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Adventures in Flight: Closing a Chapter

 

I walked into the terminal at SFO all smiles and my head held high. Sure I was going to Beijing, and there is a lot to smile about in going to China. However, as I filed down the hallway among other airport employees and flight attendants, I had a feeling much like that of just after I was hired. There was a newness, a feeling that I was standing at the edge of a great adventure, knowing my life among the clouds was about to begin, that my travel lust would certainly be entertained.
Planes of the SFO International Terminal
This was to be my last flight as a San Francisco-based flight attendant; and perhaps it came too soon – I still have business cards not handed out!
For me, it was a momentous day. I parked on level 7 of the employee parking garage, as I always do. It affords such a wonderful view of the airport and of our gates at SFO. I can see the metal birds tearing down the runway and taking to flight. Often, I arrive early just to sit and watch, as I did on this day, taking a photo for posterity. For others, it was just a day, but I appreciated all the things I was going to miss about living in the Bay Area and being based at SFO. I was going to miss this view when parking for work, but I was also excited for the adventures that lie ahead for me in Houston.

The view of SFO from where my car was parked.
When I walked into the briefing room, the purser had arrived early and placed in each of the chairs our briefing sheet a puzzle page from the newspaper and a small bag of M&Ms. I had flown with this purser a year ago, when I last visited Beijing, and she had done the same thing. She must get Christmas cards from M&Ms! What a great way to start my trip.
There were 15 flight attendants working a 747. Normally, I am the most junior, number15, and I don’t have to choose where I’ll be working, I simply take what ever position is left. Today, however, there were 2 junior to me. It’s been years since I’ve worked in the premium cabins, as they always go senior. I know the service well in the back of the plane and I do well interacting with customers and reacting to minor medical issues that arise from time to time. Today, however, I would have a choice of 3 positions from which to choose, and when they got to number 13, the upper deck galley, a business-class position, was still available.
I remember my first flight on a 747. I’d been flying less than a year and got a trip to Narita, Japan. Those days, we were staffed fully and there were 19 flight attendants. Somehow, I was juniored into the upper deck galley position. The crew was great about it, saying they’d work with me. I worked with 2 great people who would help me along, telling me what to do next in the galley as they went into the aisle with queen carts. I did a great job, in the end, garnering quite a few kudos.
When I get to Houston, there will be no more 747s to work. Until things change, which in this business, they always are, this would be the last time working a 747. There’s talk of retiring the fleet. I will miss working this wondrous bird if they go away.
747 taxiing at SFO
When seeing that the upper deck galley was still open, I decided to go for it. What better way to spend my last flight on the 747 before leaving SFO than working upstairs and having this experience bookend my first flight?
Now that there is only 1 aisle flight attendant, there is more work involved than my first experience upstairs. I worked with a girl named Lulu who shared my enthusiasm and positive attitude. We worked quite well together and had a good time. I soon realized that I preferred working in economy. Upper deck is much less social. When Lulu left for her break, I was left all alone for two hours with no one to talk to.
The service went swimmingly and had I been more familiar with that galley, I could have worked much smarter. Fortunately, the purser came up to give us some help. Help? Sure, while greatly appreciated, she would leave my galley a terrible mess where I am normally very organized.
It was good to finally reach the stage of flight where I took my jumpseat for landing. I could have been landing anywhere in the world. The upper deck jumpseat has no window and the passenger windows I had visuals with, all two of them, were closed. I had to sense the plane to determine at what point to assume my landing position which I got, spot-on.
It’s sad to be leaving but I’m anxious for the next chapter of my life, returning to my home town of Houston and enjoying life in new skies. It’s sad that I won’t be working 747s very much, if even at all, but at least I still have the wondrous metal birds to take me to my next adventure. Onward and upward!
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Passenger of the Day: Sir Incheon

Seoul from my hotel window
Working with the flying public is always an experience, and my recent trip to Seoul is no exception. For the most part, the people I encounter are super nice. Sure, we get the rotten apples from time to time, such as the couple in row 21 who were working out some domestic issues. The woman had been so quiet during the boarding process, but turned into the Kraken after takeoff, yelling and belittling her husband for all around to hear. He, in the mean time, sat in silence, looking straight ahead, almost as if she were not speaking to him, but some apparition seated in the empty seat between them. Later, when I walked by, she had her head in her palms, completely distraught, perhaps with her marriage at its end. He, still, was silently staring ahead, obviously not as bothered by the whole situation.
There were quite a few military men on board as well; in fact, only 10% of our passengers were women. All my single lady friends, you should be flying to the states from Korea! One guy stopped me as the aircraft was still climbing to ask if he could make a purchase from Duty Free. He seemed very urgent about it. Politely, I informed him that duty free would not be opened until after the dinner service, or in about 2 hours. He found this agitating, so I mentioned that we did have over nine hours for him to make purchases. Curious as all get-out, I asked what was so important that he had to buy it right away. Jack Daniels.
A laugh escaped me, and I resumed my composure to tell him, “Well, you couldn’t drink it on board the aircraft.” “Why not?” he pouted.
“It’s a Federal Aviation Regulation…” we don’t want people getting ten sheets to the wind, causing us to divert to Alaska, which makes all these people two hours late, and those who have connections miss their flights, and they will be very upset with you, and I don’t want all these people upset with you. I also don’t like the paperwork. I’m sorry, you can buy all the duty free alcohol you want, but you can’t drink it on board; it must be served by a flight attendant.
Three men sat at the bulkhead of economy with blankets wrapped around their legs, an odd protrusion visible between their calves. “Alright, guys, what’s under the blankets? Bags? Yep, we can not land with them at your feet.” They knew they were caught, but I’ve been doing this a long time and I know the tricks. What really got me was that I had just asked them not 5 minutes earlier to place their bags in the overheads.
In contrast was the nice young woman who sat across from my jump seat. She had a pink and white camouflage back pack, as if a recruit in the Hello Kitty army. She reached her seat to find that she had no seat in front of her under which to stow her back pack. She asked where she should put it. “Well, the good thing is all the leg room you have here, the bad thing is that everything has to be stowed in the overhead areas.” She pouted for a second, and I knew why, so I also told her she could have it down during flight, but during take-off and landing, it would have to be stowed above.
She was quite talkative and I enjoyed listening to her story. She had just flown in from Houston on the new 787. She remarked that she was not used to large aircraft with two aisles and had enjoyed the modern jetliner experience. She was going to Seoul for a month to see her husband. I guessed correctly that they were still newly weds. Her husband of about one year was stationed in Seoul, working with radios and communication. He would be flying back to Texas with her in a month and they would then be moving to Seattle for his new post. She wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the move but seemed a little relieved to hear me boast about how nice it was in part of the country. She was in the running for passenger of the day, but the winner was back at row 57.
South Korea
Here was a family of three going to a religious convention in Seoul. When I got to their row to pick up dinner trays, I asked how they enjoyed their meal. They said it was very good, to which I replied that I was happy to hear, since I’d worked so hard to prepare it. They ate up my sense of humor and I then noticed the young woman at the window had placed a stuffed animal on her arm rest, facing out. I asked if he was enjoying the view. The three of them laughed and I moved on to the next row.
A large bear statue in Seoul
A few minutes later, as I passed by their row once more, I further noticed the stuffed animal. “Is that a bunny with a pig nose or a pig with bunny ears?” I asked her. She sort of shrugged her shoulders, “A pigitt?” I asked, “Half pig, half rabbit?” Her mother agreed. Finding out it didn’t have a name, I warned her she should pick one before I did so for her, and she may not be happy with my selection. I loved the laughter these encounters elicited, knowing I was making a great impression on their trip.
Halfway through the flight I learned that the pigitt still didn’t have a name. I took a serviette and wrote down 8 names for her to choose from, and then added title options, such as Dr., Professor, or Sir. When I handed the list to the young woman, her eyes rolled with a big smile and the father laughed in approval. I didn’t give them a chance for banter, as I immediately turned to retreat to the galley.
The next time I saw them, I was handing out the breakfast trays before landing in Seoul. I was informed that pigitt was now Sir Incheon. I smiled in approval and reached into my pocket, “In honor of Sir Incheon’s new name, I present him with a pair of wings.” She bounced in approval and immediately pinned them on his ear. “Normally, we wear them on our chest, but Sir Incheon can wear them anywhere he pleases.”
They were a fun family and we later exchanged names and made small chat. I thanked them for being so much fun. Passengers such as these can really make a trip enjoyable. The flying public can be strange, funny, and at times, quite entertaining. But for the most part, they are a joy. Especially when encouraging my sense of humor with funny stuffed animals.
My office
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Adventures in Flight: Jetset in 3…2…1

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

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

 

by Penguin Scott

How could he not be looking out the window? When I was a kid, it was the most awesome thing in the world, to look out the window at the activities on the ramp and to see the planes taxing around. Heck, I still do! I remember how Mom used to walk me onto the plane and make sure I was comfortable and that the flight attendants would look after me. She’d give me a kiss and leave me there in my window seat, and usually in the first row. I was so young- kids today don’t fly by themselves as young as I did back then; I was about 5 when I started flying alone. I suspect Mom hesitated just out of sight to make sure I wasn’t crying. No time for tears, ‘there’s a Texas International, oh, and a Braniff, I love those colors! Look at the Southwest 737, I see those flying over our house!’ The memories, for me, are still so vivid.

But this kid, not only was he uninterested in the goings on out the window of 2F, he pulled down the shade, stuck a pillow between his head and the wall and closed his eyes. I didn’t like this kid. From my jumpseat at door 1L, the best view I had outside was through his window, and he just sat there ignoring it all. The nerve!

Shortly, we’d push back and turn onto the runway, which was just beyond the apron of this small airport. The pilots would rev up the engines to nearly full throttle before releasing the breaks and we’d shoot down the runway and fly into the air at great speeds, and at a greater rate of ascent than normal. This was Orange County and the high fallootin’ folks who live near John Wayne Airport worked out a deal where aircraft must follow noise abatement procedures, and are limited to use the airport between 7am and 11pm. After shooting into the air, the plane levels off as it reduces power. Once over the ocean, it resumes a normal climb as it turns to the north or south. I love taking off from this airport, and even though I was unable to see out the windows of first class, I was all smiles.

The kid was like his father, seated next to him, in that he was short and heavy. His glasses were framed in black, where his father wore clear frames. His father was actually the interesting one of the two. He had golden hair, like he wanted it to be blonde, but, well, golden is what we get. His fingers were pudgy and his thumb had a silver ring on it. His watch was large and jewel-encrusted and was framed by two bracelets, big and gaudy. He was dressed in a bright orange shirt about 2 sizes too large and baggy black plaid shorts with large pockets full of electronics. On his feet were colorful sneakers with no shoe laces. It sounds like I could be describing someone in their twenties, but Mr. Jeweled Watch looked like he was pushing 50. This was a man built for comfort, not speed. He obviously had money, but more so than what he had in style.

The man in front of him obviously had money as well. But this man was dressed in a nice button-down shirt with cuff links and read the financial times while his wife, in a tangerine wool jacket, closed her eyes for most of the flight. Mr. Jeweled Watch probably made his money from services, such as from an air conditioning business, or owning a car lot. Mr. Financial Times made his as a CEO or from stocks. It’s fun to watch first class passengers and try to imagine their livelihoods.

After leveling off, the boy, of about 8 years of age, gave up his nap and the window shade opened again…too late, kid, now I have to work! I began to take drink orders from the passengers in first class, of which there were 12. When I got to Mr. Jeweled Watch, I was afraid he was going to be stand-offish, maybe even a bit short, or rude. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He was quite nice, with his large bag of goldfish crackers, asking for a plastic cup to put some in. He had taken out a DVD player and the boy began watching Sponge Bob. I commented on liking Sponge Bob and he smiled at me politely and went a bit shy. The boy was polite, another sign that as gaudy as he was, Mr. Jeweled Watch was a good father.

It was at this point that Mr. Jeweled Watch pulled out 3 individually wrapped sugar cookies with images of Mickey Mouse in frosting and handed them to me, saying they were for the crew. He apparently had been to Disneyland. I thanked him and later gave him a card of thanks.

During the flight, he and his son laughed together and seemed to really enjoy their time on board. They weren’t demanding at all, didn’t finish the snack that came with their first class seat, and hardly drank anything. They were delightful passengers and as he walked into the humid Houston jet bridge leaving the plane behind, he shook my hand and thanked me for the great service. The boy smiled and I handed him a pair of plastic wings. His face glowed and he thanked me as he showed his father and walked away. Surely, he didn’t get as much excitement from those wings as I did when I got mine as a kid. But it seemed to make him happy, and that’s all I hope to do.
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Passenger of the Day: The Pacer

Passenger of the Day: The Pacer
by PenguinScott
I took the escalator down to the food court and loved the view of the LaGuardia tarmac from the ground floor seating area. I was in search of a great Reuben sandwich I had heard about from a flying partner, so I walked from one place to the next, but never did find it. For a food court, there weren’t really many choices; Italian, Chinese, Mexican, pretzels or a takeaway sandwich shop. A man was in my way as I moved from one end to the next, pacing, his cell phone wire tracing its way from the black phone in his hand up to his ear. He was oblivious not only to my trying to pass, but of others moving about the cramped seating area, as well. I said excuse me, which didn’t seem to register, but he just happened to casually pace in a direction that allowed me to pass with my bags in tow.
After securing a burrito and making my way to a seat near the windows, with views of aircraft, I noticed the blockade guy still pacing about. He wore a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks. He was too important-looking to not have a jacket…ah, there it was, hanging on the back of a chair at a nearby table. He had begun pacing in larger circles and at this point was further from his table than he needed to be. On the table was his expensive-looking briefcase and on the floor was a large, black roll aboard suitcase of fine leather. It appeared out of place among the brightly colored chairs and modern art hanging form the rafters of the food court in concourse B. He was a diamond in the rough! He is my passenger of the day.
He wasn’t talking on that phone with it’s cord attached to his ear. It was more like he was just listening. Books on tape? His expression was that of concentration, paying very close attention to whatever it was coming through the cord. Big deal going down at work? And always with the mindless pacing; back then forth, around this table and then that, towards me, then away. Listening in on a board meeting?
He was in stark contrast to others in the area, especially the family seated next to me; the young girl eying me with great curiosity. Nearly everyone in the family- mom, 3 kids and grandmother- wore flip flops. Mom’s was pink, to showcase her nice white cracked feet that supported a large frame. The older boy’s was black with white skulls- a hooligan. The girl who seemed fascinated with me wore lime green ones. I wasn’t sure if they were flying today or visiting the airport pool facilities, but judging from Mom’s skimpy white blouse and very skimpy black shorts, I’d say if flying, she’ll be asking for a blanket, while on the plane her flight crew sweats in their polyester uniforms. I miss the days when people looked put together when out in public. The Pacer looked nice.
Mostly, I watched out the windows. In the distance I could see planes flying to the south, then turning west, towards us, their bright landing lights flickering in the New York afternoon heat. It would only take a few minutes and they’d be landing on runway 22. The Pacer was still pacing, not seeming to look at anything in particular; the ground, the empty tables, his phone, the upper corner of the food court. He seemed oblivious to the fact that anyone was around him. He was completely lost in whatever was going on in those headphones. He didn’t seem worried or upset, just very focused. The table supported only his bags; there were no food or drink items.
After completing my meal, I sat and waited for the time at which I should head to the gate for my flight. I was tired, not having gotten as much sleep as I should have, even though I had a 17-hour layover. But the six hours of sleep would have to do for the very long day ahead of me. It was a day very different from what The Pacer was used to, I’m sure. I’d board a plane with people going to Houston. During my announcements, I would find a red warning light on my control panel above my jumpseat. I would call the captain, a pack of mechanics would board and play with buttons and scratch heads until an hour later the fix would be found. At this point, the plane would miss our window of departure and we would sit in the penalty box, an area where planes hold away from the gate, for another hour. Four times the captain would have us ready the plane for departure and three times it would end up not working out and we’d sit longer. The Pacer, on the other hand, would earn money from the backs of people working for him…or if not people, his money would earn him more.
After reaching Houston, I was still to work home to San Francisco. Fortunately, it was the same plane, so I wouldn’t misconnect. But this would be the fun flight; tired from lack of sleep, worn out from a full meal service in first class on the flight from New York, plus assisting in economy, eager to get home after a 2-hour delay, and having to do another boarding process. Good times, indeed. But The Pacer has no idea of this kind of life.
We arrived in Houston and mechanics again came on board to deal with a few write ups we had in flight. An ash tray went missing from the lavatory, and while smoking is most forbidden, it’s a must have item in case someone does light up, they have to have a proper place to put it out when we yell at them for doing so. A light in the galley was out and a drain in the lavatory was plugged. 
Needing paperwork for the flight home, I walked up to the gate to have it printed out. Catering arrived with my new galley just as passengers began boarding. The senior flight attendant in back was asking about ice and the hand held devices we use to sell food and drink items in flight. The new captain for this segment asked about his crew meals, but there were none. He asked for coffee, which I went to make but discovered they had yet to turn on the water supply in the galley. Meantime, we are still boarding. Passengers ask about the delay and hand me their trash and ask about room for luggage and make comments about the plane not having a closet or entertainment. I have to make boarding announcements, as well. I check the coffee that’s still not brewing, close overhead bins, hang jackets for customers in first class and ask the pilots to call about the lack of ice in the back galley. I’m asked about the coffee and tell the captain it’s not brewed yet. I want to inform him that I’m not a Genie and that I can’t blink my eyes to make it appear, but he seems too business-like. He’d get along with The Pacer, I’m sure of it.
I make more announcements and deal with more passengers and a catering rep shows up with two bags of ice and a couple of extra snack trays, which must be for the pilots since I had enough for my passengers already. I can’t keep the bin the ice is in, so I remove them for the rep and discover much has already melted and the bags are not completely sealed, so now I have a counter full of water. I can’t have bags of ice leaking all over my paperwork, so I take them to the aft galley while my flying partner makes the door-closing announcement for me.
When I walked back to the front of the plane, I had to arm the doors. As I turn from this activity, the captain shows up demanding to know if his meals had arrived and wondering why the doors were closed without letting him know this information. He starts into me, saying something about a need for better communication, like I did something wrong. I calmly look at him and inform him that it is not in my scope of job functions to notify him of the door closing; that’s the job of the gate agent. I followed up with letting him know that he failed to inform me that he was ordering crew meals, and when they arrived with melting ice, my priority was to get the melting ice to the aft galley. When I returned, the doors were closed and I had to arm them and clean up the water, which was laying siege to my paperwork. I think The Pacer would have been proud of the manner in which I stood my ground.
He seemed to understand, and after a grunt of disapproval, turned his attention to the meals themselves, asking to see them. I took them back out from the cart and placed them on the counter. They were wrapped in plastic wrap, so it they were difficult to view. He poked at it it bit, didn’t seem pleased and went back into the flight deck. I wasn’t sure if he was going to have new meals brought or if we were now ready to go and my flying partner was as confused as I was. I followed him in and waited, but he said nothing and ignored me. I asked him if he was ready to go. He growled a yes. He’d nearly forgotten, but I asked if he wanted his damned coffee. I didn’t really say damned, but I was thinking it.
I put the meals back, delivered a hot coffee and closed the flight deck door. Finally, we could perform our safety demo for the passengers. Finally, the brakes would be released and finally I would start getting paid for the Houston-San Francisco segment! That’s right, flight attendants only get paid when the plane’s brakes are released.
The Pacer probably made as much money in the half hour I watched him pace as I made in my long day of dealing with passengers and pilots. It’s not always easy or glamorous. But it’s my job and I love doing it. Like The Pacer, I used to make good money when I was a general manager, but I didn’t have any free time back then, and certainly not as much fun. I think I like things better the way they are now.
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Passenger of the Day: Karma Airlines

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

After a long day at work you go home and what do you do? Cook dinner? Chat with your loved one or a neighbor? Throw a load of laundry in the washer? Take the dog for a walk? Maybe run to the store or work on a project in the garage.

    As a flight attendant, I don’t have the luxury of doing such things when I’m done with work. Half the time, I’m in another city; whisked away in a van to a hotel with a dozen sports channels on the TV and other various cable channels, all of which never live up to their name (Headline News rarely covers the headlines, Discovery Channel is full of things better left undiscovered and don’t get me started with MTV!). The workout rooms are small and the pools are often infested with children. For me, domestic projects have to wait until my days off and compete with all the other minutiae of things that need my attention; cleaning, errands, tasks, and, oh yeah, rest.

    There still seems to be an impression of glamour when telling others I’m a flight attendant. In many ways, I guess that’s still true. The hotels are deluxe retreats, the travel is wonderful – if you’re into travel, and one is exposed to a whole new world; one which is smaller than the one in which most people live. Breakfast in New York, lunch in Chicago, dinner in San Francisco; it’s no wonder it’s hard for me to keep track of time. I can be gone for 2 days and it feels like 5!

Aviation; an old propeller engine by PenguinScott

    Many people have no idea what really is involved in a typical day of a flight attendant. So I thought I’d open a little window into my world, which isn’t as easy as it might sound. Ours is a life full of Federal oversights, technicalities, legalities and union rules. I won’t bore you with the why’s of certain things, but feel free to ask if you would like to know more.

    First, a little background, one of the most annoying questions I get is what route I fly. Only the very senior can hold a route, and even then many don’t always fly the same trips. Each month we bid for our flying, and for most of us at my airline, we fly one month on reserve (on call) and the next month is a line month, which means we know exactly where we will be all month. We can trade and drop trips, thus we have much more control of our schedule. On reserve, I only know my days on and off and trading days is much more complex and often very difficult to do, as they are done so at the discretion of the crew desk, who need to ensure there are enough flight attendants to cover the ever changing needs of the flight schedules.

    For this typical day, I’ve chosen a reserve day. This when we have the most chance of experiencing problems, or as I like to say, having my trip go wonky. Things can change at the very last minute on reserve. You may think you’re going to do one leg to Denver and then fly home, but once in Denver, they may send you to Dallas for a layover and all of a sudden, you’re gone an extra night. That’s why I always keep my bag packed for as many days as I’m good to fly. Even if I go for a two-day trip, if I’m good to fly for 5 days, I pack for 5 days!

    Before going to bed, I look on line to see where I am on the list of reserves for the following day. This helps me gauge if I might get called for an early flight or a later one. I’m high on the list, so I go to bed at 2200hrs, which is very early for this night owl, who prefers red eye flights. (It helps with this job to use military time, so I’ll do so here as another way to show you what my life is like.)

    Sure enough, the crew desk calls at 0315 for a check in at 0835. I’m told I’m going to Philadelphia. After hanging up the phone, I now have to figure out what time to set my alarm. I have to leave my house an hour and 10 minutes before check-in and I usually allow an hour to wake, shower, print my paperwork for the trip and grab a bite to eat. After doing the math and checking it, I pray that I can get back to sleep. This is much more difficult than it seems. With a constantly changing schedule, my mind often thinks, ‘that was a good nap and now, let’s think about ‘all’ the stuff’!

    On the drive to work, I realize that I forgot to factor in that this is a Thursday and I hit rush hour traffic. Fortunately, it’s not too bad and I don’t have far to go in it; this is why I choose to live close to the airport. We are provided parking in a garage and a bus takes me to the terminal, which is why I must allow just over an hour to get to check-in even though I live 15 miles from work.

    Once past security, I squeeze past those who see the people mover as a ride and fail to keep to the right so those of us actually wishing to get somewhere soon can pass. I yell out, “Passing on the left and keep trudging through. Soon, I reach in-flight, our base of operations in the bowels of the airport terminal. I say hi to other flight attendants I recognize, never remembering their name or how it is exactly that I know them. Maybe it was a flight to Maui last year. Maybe it was a flight to Orlando last month. I have no idea, so I just say hi with a big smile and feign interest. I’m only really here because I have to check my mailbox and then log onto the computer to see what cyber info has been handed down from mother airline, in all her wisdom.

Passengers by PenguinScott

    After filling up the circular file, I find my room to brief with the flight attendants I’ll be working with. Those who are based with me in San Francisco (SFO) will be there. Sometimes we might fly with crewmembers from other bases; they will meet us at the plane. On this trip to Philadelphia, I’m assigned the purser position, which means I’m the lead flight attendant on the trip. I make the announcements, work first class and am responsible for briefing with the captain and relaying information to my crew. We are a crew of 3, flying an A320.

    Following the briefing, we emerge from the belly of the terminal and make our way to the gate. I brief with the customer service representative (CSR) and board the plane. Next is a busy time for me; stow my luggage, perform safety checks of equipment, brief with the captain, check galley provisions and start getting the galley ready to provide world-class pre-departure service to the wonderful people who occupy the first class seats, all while greeting the passengers with a smile, a few laughs and trying to look chipper as one can be at 0900hrs after getting 5 hours of sleep!

    Mr. Sir is upset that he’s not sitting with his wife and asks if I can help move people around. I know he’s already asked the CSR and been told the flight is full and he’ll have to ask people to move. I tell him the same thing; we are not allowed to move passengers. Tee-Shirt-Mom boards with her stroller, already tagged to be placed in the plane’s cargo hold, so I have to remind her to take it to the door so a baggage handler can stow it for her. People are shoving 2 and 3 bags in overhead bins sideways, so I have to make an announcement telling them not to do this. No one listens to our announcements, but I did my job. The bins fill up and there are still 20 people on the jet way with large roll aboard bags. I inform them there is no more room for bags and that they now have to check them, which really makes me a popular person. 2A , 2E and 3F all have jackets for me to hang. Mr. Got-an-upgrade-and-has-never-flown-in-first-class finds out he can have alcohol right now, and asks what I have. I ask what he likes as I have no intention of trying to name all of our drinks. I make his screwdriver, pour 2 red wines, and deliver 3 ice waters, a beer and 2 gin and tonics. The first officer wants a coffee with cream and sugar and the captain asks for a diet coke. The interphone rings and the flight attendant in the back tells me there are bags coming forward to be checked. I have overhead bins to close before we can close the door and 1F would like another glass of wine.

   Finally, the CSR hands me some paperwork, signaling that we are finished boarding and she closes the aircraft door. I make an announcement asking for all electronics to be turned off. About half the people actually do this, and most who don’t are in first class. I check with the pilots to make sure they have all they need and confirm that they want to eat their crew meal later in the flight and will call me when they are ready to eat. I make sure all passengers are seated and notify the pilots that we are ready to go.

    Now I start getting paid. You read that right. I am only paid flight time, which means once the brakes are released and until they are set again. It’s the same for pilots. This is why, so often, when we know there is a delay in taking off, that we push from the gate and go sit on the tarmac. We want to be earning money, and we can’t when sitting at the gate with the door open. Of all the jobs I’ve had in my life, I think it’s the hardest I’ve ever worked for free.

Wheel markings and chocks by PenguinScott

    As purser, I make another announcement welcoming the passengers and introduce the video safety demo. For planes with no video equipment or if it’s broken, I have to read it live, while the crew demonstrates the safety features. Following the demo, I check for customer compliance, secure the galley and take my seat in the jump seat for takeoff. This is where I go over my emergency commands in my head, just in case, as there are only two times you can evacuate a plane: before takeoff and after landing!

    The flight time to Philadelphia is over 5 hours, so there’s no hurry to the service today. It’s drinks with warm nuts from the oven, drink refills, hot towels, lunch, ice cream and 90 minutes later I might get a chance to sit down for a minute before the cockpit calls to come out to use the lavatory.

Since two people are required to be in the cockpit at all times, I now have a chance to escape the passengers for a few minutes up front. I cherish my time spent in the cockpit during flight and the opportunity to get a front-view of the terrain below. I look over the cockpit controls; 32,000 feet, wind from the west, coming up to Denver with aircraft at our two o’clock and four o’clock. The pilots like to ask where I live, where I’m laying over, how the passengers are doing, if it’s cool or warm enough in the cockpit and sometimes we chat about world events or company goings on. It’s almost always the same drill.

    Later in the flight I’m back in the cockpit for a second break and this time I’ve got the pilot’s crew meals. The first officer scoffs at how cheap the pasta dish is. He asks if this is the same pasta I serve in first class. It is. He is dumbfounded at how we get away with serving it for what people pay to sit in first. I sort of agree, but offer, “Well, I smile a lot, if that helps!” This makes him laugh and the buzzer sounds notifying us that the captain is ready to re-enter the cockpit.

    Now we play Stay Awake for the rest of the trip, going out to replenish drinks every so often and reading magazines left on the plane from previous crews. You can normally see the crew start to get excited about 40 minutes before landing. Not only for the work we have to do to prepare for landing, by putting things away and collecting trash in the cabin, but just in the excitement that soon the seatbelt sign will be on and the constant line for the lavatories at the back of the plane is finally gone.

   This trip has gone well; the passengers in first class weren’t as needy as they can be. Some were quite nice and talkative as they got up to use the lav. The guy in 3F was surly the whole time, but at least he wasn’t demanding. Mr. Upgrade wound up sleeping most of the trip. Madam was nice, telling me about her cruise to Alaska with her daughter, who lives in Oakland. I enjoyed the flight and working with the crew in the back. But it’s great to take my jump seat and finally see the tree tops out the window of door 1 left. Hello, Philly! I make my landing announcements, with a dash of humor, and I enjoy looking at the passengers who catch it, chuckle and look up at me. The woman in 9E gives me a thumbs up when I ask that people keep their conversations interesting when saying that they can now use their phones…as we are all listening.

   The taxi to the gate seems to take forever, like we actually landed in Camden and are just going to drive the rest of the way! Seatbelt sign is off, so I’m up to disarm my doors and check that the aft doors are also disarmed by calling the crew on the interphone. The jet bridge comes and the agent opens the door. I tell her that I have 2 passengers who need a wheelchair and have no other specials; sometimes we have unaccompanied minors that need an escort off the plane. I now say goodbye to over 130 passengers; trying to vary the parting comment so no one hears me say the same thing twice; goodbye, farewell, thank you for flying with us, enjoy your day, see you next time, have a great day, thanks for your business, goodbye, see you soon, thank you, farewell, adios, have a great day, etc. A few passengers thank me for the great announcements. Two shake my hands, one gives me a hug. That hardly ever happens, but I never refuse a hug.

Airplane getting serviced photo by PenguinScott

   The pilots rarely stay in the same hotel and they leave with the passengers. Soon, the plane is empty and a few passengers are waiting near the door for the strollers to be brought up from the cargo hold. There isn’t a crew waiting so we have to wait on the strollers as well. Once all the passengers are clear, we can enter the terminal and head to our pick up for the van to the hotel. It’s all prearranged and the pick-up area is listed on my paperwork.  The van shows up after waiting a few minutes and we are taken to the hotel. This time we are down town, since the layover is more than 20 hours. If it were less, we would stay in a hotel close to the airport. Check in is a breeze for us; a name and some information on a form and we are handed keys.

   I say farewell, for now, to my crew. I head to my room, change out of my uniform and head out to explore the city. I don’t have long, as my return flight is 0800 the following day and those 5 hours of sleep the night before are dragging me down fast. But I love Philly and head to my favorite spot for a great cheesesteak sandwich. I walk a few miles and return, exhausted, to my hotel room. I enjoy the fact that my windows face an apartment complex across the alley and spy on a few people who seem to enjoy the fact that they live across from a hotel with prying eyes. Oh, you didn’t know I’m a voyeur? I see a topless lady playing with her 3 dogs, a couple having sex through half-drawn blinds and a guy eating dinner on his sofa. He looks over and up at me and waves. I wave back and we laugh.

   It’s been a long day and it’ll be a short night. Time for bed; tomorrow comes too soon so often in this job. I’ll fly to Denver before eventually reaching SFO. I’m good for 2 more days when I get home and I know I’ll be used for them. I’ll get home; too tired to do the domestic projects that most of you get to enjoy doing when ‘you’ get home from work. I’ll put them off for another day. Before I know it, that bill I thought I’d pay when I next get home, doesn’t get paid until my next day off, in 3 or 4 days. But at least I will have 4 days off; one day to recover and 3 to do get things done. It’s never a dull moment in the life of a flight attendant!

747 in air by PenguinScott
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Adventures in Flight: Penguin in the Left Seat

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

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

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

A747 photo by Penguin Scott

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A flight simulator

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

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

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

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

A 747 landing at LAX

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Adventures in Flight: JumpSeat Therapy


Jump Seat Therapy by Penguin Scott 2-21-09

It’s so good to be back home. My two cats are purring and a storm is blowing in with lots of rain and wind. I would have beat the storm had I not had to stop at the store on the way home from the airport. I do love my milk, and since I’m off for the next four days, I needed a few other provisions as well.

I find it difficult to keep track of time with my job. Weeks have little meaning to me, since my schedule is always different and most of my weekends are 3 or 4 days long. But what’s worse is just keeping track of days. I only left yesterday morning, but it seems like it was 3 days ago. It’s hard to imagine I’ve only been gone 41 hours. After all, in that time I’ve been to Vancouver, Chicago (twice) and Buffalo, NY for 19 hours. It’s why I demand my watch have two time zones, one of which I always keep on local time, and also have the day and date. It’s a common affliction with flight attendants; having a hard time keeping up with time.

This was an easy trip; only two days, most flights had light loads, the layover was 19 hours. But yesterday was such a long day- a 12 hour duty day with nearly 8 hours of flight time. The hard part was that I woke up at 3:30 in the morning, when I wasn’t due up until 5:00. I never could get back to sleep. So by the time I arrived in my hotel room at the Hyatt in downtown Buffalo, I was spent. I even passed on the offer of drinks by our pilots, something I normally would not do.

Mostly, there were just the three of us on this trip; myself, my flying partner, Tea, and the purser, Michelle. We were all very close in seniority, my being most senior, which is quite rare! There was one segment of the trip when we were on a larger plane with two others joining us. But otherwise, it was just us three.

One fun aspect of my job is the camaraderie. There is a term commonly used in our industry: jump seat therapy. The jump seat is the fold down seat near each door on the plane where we are assigned to sit. Flight attendants tend to open up and tell their flying partners things most people wouldn’t tell complete strangers. And with over 15,000 flight attendants system-wide, most people we fly with are complete strangers. Well, they start out that way. After a 2-day or more trip with them, you get to know them really well. It’s easy to open up and very therapeutic, so before long one starts to hang all the laundry out.

Tea is a woman in her mid 40s. She lives in the northern part of the East Bay with her husband and two daughters. Well, actually, one daughter, as one just left for college. They are attractive girls, both with natural blond hair, but the one who just left for college had hers dyed red. I know this from Tea’s blackberry, which had a photo of her girls on the front screen. Each time we landed the first thing she would do is pull it out and turn it on. Looking over at it, I had a good view of the photo, so I asked if they were here girls.

This was Tea’s second trip back from a year off for a medical leave. She got an infection on her finger that was similar to a staff infection. She had to go the hospital daily for an I.V. She was a little rusty and full of questions. “What are the new rumors of a merger? How do you do the new liquor paperwork? Now that we staff 757s with four, how do we work the service? Do we still have the nice downtown layover in Chicago?” Just simple questions, normal for someone who’s been gone for a while, and I was happy to give the answers I could. She was not rusty on the beverage cart, though. She was quite prompt, in fact. But I have a tendency to say hi or strike up a small conversation with passengers when I’m delivering drinks, so there are times I seem slow in my service. So many flight attendants just fling the drink at you and move on. And all of our flights had plenty of time, so I was even more encouraged to be polite.

Tea liked to name drop. On her time away from flying, she had volunteered for the Obama campaign. She was even invited to attend a speech in Phoenix where she got to stand right behind him as he gave his address. She got to meet him as well, and his wife. Later, she would plop down next to me with her lap top to show me photos. They were much like any photo I’ve ever seen of Barack or of Michelle, although I have yet to see a photo of the silver shoes Mrs. Obama wears. “My daughter asked me to take a picture of her shoes,” she told me when I chuckled at the shot.

Her friend just lost a dog, who was more a child to her. She took 2 weeks from work to grieve. When she heard that a famous actor had just lost his dog, this friend of hers, who makes jewelry, designed a necklace for him with a photo of his dog in it. She found the name of the actor’s agent and got in touch with them to see if he would be interested in having her send it to him. They asked if she could do so within two days, before he left for the Oscars. He was so excited to receive the necklace, he called her to thank her and wants to meet with her for dinner.

There were other names dropped. But as usual, as I sat on the jump seat, my interest was more in line with seeing what I could out of the small windows we have to see out of. With my airplane disease (obsession with planes), I like to see the airport, the runways and the planes taxiing. I like the views as we ascend or descend and of the clouds. I’m often deep in thought and tuning out most of what the women sitting next to me are spewing out, trying only to catch the important parts so that later I can regurgitate some of it so they think I was listening.

It’s different sitting next to another guy. We can sit in silence for 10 or 15 minutes and not be afraid that we don’t like one another. And if the guy next to me has little in common with me, it’s not uncommon to remain silent for nearly the entire trip. And that’s just fine with guys. There are always the standard questions, whether flying with a man or a woman, which are: what is your seniority, where do you live, if they commute, where do you commute to, where did you grow up and what did you do before becoming a flight attendant? Most flight attendants cover these basics at some time or another in the trip, whether you are with them for one flight or six. And talk of union and work issues is almost always guaranteed to carry us through the down times of the flight.

Whereas Tea liked to drop names, Michelle really liked to talk. I didn’t really notice that she was so addicted to speaking as she is until we got in the van to drive to our hotel last night in Buffalo. Michelle worked up front and I was in back with Tea. Tea set up the galley on each leg, which meant I greeted passengers up at door one, right next to Michelle. She did have a habit of interrupting me when I was speaking. She did have a lot to say. But when we got in the van (after twelve hours of working, eight hours of flying, we were tired, it was dark and the ride took us about 20 minutes) she talked. I was in the beginning of what would eventually become the worst migraine headache I’d had in years…many, many years. Out of the airport, she talked; along the freeway, she talked; through downtown, she talked more. When the headache again woke me this morning at 3am, I couldn’t help but wonder if wasn’t from all the talking.

Michelle was a little younger than Tea, and me; I’d guess she was in her late 30s. She just celebrated her ninth wedding anniversary the night before our trip. They had gone out to dinner, and while she wasn’t up too late, she was tired. A few years ago she bought her first new car, all others had been bought used. It was a 4runner, which is what I drive, but I wasn’t able to relay that information to her. It was stolen when it had 8,000 miles on it, which for some reason made it difficult to sell, which she had to do because the payments got to be too high. She was able to sell it and buy another car and pay it off 2 years sooner than she would have done with the 4runner. Now her only payment is her mortgage.

Michelle lives with her husband in Walnut Creek and mostly takes BART to the airport. I’m not sure how the car thing came up. I’m not sure why she started to talk about her sister and her brother in law and their house. Then I’m not sure what else she spoke of as I was doing all I could to phase her out and take in the sights of Buffalo.

At one point I was yelling at her in my head, “Shut up! You have not stopped talking for more than five seconds. I need some silence! Oh my god!” It was sort of funny, actually. It’s for times like these I wished I didn’t keep my MP3 player packed in my bag, which was stored in the back of the van, where I couldn’t reach it. My kingdom for some earplugs!

When we got out of the van, the captain made a comment to me about her chatter, “Sheesh, I make one comment about a car payment and it propelled her through the rest of the trip.” “I know,” I told him, “thank goodness this is only a 2-day trip. But I’m used to it as this is quite common with a lot of flight attendants.”

Back on the plane today, there would be times I went to the front of the plane to tell her something. She’d start in on a story and I’d wait patiently to for her to finish in order to get out that which I had to say. I’d finally have to give up on waiting, find a moment when she was taking a breath, and blurt it out only hoping she wouldn’t interrupt me. She did end up buying me an order of Buffalo wings at the airport in New York. She was very nice and treated passengers well. She was simply addicted to speech. And where I normally wouldn’t feel comfortable with someone buying me dinner, in this case I took it as compensation.

People were all nice on this 2-day trip. Our flight up to Vancouver was light and the last row of seats were left empty. We blocked them off so passengers wouldn’t take them. We call this our ‘lounge’. I’d been up so early and was already tired. After we finished the service, I took a seat in the lounge and looked out the window. Below was a large city along side a river and on the other side were some hills. I studied the downtown closer, lots of buildings, it was a good-sized city. I forgot where we were going for a moment, thinking maybe we were going to Chicago, and wondered if it was St. Louis. I found the major airport, and it wasn’t where the airport in St. Louis would be, and I couldn’t see the arch. I kept trying to think of what this city might be, thinking in my head of all the cities between San Francisco and Chicago. Then I realized that we were going north along the West Coast and the city was Portland. Ah, Portland; I have good friends down there. I jumped to the other side for a view of the snow-topped mountains. It was gorgeous. As well as having a hard time keeping track of days, we often forget to where it is that we are going.

We were only in Vancouver for an hour or so before setting off for Chicago, where we had just over two hours before our third flight to Buffalo. I spent my time on the computer working trip trades for the following month.

As we boarded our flight to Buffalo, a young boy of about 7 or 8 walked on the plane. I said hello to him and he looked up at me and said, “I love god.” I was a bit shocked to hear this. It’s not every day I hear this from a small child. “That’s, um, great!” I replied. His mother was just behind him and smiled to us as she informed us he had just received a new cross on his necklace and was referring to that.

After he passed, Michelle asked if she heard him correctly. This brought up a discourse on how religion on children is nothing more than brainwashing. “I mean, they believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny just as much as whatever religion their parents are shoving down their throat.” I was brought up with different views, Jewish, Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic, Shaman and Paganism. I agreed that perhaps it was best to treat religion like a subject in school and allow a young adult to find the path of their own choosing. I couldn’t disagree.

But then there was the girl on my flight home tonight from Chicago in seat 34G. She sat next to her mother who, on both of their tray tables, had spread out a virtual buffet of food; a feast for the two of them. I made a comment about this and the girl informed me of her loose tooth, thinking it might even come out during flight. I smiled back to her and said, well, at least if that happens up here, you’ll be closer to the Tooth Fairy! She smiled a toothy grin and looked over at her mom in excitement. She hadn’t thought of that! Funny how we let go of certain myths and hold dearly to others.

We were late arriving, which put a bind on Michelle’s schedule. She had a train to catch home or she’d have to end up spending the night in the airport. She left quickly so Tea and I walked to the bus together, then to the elevator in the garage. She got off on the 5th floor and we said farewell. Another trip was over. It was an easy week, but I’m ready for my 4-day weekend. I don’t know when I’ll see Tea or Michelle again. But I always carry extra aspirin; and I’m always ready for my next session of jump seat therapy.

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Adventures in Flight: Pamper Me

Story and photo at Osaka airport by Penguin Scott

A week off. I can fly for free. I’ve been working very hard. I needed to be pampered and wanted to go somewhere. My trip to Israel was postponed, so I started to think about places to go. I’m a flight attendant, but my wanderlust was out of control.

Vietnam? Needs a visa, no time to get one.

Moscow? I’d rather go in spring. Oh, and we haven’t started flying there, yet.

Frankfurt? Not bad, light loads. But I’ve been there.

South America. Fun, but I didn’t really feel like having to sit in IAD for a few hours.

Seoul; to see BadKitty? She sort of nixed the idea. Not much time off and her little space would have been difficult. I sort of agreed.

New Zealand to see Annika? A bit far to go for such a short amount of time.

Japan? I’ve not been there in so long, I love it there. Flight’s not too long. OK, Japan. I love Narita, best noodle shop in the world, caters to all the airlines that stay there. The airport there has more 747s than any other airport in the world. I love me some 747s. I once spent a layover hanging out at the airport there. How many flight attendants on layover go back to hang out at the airport? I’m funny that way.

But oh, no, we only fly the 777 to NRT and I want to fly in the new OC. Our new 747OC has been reconfigured for international travel. The seats in business lie flat. The suites in first are upgraded with better audio-visual and even games. It’s really sweet.

Osaka flights are on the OC. So I was listed to KIX. I checked the paperwork. OC to KIX for 3 hours. Then, due to budget constraints, right back on the same plane. I’d be in KIX for only three hours. I had some writing projects to work on. I had some reading I could do. There would be movies on board to enjoy. I was not all worried about spending 19 hours on a plane.

At a party the night before I was to leave, a good friend mentioned how she hates planes and airports. I love planes. I love being on them, taking off, landing; and in first class…what’s not to love? And as I just stated, I love hanging out at airports. One person’s ceiling is another’s floor. One’s junk is another’s treasure.

I got to the airport and went to the gate. I took my seat and waited for my name. I thought they might call it early since the loads were so light; 4 in first, 20 in business and 119 in coach. But they waited until the plane was mostly boarded. As I waited, I heard an announcement for some names, stating there were some seat changes made due to the change in aircraft. Panic struck when I turned to see that the nose number of the jumbo sitting just out the window was different. They had changed the plane to an OB, not the newly configured OC. I thought briefly about ditching the trip and just going home. But I was already there, ready to go, so I might as well just enjoy the meals and pampering.

My seat was 2J. Stowed my things, settled in, drank a cup of champagne and sat in my seat like it was my throne. Oh, I can do first class. I even hid any baggage identifiers that would give me away as being crew. As far as any other passengers knew, I was a full-paying passenger, just as they were. (They were probably standby’s as well, though!)

Take off happened and soon I was reclined with a file of work out. The purser took my meal order, brought me warm nuts and another glass of champagne. It was a Henriot Cuvee des Enchanteleurs 1999. I’m not picky on champagne. I enjoy $3 bottles as much as the $80 bottles. And let me tell you, this was a good bottle.

I continued to work on one of my future novels while eating the warm nuts. I save the cashews for last, since they are my favorites. There were also almonds, pecans and macadamias. I started eating the pecans and realized that I normally pick around them. I sort of felt obligated to eat them, being from Texas and with the pecan tree being the official state tree. I love them in recipes and pies. But normally, I just go for my favorites, the cashews and macadamias.

My work was cut short when the hot towel was delivered, meaning my meal was about to start. I put it aside to be worked on later.

First out was a shrimp, bacon and corn cake with jalapeño shallot crème fraiche. The bacon was a wonderful touch and the sprigs of cilantro really made this dish for me. A bread basket was brought out and I selected the pretzel roll, warmed to perfection and complete with a wonderful pretzel coating.

Next was the soup, artichoke chicken Florentine with wonderful full flavor, great body and quite thick with great chunks of chicken. I could have made a meal out of it, but there was more to come. As I finished the soup, the salad was brought out on the queen cart. Fresh season greens with red bell peppers, yellow teardrop tomatoes and seasoned croutons. I selected the classic Caesar dressing, thank you, and don’t forget the fresh ground pepper.

For the main course I enjoyed rosemary lemon Mediterranean sea bass with tomato and olive ragout. It was sided with a creamy vegetable risotto and green and yellow haricots verts. The fish had a slight fish taste that was not overbearing. I enjoyed my entrée with a glass of white wine. I always have a hard time leaving the champagne, but the Jolivet Shateau du Nozay 2006 Sauvignon blanc made it easy to do. In fact, later in the flight, instead of more champagne, I had more white wine. It was light and fruity without being too sweet.

Finally the plates were removed and the queen cart came by with dessert: a choice of seasonal fruits and cheeses and ice cream sundaes. I had a sundae, chocolate sauce and cookie, hold the whipped cream. It was a bowl of two scoops, one vanilla, the other chocolate. I round it off with a glass of Sandeman’s porto.

I don’t often order chocolate ice cream. It’s not on my list of favorites. But when I do indulge, it reminds me of my grandmother. I spent my summers at her house and she often pulled out ice cream at night for dessert. I think my grandfather was a fan. He always made coke floats with vanilla. But I guess chocolate was a favorite of hers, so when I have it now, I always think of her.

With the meal over, I continued to work on my novel. It’s one that’s been mulling around in my head for about 13 years now. I’m finally working out the details. I worked on the timeline of the main character’s parents, their ages, where they lived, how they met, etc. I had a file folder full of ideas that I’d been putting in there for all these years. It was great to finally be fleshing out some of the details for this book. But with so many projects on deck right now, I doubt I’ll actually start writing it just yet. It’s just nice to have some of this figured out.

After a nap and more wine, we were soon to land in Osaka. Before doing so, there was another meal service. I mean it had been six hours since the last one. This service was much less formal. It came out on one tray, no queen cart. This time it was a beef pastrami sandwich with baby Swiss on rye with oven roasted fingerling potatoes and fresh fruit. It was warmed so the cheese was all gooey and melted. I really liked this and don’t recall ever having served it.

Soon we were touching down and the wonderful service was but a memory; the hot towels, the clean linens, the cold flatware, the butter in shapes of flower petals, fresh ground pepper and attentive flight attendants.

We landed around 4pm local time. I had taken off around 1130. Basically, the sun had only moved the equivalent of about 4 hours. Since I had taken off, the plane barely moved, as more as the earth had moved under me. It made me think, there must be a place on the globe and a speed to fly in which the sun would remain in the same place all the time. The plane would never move, only the earth under it. How fascinating.

Off the plane, through security, back to the gate and back on the same plane home. On board I found that one of the flight attendants serving me would be a woman I had worked with not too long ago. It was good to see her, but now my cover was blown. The previous crew had known I was crew, it’s on the passenger manifest. But soon the word was spread that I was a crew member and that I had just brought this plane in. The purser came to check on me and wondered why I’d be doing such a flight. “I wanted to be pampered and to fly the OC.” She felt badly about the plane change. She did well for the rest of my flight to ensure that I was taken care of.

Going home, I enjoyed more champagne, of course, and more warm nuts. I refused seconds on the nuts, but the champagne flowed freely. The appetizer was a shrimp, scallop and cilantro potsticker with roasted red pepper sauce, creamy curry apple soup, and fresh seasonal greens, this time with blue cheese dressing. Again, I selected a sea bass, this time it was wrapped in rice paper and pan-seared with lemon butter soy sauce with pak choy, carrots and cauliflower. After my meal I watched Ghost Town, which was funny, then fell asleep. I slept for about 5 hours, waking just before the breakfast service. I selected the fruit and yogurt, since the omelette was listed as an onion omelette. Ew.

In all, I was gone for about 25 hours. I was on the ground in Japan for 3 hours. I had 2 really nice meals, nearly 2 bottles of champagne, 4 glasses of white wine, 2 glasses of red, 2 servings of port wine, worked on 2 books and watched a movie. It was nice. And it only cost me the gas to get from my home in Pacifica to the parking garage at work. I do love my job.