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Passenger of the Day: The Gobbler

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

On my flight home from Lima, my feet were still smooth but my scalp began to itch. It felt so good to graze my fingernails across it. This is something new; my head never itches. I asked the flight attendant who had also had a massage with the blind women on our Lima layover to take a look. Did I have lice? What’s going on up there?
She quickly inspected my balding, graying head of very short-cut hair and informed me that I had a sun burn. It was red. I did walk for about an hour in the overcast weather blanketing Lima that day and had failed to wear my hat until the walk back to the hotel. Damn. After my bout with melanoma, I really try to avoid being in the sun, or even under cloud cover, knowing it, too, can cause sun burn. I was relieved to hear the cause of the itch was not lice.
Red, splotchy face and scalp.

So I thought nothing of the fact that my scalp was still itchy the following day. I had only 31 hours off before another trip to Lima. I returned to the airport not only with my scalp still itchy, but now my chin, sides and neck itched as well. It wasn’t very bad, although I did think it peculiar. The thought of calling in sick crossed my mind, but I wound up dismissing it as being overly cautious.

Flash forward to the airplane- halfway to Lima. The service was done and I enjoyed a conversation in the aft galley with one of my flying partners. My feet felt itchy and taking my shoes off to rub them felt like bliss. My head itched, my underarms itched and now I was feeling like my lips were twice as thick as normal, and a bit numb. I was very much aware of the fact that my face was possibly growing red as we continued talking. When the conversation came to a conclusion, I eased into the lavatory to take a look.
Shock and horror.
On my arms were these large, raised welts. They itched so badly, at times I thought I’d go insane. OK, something was very wrong. I returned to the aft galley and found another flying partner filling cups with water. I asked if she had any medical training. She didn’t, but casually said that our purser was a nurse, as she continued filling the plastic cups.

The welts I found under my arms.

When I approached the purser in the forward galley and asked for a moment of her time, I had a quick flashback to being a general manager and asking such a question and realizing that they were freaking out; not knowing why the hell I was asking to speak with them privately. She walked with me to a well-lit part of the galley and I shared my new-found illness. It’s always something with me, it seems.

Step one: contact the pilots so they can get in touch with the in-flight medical department.
Step two: take a brief medical history of the patient. Oh, my gods, that’s ME!
Step three: make an announcement asking if there are any medical professionals on board.

I’ve been the one to make such announcements numerous times. I’ve seen the reactions of the patents, which range from complete acceptance that medical help is needed, to complete denial, and a feeling that there is no reason to alarm anyone. I knew exactly how these patients felt. As the doctors began to assemble in the forward galley, I felt the redness in my face was no longer a result of this illness, but for the embarrassment. The first doctor seemed to arrive before she finished making the announcement. The second doctor was right on his heals. The third approached from the right aisle. The fourth followed back on the left aisle. Within one minute, there were no fewer than 8 doctors gathered in the small space.

I was both a patient and a working flight attendant. My first reaction was to inform the still arriving doctors that we had enough volunteers, but asking if anyone had any specialization in dermatology. No one indicated such. One of the doctors present was a man I had spoken with before we left Houston. He informed me that I was in good hands, and that the doctors present were all going to a medical conference in Lima!
After all was said and done, I was given Benadryl from the medical kit, followed by a shot. This did the trick and my itchiness was alleviated. My crew demanded that I sit out the service, but I did do some work while they were in the aisle, cleaning the galley and closing out the liquor cart. The Benedryl made me quite drowsy and I finally crashed in the van on the way to the layover hotel.
Many culprits were recommended to me; shellfish, fabric softener, fruit cake. The only thing I could think of was the massage by the blind woman. She had massaged my head, which is where the whole thing started. She had her hand everywhere I was itching, and it all started only a few hours later. Thank goodness I didn’t get a happy ending!
The view from my Lima hotel

Upon returning to Houston from this trip, I saw a doctor immediately when the office opened. He gave me another shot and some pills that wiped me out, but helped control the itching. My palms were red; I called it my stigmata. My arms itched as well as my scalp. Twenty-four hours later, it was all gone; crisis averted. I have never had such a reaction in my life, and I hope to never have one again.

I don’t know what this means for the future of my getting layover massages. I likes me some good massage, and the blind woman did a really great job. I don’t know what type of oil she used on me, and it would be difficult to find out. This experience has me thinking I won’t be returning to the blind women after all. Such a shame, too. But oil’s well that ends well, as they say.
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Adventures in Flight: Ghost Flights

It’s a very rare occurrence, some flight attendants say they’ve never had it happen to them. In my 15 years with Mother Airline, I’ve only had it happen maybe four times, but what a treat it is, for both passengers and crew. I’m talking about ghost flights; or very light loads. Extremely light.
The first time it happened for me, there were 5 passengers on a 757. On this plane, there are 24 seats in first class. With 3 passengers in coach and the other 2 in first, the purser got permission to move everyone up. With four flight attendants, this gave me and my flying partner assigned to the back no work to do on our flight from Chicago to San Francisco. What was fortunate was that the woman I was working with was a friend who I’d not seen since a Caribbean cruise 2 years prior, so it was fun just catching up with her for a few hours.

The second time I worked a ghost flight, it was again on a 757, but this time I was purser. I didn’t move everyone up to first class, and no one wanted to, anyway. I mean, if you have an entire row, or three, to yourself, why move up. This flight had about 13 passengers, and even though those seated in economy didn’t move up, I did offer and serve first class breakfast to everyone back there who wanted to eat.
On the most recent flight from Dallas to San Francisco, there were 9 passengers on an Airbus 320. We had 3 in first and 6 in the back; a young man, his mother and grandmother, a man and his 5 year old son and a businessman wearing a Rotary Club pin. (If you’ve read my story, “The Rotarian”, you will know I have a special history with the Rotary Club.)
View of the Ghost Flight cabin with PAX seated up front.

I love ghost flights and the ability to give outstanding, personalized service to each customer; a chance to get to know them (the Rotarian was from Arlington, the young man with his family worked for Nordstroms’s in Dallas and were going on vacation, and the father slept, but the young boy was well behaved and loved orange juice). No cart was set up, my flying partner and I ran each drink out on a tray.

Each time I work a ghost flight, I always hear the same comment. It came from the nice woman in first class this time, “I’m surprised they didn’t cancel this flight, they’re not making any money with so few people.” The answer is always the same, “The plane is needed for the rest of the day, if they cancel this flight, they have to cancel 3 or more flights that this plane is scheduled to fly.”
The best service you can get on a plane is one with very few passengers. You receive personalized service on a ghost flight. The chance to chat up a flight attendant (and who doesn’t love that?), lots of room and peace and quiet is all so, very nice. Plus, the crew is happy to have a light work load and a fun change to the routine of the normally packed airplanes. They are quite rare, so if you have the pleasure of being on one, enjoy…and feel free to spread out.
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Passenger of the Day: Grape Ape

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feeling bad is bad. Feeling good is where it’s at. Feeling bad and having to hear someone’s negative stories about your career is worse. Maybe for this doctor’s visit, I should have said I collect deceased animals for the city. No one likes to talk about road kill, or if they do, that might be one interesting conversation.  
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Adventures in Flight: The Blue Room

Fifteen years ago I became a flight attendant and began a new career in the skies of the world. I have always loved flying and have had a fascination with aviation since I was a small boy. My eyes always turn upwards when I hear the roar of a jet airplane overhead. The thrill I felt was obvious and in those early days of internet, I would write my friends and family about my new adventures flying hither and yon around the world, so blue.
At one point, I asked if anyone had any questions for the new flight attendant in their life. I always interrogated pilots I met about how things worked and what their work life was like. I just assume everyone is as excited about flying as I am. I think I had only one question, from a very good friend of mine who had recently moved to Chicago. She asked me about the lavatory.
Also known as the blue room, a reference to the royal blue color of the water that flushes the toilet, the lav is a unique place on an airplane. It’s only a step above a porta-potty and I try to avoid using it as the oval office at any cost- only in emergencies. Many flight attendants carry their own air freshener to combat the assortment of odors that emanate from within one. And here is a tip for those times you just have to have a seat: use the seat covers to line the bowl to prevent anything untoward (poo) from sticking and not washing down. There’s nothing worse than going in and finding claw marks from the person ahead of you.
My friend, Sue, wanted to know when flight attendants used the lavatory, as she apparently had never seen one do so. Silly girl. When we receive our wings, we become gods. Using the lavatory is no longer a necessity. I wish! I do refer to those who don’t have a career in the skies as mortals, but we certainly do use the lavatory on airplanes. Elsewhere, too.
It’s funny, but to this day, some 15 years later, I still think of this question whenever I slip into one. The things our mind holds onto. (Don’t tell her I think of her every time I’m in there!)
After takeoff
The short answer is that we get up out of our jump seats before the seat belt sign is turned off. One of the reasons, besides getting ready for the service, is to jump in the lavs before the line forms, going up the cramped aisle. Some of the women also need to change their shoes; off with the heels and on with the work flats. Some of us wear smocks. So this is the time, when the mortals are still required to remain seated, for us to get in there and get situated before we get inundated with the passengers. It’s why you may hear a stern warning if you’re up before the sign goes off, “Um, hello, the seat belt sign is on, see the little seat belt symbol all illuminated? Yes, so turn around and go back to your seat and wait for us to use it first!” 
The same goes for landing. The seat belt sign comes on for several reasons. Yes, as we pass through cloud layers into in the arrival city to which is our destination, we tend to encounter more turbulence. But we also need to have access to the aisles to conduct our safety checks, run paperwork to the purser in first class, and have a moment to use the lavs once more before landing. No one wants to encounter the rare emergency landing with a full bladder! Imagine the horror of being on the nightly news after having evacuated an aircraft with a huge wet stain on your pants.
“Yes, Steve, as you can see, we have another case of fearless flight attendants who were just doing their job, evacuating everyone safely, with no injuries to report. Here is one such brave flight attendant, who seems have to wet herself in the process. Well, back to you in the studio.”
Approach into EWR
So do as your parents taught you, use that time before the boarding process begins, and use the rest room before you board the aircraft and give us a chance to do our thing before you have to do yours. And be careful about you ask a flight attendant. You may ruin a good memory of yourself! (Just kidding, Sue!)

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Passenger of the Day: Mary or Caesar; What’s in a Name?

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

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

International pre-departure can be as fun as your 5th fruit cake of the holiday season- trying to maneuver the aisles during the busy boarding period to ask first class passengers for drink orders, taking and hanging coats, passing out amenity kits and menus and answering questions. All that and while not getting paid; the money starts flowing when the brakes of the plane are released, not when we start sweating for the needs of first class passengers, the neediest of whom seem to be upgrades from economy.
I approached the couple in 4K and L during the boarding process. She was attractive with dark features, straight black hair pulled back, a striped blouse under a black sweater and a cheery disposition. He was equally handsome with a full beard and wore a tee shirt and gray sweatpants. Very classy for first class, and quite comfortable, which apparently wins the contest. He was more into the young woman seated next to him than anything else.
Ignoring their attire, I smiled and asked if I could bring them anything to drink. My tray was already full of sparkling wine, orange juice and water; should they ask for these popular selections, it would save me a trip back up the aisle full of people headed to coach. Swimming up stream with a tray of drinks always brings the fear of bathing someone in a concoction of sparkling wine, orange juice and water. My poor heart.
He smiled back and said no, thanks. I looked to the young woman, who turned to the man attached to her right hand, and whispered to him. He looked into her eyes and then looked back to me to say that they would indeed like some sparkling wine. I smiled again and placed their drinks down, moving to the next row of seats.
Several passengers seemed very excited about their travel. Santiago, Chile was our destination, a new route for Mother Airline. Actually, we had the route many years ago. Santiago was always the city that got away from me. After the events of 9-11, I was furloughed, but spent time away from work taking advantage of my flight benefits. I made one big trip a month and had gone to such places as Hong Kong, Milan, Brussels and Taiwan. Santiago was the next destination on my list when Mother Airline called me back to work, so I didn’t get to make the trip; and then we stopped flying there. Since starting again, a lot of passengers are taking advantage of the renewed route.

During the initial beverage service, I asked to take the lover’s drink order. He declined my offer. Again, the young woman, now with her feet on the seat and her knees up to her chest, turned to whisper to him. She looked back to me like she had won a prize and he spoke up that they would like another glass of sparkling wine. “Oh,” she added, “and a glass of water for both of us.” “So, she does speak,” said my inner voice.
This is how it went every time I offered anything to them. He would say no, like a polite guest in a stranger’s home, too timid to actually take up any offers of hospitality. She would lean into him, whisper in his ear, change his mind and he would then accept the offer. She seemed to have the power over him to accept any of my offers. Would you like dessert? Would you like a cheese plate and port wine? Would you like to smell this rotten fruit? Would you like to chew on this piece of glass. Would you like a fruit cake?
The Lover’s, as we all started calling them, continued to hold hands and look longingly into each others eyes. They sighed and laughed. They did everything the same; like twins. What he ordered, she ordered. What he watched, she watched. She would get up to use the lav, then he would. It was the purser who pointed out that sweatpants on a man in love don’t do enough to hide his passion.
We looked on in awe, the three of us working in first class, all agreeing that we wished we had someone to steal kisses from on a vacation flight to a foreign country. The others from the back all came up to steal a peek at our lovers- giggling, smiling and in a world that only they occupied at 37,000 feet.
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Passenger of the Day: Mr. Ebola

Health scares come and go and I’ve never understood them, nor have I fallen for them. I remember in the months after 9-11, the media going berserk about a few cases of possible ricin; a poisonous white powder found in packages sent to a few of our leaders and possibly left in aircraft lavatories. To watch the news, one would think a ricin apocalypse were on the brink of breaking out and if we didn’t heed the warnings of the talking heads, we’d all parish to bequeath the planet to the cockroaches. But I don’t recall anyone dying from it in the US (and I am unable to find reports of deaths on line in writing this).

When SARS broke out, I lost my job for a few months because people stopped flying. When first reported, again, one paying attention to the news reports would think the world were about to end. A report issued in the early months advised those paying attention that a common disease like influenza kills 20,000 people every year; 200 times as many people who had died of SARS.
But new health scares are what sells. Bird flu, penguin pox, fox news syndrome, hokey-pokey disease and most recently it was Ebola getting people’s attention. There were 18 cases of Ebola in Europe and the US. But to hear the chatter from friends and even some of my flying partners, you’d think there were a few zeros behind those 2 digits. I spoke to a friend who told me he’d kissed someone who had just been to Africa, and he was waiting for the incubation period to end to see if he had contracted the disease. Dr. Penguin assured him that, while he may have contracted something, a deadly African disease was not on the short list!

During the scare, friends asked me what procedures and training we have undergone at Mother Airline in the wake of this new threat to our way of life. In return, I tell them I no longer pay attention to the news reports!
Our training is already in place for dealing with health issues, and since this latest one, named after an Italian bowling score (ebola a perfect game-a) is only spread via direct contact with bodily fluids, and not an airborne contagion, I’m not all that concerned. Our universal precautions and frequent hand washing do the trick.
This isn’t to say that I totally ignore what is going on around me. I have the information I need, I have the tools and smarts to deal with the risks, and I have the knowledge that I have a greater risk of dying in a car wreck, from a tragic incident involving a mule or being hit by a fruit cake. Contracting the Ebola virus is extremely unlikely, but unlike with a mule, the potential threat is serious.
On a trip, to Oahu, Hawaii, I was in the aisle with the beverage cart during our initial service after taking off from Houston, when the girl I was working with came up to me with a bit of a frantic look on her face. “Why did they board the duty free catalogs and remove the Sky Mall magazines? We don’t sell duty free going to Hawaii. This gentleman in the hat asked to buy some cologne and I told him we don’t sell it. Then he told me he was disappointed to hear that, since he left his back at home in…” wait for it… “NIGERIA!” (Cue the music of impending doom.)
I looked over to see a very healthy looking man about my age, dark, black skin, nice shirt and a silly trucker-style ball cap, looking through a magazine. Yeah, he’s a killer, and he’s my passenger of the day; Mr. Ebola.
We advised the other crew members of the man on board who was transiting from a region of the world known to have a contagious disease, as we are trained to do. What didn’t help things along was that a woman in 3A got sick in the first class lavatory after asking for an air sickness bag, and the flight attendant came to ask me if I thought we should lock it off. I asked if she had made a mess in there, but the flight attendant was too scared to open the door to take a look. She wanted to ask if the woman had come from Africa, but was too frightened. To quell her fears, I went to the woman and first comforted her, “I hear you’re not feeling well, is there anything I can get for you?”
“Oh, no, I’m feeling much better,” she said, and she looked quite chipper and was smiling. She assured me that she had just had too much chai in the airport; 2 cups, back to back, in fact, and now that she got it all out of her system, things were feeling normal again.
“That’s great, and you do look very well. By the way, have you been traveling to any place that would be of concern to us?”
She smiled, knowingly and I got the answer I suspected, a ‘no’. I informed the nervous flight attendant, who seemed to have a large weight taken from her shoulders, and she thanked me profusely for dealing with the situation for her.
Later in the flight, I was told the story of when Mr. Ebola walked to the aft galley to purchase some food. In handing over his credit card, he first licked his finger, as if he were thumbing through the pages of a book. Ebola or not, that was sort of gross. I asked if surely she didn’t handle the saliva-soaked credit card after his doing so. No, she turned around and got a paper towel from the dispenser, took the credit card in the paper towel, never touching it, and returned it to him in the same fashion. Nice.
I’m very sensitive to the manner in which I pick up trash from passengers. Five years ago, I contracted a virus, most likely from flying, that nearly took me from this mortal plane. I always use a bag for picking up trash and always wash my hands afterwords. I’m cautious, but not paranoid.
After we landed, a group of us went to dinner, and while the Giants played Kansas City on the TV, I asked, “Well, now that we all have Ebola, who’s buying dinner?” Nervous looks were thrown around the table for a second, and upon discovering that none of us had bought into the fear, we all had a good laugh. Penguin 1—Ebola 0.