
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Passenger of the Day: I’ll Have the Diet Weapon

A friend of mine recently forwarded to me a story and asked my opinion. You may have heard about it. A Muslim chaplain and the director of interfaith engagement at Northwestern University claims she was subjected to racist comments after being denied an unopened can of soda by a flight attendant who said she feared she might use it as a weapon.
FA Penguin holding a Bro can of Coke

The passenger claims that after being handed a can that had already been opened that she asked for one still sealed, due to sanitary reasons. The flight attendant refused, citing company policy. The man next to her ordered a beer, which was delivered unopened. When the cleric asked why he got a sealed can and she didn’t, she claims she was told because crew was not allowed to hand out an item that could be used as a weapon.

A further protest claiming discrimination prompted the flight attendant to retrieve the can of beer from the man, opened it, and then returned it to the bewildered gentleman. She then huffed to the cleric, and moved to the next row.
The cleric then asked the man seated across from her if he had seen what just happened. Not only did he see it, but he agreed with it, supposedly saying something to the effect of, ‘you Muslim, you need to shut the ‘eff’ up.’ He then leaned over from his seat, and said, ‘yes you know you would use it as a weapon, so shut the eff up.’
First of all, I thought I may have flown with this flight attendant. I was shocked one day while working the beverage cart, when a passenger asked for a can of sparkling water unopened and the woman I was working with refused. I later told my flying partner that I was disappointed she didn’t give out the can, saying that if a passenger is going to spend a few hundred dollars on a flight on our airline, the least we could do is give a can of soda. After all, there is no company policy against doing so.

Second, my initial response to the story was that the man across the aisle needs to be taken out back and shot. Maybe not killed, shot, but shot in the knee or something equally as horrid as what he supposedly said to that passenger. I have a weak spot for such bigotry.

Third, that passenger needs to get over it; being given an unopened can of soda simply for sanitary reasons? Had she claimed she was Kosher, that might be different. Or just admit that you want a can to take with you. I’m more than happy to oblige, but let’s not make up stories or just be ridiculous.

What does Penguin think?

Fourth, as far as using a can as a weapon, sure, yes, it’s one of the things we have at our disposal at 35 thousand feet, but let’s face it, passengers can bring on cans of their own, knitting needles, skate boards, and grandma’s 13 year old fruit cake to use as a weapon. They don’t need to wait for us to give out a can of freaking soda to get their hands on a weapon. This flight attendant needs to chill the freak out! That’s what I think.

The story has been making the rounds on social media and I’m not so certain of its authenticity. I later found out that this was not on the major airline for which it was originally reported to be, but one of the express jet airlines who operates their own company using the major airline’s name. That was a relief for me. Other than the woman I hope I educated about the unopened can, I’d hate to think of flying partners on main line airlines being this dim.
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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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Passenger of the Day: Mr. Argentina

  
Buenos Aires

I knew as soon as I saw him what was going to happen. It wasn’t easy to turn away from him, his perfect, brown eyes, the face stubble, the tall frame in the red flannel shirt and the way his curls slightly bounced as his tread brought him down the jetway towards the boarding door, where I stood as greeter for our flight from Buenos Aires to Houston. It was hard to turn away from him. As the greeter, it’s my job to welcome the passengers aboard. I was very aware of the fact that I was a man unable to ignore this guy’s good looks, but he was living art, and I’m OK with that; anyone would certainly recognize how attractive this guy was. After saying hello and eliciting his enchanting smile, I turned to watch him walk down the aisle, seeing that his presence garnered the attention of many, and then immediately sought Denise to gauge her reaction. She took notice more quickly than I expected.

The first thing I noticed about Denise when we first met was her necklace. It looped around her long neck twice and was studded with crystals and shiny fake diamonds. I had taken a seat at the back of the small briefing room, allowing those who came after me the opportunity to fill in the seats around the table, which seemed too large for the small room, just before the trip began. Denise was the 4th flight attendant to enter. She was all smiles and chatting with Chandra, who she was hoping would take the galley position so that she could work first class aisle with her. Denise was senior enough to hold first class, but Chandra was not, and Denise stated that, “she doesn’t ‘do’ economy.” They agreed to this situation if their seniority could hold the positions. There was one senior enough to take it from them, but she passed on the galley position so that they could work together.

Denise was infectious. Her laugh made me smile. Her eyes beamed and she walked like she was on a mission. It didn’t hurt that her legs looked like they should be insured against loss. And then there was her blouse; tight in the way that men take notice. One could tell she was a party girl; that smile, her attitude, the laugh, but for as much as she partied, it was also evident that she worked out- her toned legs, shapely torso and curvy rear-view… she definitely turned heads.

When the pilots arrived on board, they gave a quick briefing. The second officer walked in and I could see Denise straighten up. Her eyes widened as she looked him up and down. He was a family man, with photos of his kids on his suitcase and a golden wedding ring on his finger. But Denise found him catching, with his dimple, blue eyes and smooth face settled under a nice head of hair. He humored Denise and Chandra, who were soon calling themselves his sister wives, as both were interested in being his pretend ‘wife’ for the duration of the flight. The innuendos were amazing and I was glad we were all taking it so well and not having to fear attending a sexual harassment class.

Working the boarding door is fun for me. I get to say hello to all the passengers. I can figure out who the fun people are, who are in bad moods, who is going to be difficult and which passengers will be needy during the flight, all in how they respond to my greeting as they board the plane. It’s also fun standing at the boarding door, which is located just behind the flight deck and right next to the first class galley. Since I’d be working in the back of the plane, this would be the most time I’d have to socialize with the flight attendants working there. They were busy getting things set up in the galley for the flight and delivering pre-departure drinks, hanging jackets, passing out amenity kits and taking meal orders. But they were also fun and flirty- with one another and with passengers. They were upbeat and funny and made working with them a pleasure.
Sights of BA


I spent a lot of time on the layover with the crew. Denise and Chandra talked all three pilots into joining us for dinner, as well as our purser and one of the language speakers. We went to a wonderful place for steaks, which wound up being the best steak dinner I’d ever had. The wine was flowing, the conversation was definitely engaging, and Denise’s tight silver skirt kept creeping up. She would smile and subconsciously pull it back down. I was the only male sitting on the opposite side of the table from her and I kept noticing each time she moved back in the chair to push the dress back down. I guess my eyes gave me away. As we walked back to the hotel, the second officer pulled me aside and told me how envious he was of my view at dinner. I smiled back, telling him, “For the record, they were white.” His eyes rolled back as he shook his head in the disappoint of having missed out. It was almost creepy.

Denise was definitely a party girl. Besides the talk, often peppered with choice words and hints of a wild lifestyle, she mentioned that on a recent layover to Buenos Aires, she had partied most of the time and wound up getting only six hours of sleep during her 35 hour stay. I remember when I could party like that, but those days are behind me. She was in her thirties and recently divorced. The only thing slowing her down was her four-year old son, who she adored and spoke quite highly of.

As we walked back to the hotel with our bellies full of Argentine steak, she was arm in arm with her ‘sister wife’ Chandra. It was late, so there weren’t many people out, and all the shops were closed, with their metal gates rolled down. As we passed people in the street, they would greet them with a loud, “Hola!” The men would all take notice; their necks craning as they passed. Such a spectacle; was it the wine or the girl? At one point a work truck passed by on the road. The truck’s bed was full of workmen. They yelled hola up to the men, who took notice of the two ladies, smiled and yelled an excited ‘hola’ back. I hoped she never did this when not in the company of 4 protective men!
Florida St. at night


So here we were, the layover ended and we were getting ready to fly back home. This tall Argentinian with the eyes and smile, the plaid shirt exposing a hint of chest hair and jeans that fit just right, walks on board, crosses over to the right aisle, and walks to economy to find his seat. I looked at Denise and sure enough, as I expected, she noticed him, too. In fact, most heads seated in first class turned his way as he moved towards the rear of the plane. She made a comment to God and made a B-line to the economy section, saying something about economy needing assistance with the overhead bins. Miss, “I don’t do economy” was doing economy!

She returned, alone, and without a phone number. I made a cheeky comment about this, to which she simply replied, “Well, after all, he’s not sitting in first class.” It’s OK to have a nice piece of art, but it seems what a girl really wants is a wallet.


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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