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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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Adventures in Flight: Rite of Aviation

Photo of Delta Crew


A flight attendant has her photo taken in the cowling of an airliner engine. It’s something that’s been done thousands of times. Even before engines had cowlings for us to climb into, sexy young flight attendants had photos taken sitting on the front of a propeller. It’s a rite of aviation, something flight and ground crews do for the unique privilege of having access to doing so.

But in the case of this young flight attendant, a passenger witnessed her being photographed before boarding a flight. Then lo and behold, the woman being photographed was one of the flight attendants working her flight. The passenger obtained her name, found her on social media and then went to her local news team, who ate it up, and spat out a story about the photos; questioning its safety and necessity. They released the full name of the flight attendant, surely without permission, but never mentioned the tattle tale passenger.

When the news hit social media, saying she could lose her job, I caught wind of it right away. I immediately found the photo I had of myself in an engine and sent it to the newscaster’s social media page. I then suggested to the flight attendant community that we all do so, and before I knew it, a movement had started. Hundreds of flight attendants world wide sent in photos and scathing letters.

Penguin and a 737 Engine

A few nights later, perhaps under pressure, the newscaster aired a second story. At first, I thought he was going to redeem himself with a new story about how this was really nothing. He explained the support from around the world, showed numerous photos of similar nature, including the one I sent him, and even included a few soundbites from our union president. Things were looking good, and it was exciting, knowing my photo was on the news.


But then he went and interviewed passengers to drum up support for his original story, which seemed to be that something dangerous went on here. He interviewed passengers? Passengers can be quite unknowing about the goings on of things aeronautical. They are often scared of bumps and aircraft noises, leery of crew and suspicious of other travelers. After all, look at how this whole mess started…a paranoid passenger who witnessed something that has happened thousands and thousands of times, and freaking out about it to the news media! Hello!
Flight crews in support of Ericka


One thing every photo you may have seen of crew members in engines is this…someone has taken the photo. Usually a pilot or mechanic, or other crew with pilots and or mechanics present. We don’t go around jumping up into engines all willy-nilly and risking the safety of the very conveyance that will be taking us to our destination. We are a trained group of professionals. We are the first line of defense on board aircraft. We are screened and trained and overseen. We are flight attendants.


Better news stories might include adequate crew rest, job outsourcing, feet dragging in negotiation of new work contracts, putting the customer experience before safety concerns, food storage procedures or the obscene salaries of those at the top. But no, we went with an aviation rite misunderstood by a passenger and a news team who failed to do a thorough investigation.

This was a nothing story about a special privilege enjoyed by countless personnel in a safe fashion. It’s a shame it was put under the bright light of confusion and scrutiny, but I’m proud of having had a hand in bringing some sanity back to the fore. So next time you’re at the airport and see flight crew posing for photos on the tarmac, it’s all right to be a bit jealous…we’ve worked hard to earn the privilege of being in these photos. It’s not all right to go whining to a TV station and earning the scourge of group of airline professionals.
Airbus engine

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Adventures in Flight: The Enabler

FA Penguin, at your service

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

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

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

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

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

The rock star life in Lima

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

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

Seven in the morning is a little earlier than I like to start my day. I’m not much of an early person so, I’m not all that talkative at that hour. Even the nicest person can approach me to chat and I tend to tune them out and zone in on my own little cocoon. So when the young man came up behind us at the gate and started to chat, I let my flying partner take over and I turned my attention to the gate door, willing it to open with some sort of mind powers I wished I possessed. I could then just get up and walk onto the plane and await the boarding time in peace and quiet before I start pretending to be nice for the day.
When the boarding did start, the first man down the aisle was a large one and I knew right away he’d need a seat belt extension to get properly buckled up. He was very friendly and started chatting with me. He was on his way to North Carolina for vacation, and the way he spoke about it made it sound as if maybe he hadn’t had vacation in quite some time. I was too tired to think to ask and just kept up the friendly demeanor, which helped bring me into more of a humane attitude.
The second man to board was a very old man who was brought down the aisle in an aisle chair. He had a very difficult time standing up to transfer into his seat. For some reason, his assigned seat was at the window. Knowing the flight had about 30 open seats, I suggested to the assistants that we just let him take the aisle and if it were anyone’s seat, we’d just relocate them to make it easier on everyone. I would be in the aisle during the boarding process and would keep an eye on him.
After I got the aisle chair passenger settled in and went over a few safety details with him, I looked up and saw the young man who had attempted to converse with a very tired, somewhat grumpy flight attendant (me) a few minutes prior. He smiled wide at me and seemed to admire my uniform as I rose, taking in my stripes and tie. I smiled back and said, “Oh, it’s you, again, good morning.” His name was Patrick and he is the passenger of the day.
I moved back to allow him to access his seat; 23A. Rather than go right into his seat, he stood and started up a conversation. He was on his way to Kuwait to rejoin his company. He had been allowed home to be present for the birth of his daughter. He was thin and tall with blue eyes and sandy blond hair, cut short- military style. He was easy on the eyes, in military shape and very talkative. What impressed me was his outward personality, his manners and the fact that he was nicely dressed. Obviously, he was much more of a morning person than I, but his engagement energized me, so I continued to get to know him.
He looked so young, so I asked his age and was sort of shocked when he said 23. I replied that I wouldn’t have guessed older than 19. He smiled bashfully and admitted that his baby face gets him carded a lot. He continued; his wife lost her mother 5 days before the birth of their daughter. His lieutenant had found out and decided not to tell Patrick. But when the base commander caught wind, he not only informed Patrick, but sent him home so his wife wouldn’t have to deal with the birth while grieving for her mother- and the week before Mother’s Day, no less.
Patrick was very interested in talking to me about flying and my job. He mentioned that he thought it would be fun to be an air marshal. I thought it over for a second and gave him my opinion: air marshals are usually quite dry. They blend in well with passengers, keep quiet, watch a lot of movies and play a lot of games. They don’t chat people up much, because they don’t tell people much about themselves, such as why they are flying, or what they do for a living. They can’t nap and they certainly can’t occupy the time of the flight crew. With his demeanor, I told him he’d make a much better flight attendant! The rest of the crew agreed.
He professed that he thought that would be great, and that on a previous flight he had earned a pair of wings when assisting the flight crew by helping pick up trash from passengers. I told him to give it thought, he had 5 months left on his current tour, and hoped to re-enlist to keep up the great military benefits.
Later, in flight, he brought out his lap top and started showing photos of his girl. He started showing the purser, and then I came up and took a look. Next thing I know, passengers all around were asking to see and he was holding it up high for the large man with the seat belt extension to see. It was the sweetest little baby girl with a ribbon and bow on her head. The mother looked all of 18, but he said she was 23, as well.
Patrick was a sweet young man with a bright future. He was educated well enough to have a very enlightened conversation with many people. He helped numerous passenger place bags in the overhead bins and wasn’t the least bit shy. When the purser made his landing announcements, he finished by announcing the birth of Patrick’s girl and that he was returning to Kuwait to serve his country, something that really meant a lot to him, as evidenced by his comment, “No, I need to get back to my unit,” when I said that it was a shame he couldn’t stay longer with his wife.
It’s nice to see such patriotism and dedication, such manners and poise, from a young man such as Patrick. He made an impression on the people around him, and the crew. We landed at Dulles Airport in DC where he had a 7 hour sit before his next flight. We shook hands and I thanked him before he disappeared. The crew went to our next flight and boarded the plane. Even though we didn’t need his help to collect trash, we all agreed…we missed Patrick!
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Passenger of the Day: The Aisle is an Ocean

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

I was dining at the airport in Newark, NJ a while ago. It was lunch time and there were few seats open so another flight attendant asked if I would share my table with her. She worked for the other side of our airline and we each had a lot of questions for one another, since one day we would be working together after our two companies merged.
She was on her way to San Francisco for an 11-hour layover. I was on my way to Cleveland for a 20-hour layover. Upon hearing that I’d be in Cleveland for 20 hours, she quipped, “That’s so unproductive!” I recoiled. 
Learning history in Pittsburgh
Unproductive? Why would she say this. She had no idea of my plans while in Cleveland. Then I realized that she meant it was unproductive for the company. How odd, I thought, that she was that wrapped up in the company to want only productive trips, ones where flight attendants are constantly on the plane, much like how planes don’t earn money when at the gate. Flight attendants must be robots in her world.
I let it go, thinking she was a little odd, which in our profession, meeting flight attendants who are a little odd is nothing new. But as time went on, I heard this saying over and over again from the flight attendants on the other side. “You guys like long layovers, they are so unproductive.”
Our complaints of them is how they work themselves to death. They are known for having a younger work force, who, for some reason or another, think flight attendants should be making $80K a year, so work, work, work. They work San Francisco to Ft. Lauderdale turns, over 11 flight hours and a duty day of 14 hours, with no rest in between. Then, some of them will turn around and do it again the next day. (There are a lot of professions to earn beau coup bucks. Flight attendant is not one of them.)
Each side has flights to China. Ours is a 4-day trip, where theirs is 3-days. They like theirs and we like ours. We go out and shop and dine and explore before resting up for the flight home. They go out and shop and dine and then go right back to the plane without much rest or chance to explore local cultures. 

Seeing the sights in Beijing; Temple of Heaven
I’ve experienced what my future flying partner wants our work life to be like. I’ve had the short layovers, where you get to the hotel and try to decompress as quickly as possible, because you look at the clock as you slip out of your uniform and realize that horrid van that takes you back to the airplane will leave in only 9 hours. That was after a 13 hour day, and the following is almost as long. Considering you lose an hour in transit to and from the airport, an hour to get ready in the morning, an hour to get ready for bed, and hopefully 8 hours to sleep, the absolute minimum layover that I ever want to see is 11 hours, and that’s if I don’t want to sleep, make some calls, enjoy some television, read. And to venture out and explore takes more, yet.
One of my first trips in San Francisco was one leaving late at night with a 5 hour layover in Oregon before flying first thing in the morning to Chicago. I was a reserve and had been up all day long, not knowing I would be treated like this until the trip was assigned to me just hours before I had to fly it. That’s the life of a reserve. Now that I’ve got 14 years under my belt, I shouldn’t be treated like that unless I ask for it! I’ve dated that woman. I have the scars. I like to be romanced!
The comment I hear often from the other side is how much they enjoy their time at home. My response is, “Yeah, but then you’re too tired and spend half the day taking a nap. I’d rather use that nap time sleeping in my hotel room!” I usually get silence in return as maybe they realize the truth of my sentiment.
Nice rooms and nice views; this one is in Beijing.
I got this job to see the world. When I’m in China, I want to see the sights and museums and experience some of the local culture. And not just China, I do that in any city I visit. I know a lot about most of the cities my airline flies to simply from going out to explore while on a layover. Working for the airline is akin to having an education paid for.
On a recent visit to China, my flying partners started talking about this. We decided that as a work group, our side is generally more cultured, better rounded, and more experienced, than their side. Our flight attendants seem better able to cope with various cultures and have a more thorough rapport with passengers. We are better rested and provide better service in flight, as well.
Sunset in Pittsburgh
I like my long layovers, but I’m tired hearing from others how they are “unproductive”. Having just come home from a 24-hour layover in Pittsburgh, I accomplished a lot. Besides a nice long walk, learning some history and meeting nice people, I opened a new bank account, called my insurance company for information about my upcoming move, wrote a letter to my aunt, got caught up with a few friends on the computer, looked up information about the city I’m about to move to, edited a story, watched the news and then went out to grab dinner and eat in the park while watching the sun set across the Allegheny River…ALL WHILE BEING PAID (per diem). Had I been home, not even half of that would have been accomplished. Sounds pretty damned productive to me!