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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: Brown Shirt

Passenger of the day:
At first there wasn’t much remarkable about Brown Shirt. Sure, he was fit, that was the first thing to notice about him. That, and his youth. Together, as well as the tight brown tee and snug denim jeans he wore, it was the kind of look that garnered second glances from many of the passengers who had already boarded and settled into their business class seats, but attractive people aren’t anything new. I noticed the middle-aged woman in 8F eying him up and down as he made his way to his seat. Our eyes met and she quickly looked down, having been caught checking him out.
Brown Shirt, at first look, seemed to be in his mid to late twenties. After closer inspection, I think he was more likely to be in his mid thirties. He had a full head of light brown, almost blonde hair. His skin was youthful, but was just starting to show signs of the recklessness of youth; too much time in the sun, not enough moisturizer.
It wasn’t his strong physique that piqued so much interest in Brown Shirt for me to feature him as Passenger of the Day. It was hard to ignore, with his tight brown shirt with super short sleeves. It showed off his well-developed arms, the kind more akin to a gymnast than a body builder. The tightness of the shirt also showcased a tight pair of pecs. I would imagine that 8F would have liked the rest of the torso, with a six, no possibly an eight pack.
He reached his seat at 6G and before placing his carry-on items away, he removed the things he would need for our 5-hour flight to SFO. A small laptop, a pair of bulky and expensive head phones, a few power adapters with the cords neatly wrapped around, an electronic tablet and an Ipod. This was a guy who’s security blanket was technology, but this isn’t what stood out, either.
The space above his seat had already been claimed. The man in 6F had arrived just before him and placed his larger item there. He pulled down the overhead bin across the aisle, towards me, and found a spot for his larger item there. When he reached up to put his bag in this space, even the large surly man seated next to me took notice. The arm muscles went taut with the weight of the suit case and the shirt lifted up over the waist band of his jeans exposing a bit of skin. His jeans were low and a decorative band with bright stripes was exposed; flashy and expensive underwear. I guess if I had a body like that, I’d be a little showy as well.
Still in need of space for a smaller back pack, he moved a row back and found space in a bin, but there were a few blankets that someone had placed there. He half picked one out and asked the man in 6F if he needed the blankets. Being told no, he pushed them back to make space and then leaned down to pick up the back pack he’d placed on the ground. While he did this, 6F put his back pack in his space. It made me chuckle as I could see Brown Shirt roll his eyes, 6F clueless to the fact that the space was not arranged for that of a stranger. Without hesitation, Brown Shirt shoved 6F’s small bag to the back and placed his back pack in front and then lifted the large bin closed, again exposing the flesh above his colorful underwear waistband. The woman in 8F again taking note, and this time not looking to see that I noticed her.
What I noticed next and what happened for much of the flight is what was so remarkable about the young man with the rock-hard body in 6G, Brown Shirt. It was an activity I’ve seen before but never with such vigor, and I know my writing abilities will fail to provide a picture that does this story justice.
It couldn’t be from stress. Brown Shirt was too young for that much stress, and judging from the head phones and Ipod and the fact that he seemed to be watching shows on his computer, it’s not like he was overworked. Although, seeing a young man such as Brown Shirt having a business-class ticket made me wonder just what he did for a living. We were leaving the nation’s capital for Silicon Valley. Perhaps he was a big shot with some technology company visiting DC to talk lawmakers into opening up loopholes so his company can further cash in. Or maybe he was just visiting family, a rich fortune 500 member, perhaps, who demanded certain results in the lofty expectations that the rich have on their family.
Maybe it wasn’t stress, but simply a nervous tic. Or maybe, just maybe, Brown Shirt had the best tasting fingers of all time! Yes, Brown Shirt spent much of this trip biting his fingernails. But this wasn’t your grandfather’s fingernail biting. This was a craft honed and perfected by a pro.
Think of a young boy at a picnic. He’s not eaten in hours and has been playing rigorously on the playground with other boys his age. He’s not worn out yet, but he’s got a voracious appetite. Mom calls the boy to the table and hands him a plate of chicken wings. Some of his friends are still playing, so he’s in a hurry to eat so he can get back to the jungle gym. He eats one wing in less 15 seconds and moves on to the second. While eating the second he’s already eying his plate for which wing will be third. He eats quickly and with passion.
This is the image I had in seeing Brown Shirt attack, not only his finger nails, but cuticles, as well. Placing his finger into his mouth, he’d move the finger this way and that, while his jaw moved the teeth up and down to get at the good part. He’d take it out and regard it briefly for a new plan of attack and then pounce on the victim. Every now and then, he’d free a piece of dead skin and roll it around in his mouth, letting his tongue feel it against the back of his teeth, moving it from one side to the next before ingesting it. Then he’d go at it again.
He moved with quickness. He was a professional. This was a race and he was far, far ahead. There was so much to eat and not one, but TWO hands with five fingers each. One finger, then the next; nail and then cuticle. Right hand and then left, all the while intently watching the images on his laptop and oblivious to anything else going on aboard the plane. Finger in, chew, turn, gnaw, turn, chomp, chew, gnaw, turn, bite, finger out, observe, finger in, chew, gnaw, turn, scrape, scrape, chew, turn, gnaw, turn, chew, scrape, turn, gnaw, finger out, another finger in, chew, scrape, gnaw, turn, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, turn, chew, bite, enjoy.
Then the airplane door was closed and we pushed back. My seat was rear-facing and in the center of the plane, his was forward-facing, next to the window. I had only to turn my head to look outside and I could see him clearly, going to town. I would eventually lose interest in watching his appetite for fingers as I enjoyed a meal (not finger food) and a movie, followed by a nap. When I awoke, I noticed he was still at it. It made me chuckle. This was some good entertainment, here!
I’ve never seen anyone chew their fingernails with such vigor. I am certain to never see this again. It wasn’t for the tightness of the shirt to show off the hard work in the gym. It wasn’t for the youthfulness of being in business class, surrounded by business travelers. For looking like a squirrel going after a meal in the park, you, Brown Shirt, are passenger of the day.
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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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A Trip to Beijing, China

August, 2013
The smoggy view of Beijing I’m used to, taken from my hotel
Before going to bed I checked the computer. I was number 2 for a 4 day trip and there was 1 on the board- to Beijing. I think I rolled my eyes. I’ve been trying to get to Beijing for over 5 years. It’s been at least 9 since the last time I was there. It’s a neat city to visit, I wanted to return to the Great Wall and do some shopping. But it’s the most senior trip in the system and continually eludes me. I was so close. So yes, I rolled my eyes; so typical, the rotten luck! I hoped that something would happen; maybe another 4 day trip would pop up overnight and the flight attendant in front of me would get that, leaving me in line for Beijing.
      My phone rang at 0600hrs. I knew who it was by the ring-tone. The crew desk advised me they had a trip for me. As soon as she read the trip ID number, I recognized it…Beijing! I remained calm as I wrote down the information, thanked the scheduler, hung up and closed my eyes with my head dropping and a smile upon my face, full of joy. Finally, I would return for my 3rd visit.


A child’s ride outside the local grocery store.




      Unable to sleep, I simply got up. I grabbed my Chinese money, packed, had breakfast and left for SFO. There would be no tardiness for me today. I felt on top of the world as I drove to work. Traffic was light and I caught all the lights green; fortune shown upon me. Did I hear singing? Some angelic choir, perhaps?
      Trips to China can be difficult to work. I love how some of the passengers say hello during boarding, but then later in flight, when told to be seated because the seat belt sign has come on, suddenly, don’t speak English! It seems like most passengers don’t like staying in their seat. They roam around the plane, visit friends and congregate. They go to the jump seat windows, raise the blind and look out, often taking photos. We’re over the Pacific Ocean. What are you taking photos of? When the chime sounds and the pilot comes on the PA to ask everyone to be seated is when many decide to get up. They ring the call bell to ask us for another customs form when they make a minor mistake, not understanding that at least when coming to the US, it’s all right to cross it out and make the correction on the form. And perhaps most irritating is how so many don’t put their tray down for us. It’s like a shock to them that we are asking what they want to drink or eat. Why do you think I’m pushing this heavy cart down the aisle…my health? You see the cart coming, start thinking of what you want to drink and have your tray ready!
     And the trip home was especially difficult for me, as I’ve never seen more passengers on our flights who didn’t speak any English. It was frustrating asking what they wanted to drink to have them point at the cart, full of sodas, teas, coffee, water, juice, milk and beer. What are you pointing at? All right, don’t learn how to say tea, orange juice or water. Maybe have someone make you a card with both English and Mandarin so you can show me what you wish to order, since showing you the menu with drink logos doesn’t seem to work either. I thought the Coca Cola brand logo was international. A mechanical issue delayed our takeoff nearly two hours, yet one yahoo rang the bell to ask me if we’d be landing on time. Yes. Yes we are landing on time because Santa is our pilot, and you know, he tends to fly fast! It was trying at times, to say the least. “Where are we?” another passenger asked. We all laughed out loud. Um, I don’t know…Boston? I’ve not looked out the window in 6 hours. I have no idea!
      The crew was great to work with. Everyone got along and worked very well as a team. There was much humor and I enjoyed my time with them. Asian crews are different from other crews I work with. They have unique culinary needs that they remedy themselves. It’s not unusual to see them bring soups, hot wings, steaks, legs of lamb, citrus and one time they even baked a cake on the flight. Many are bringing things difficult to fine in Asia. I’m always fascinated watching the culinary skills of Asian crews.
     Not having been to the Chinese capital for such a long time, the crewmembers were a wealth of information about the new hotel, where to find good deals on the products I wanted to shop for, and who to seek out for a great massage. These are the things important to a flight attendant. This trip, I decided was about shopping more than sightseeing. I had just picked up a trip to Beijing for the following week (when it rains it pours; 9 years without a trip to Beijing and now 2 trips in as many weeks) and I would put off a visit to the Great Wall for then.
My hotel room with glass bathroom walls.
      China is a great place for massages, as they are so cheap. In Beijing, an hour massage with tip costs about $25. They aren’t always the best massage. The first one I had on this trip was a petite woman with pink toenails who basically just wanted to rub the same 4 spots on my back for 20 minutes each. I had to ask her to start on my arms and legs and when she was finished, I asked for my hands to be done. She balked, but I told her I’d tip her for it. The massage felt very good at the time, but the next day I was sore on those 4 spots she had rubbed so vigorously.
      Shopping can be a pain in China. Fortunately, there are places frequented by airline crew, and these places aren’t as annoying as others. After all, they have to keep us happy or we all leave and find a new place. But in the markets, as you walk past the stalls full of wares, the workers stand at the entrance and call out to you, “Hey, you look. You want glasses? You need watch? I have purse! Come look, you buy!” No. No. No. As much as a glance into a shop turns these Chinese merchants into a bunch of seagulls and you have a nice big piece of shrimp on your forehead!
      I went to the Pearl Market with 4 other flight attendants on my crew. It was about 20 minutes from our hotel via taxi in the heavy morning traffic. I found that in the 9 years since my last visit, drivers seem to be catching on. Last time I was here, lanes were merely suggestions. Riding in a taxi was a horror, or a thrill if you are into such things. And I was always juniored into the worst place- next to the driver. Most motorists now do a very good job at keeping in their lane. And there were much fewer bikes on the roads, weaving in and out and playing Tetris at the lights, squeezing past stopped cars.
Shopping in Beijing; photo not mine.
      I’ve found the weather in Beijing to be oppressive on my past summer visits. Between the heat, humidity and smog, it’s not a great place for a picnic. I couldn’t get over how clear it was as the plane neared the airport and the city spread its complex carpet of buildings, parks, roads and entertainment complexes below. The skies were uncommonly blue and the weather was very nice; only slightly muggy and quite comfortable at night. The next day was slightly warmer, but still very manageable. The day we left, however, some 44 hours after touching down, the smog was a bit more noticeable.
      My shopping was a success, but Vaughn, Kitt and Sandy were ready to return to the hotel before I was. Vaughn asked if I had plans for dinner. Since I didn’t, I asked if he would like to join me. He said yes and Marianne and I continued our shopping pursuits for another couple of hours. We then returned to the hotel, where I set out to find a good foot massage. The woman I was told gave wonderful massages had moved and I had the old information, so finding her was a fail. I returned to my hotel and found another woman who would come to my room. My feet were sore, but not as much as my right ankle and left knee. Between the long flight the day before and all the walking I’d done in Beijing, my dogs were barking, and you know how I don’t like barking dogs!
      My foot massage (which in China includes the back, arms and legs) was the kind where you close your eyes and they constantly roll back. Your inner dialogue repeats, “Oh, my gods.” Every now and then she’d hit a sweet spot and I’d think, “Fudge.” Only not fudge, but the full-on F-word. After all, it’s just my inner dialogue. Even if she could hear it, she doesn’t “speakul the Englais” and she really does know how to give a sweet massage! I had her go easy on the sore spots that still resided in my back muscles. The part where she got to my feet and legs was bliss.
      She finished just in time for me to change clothes and meet Vaughn for dinner. In the lobby, he told me Kitt would be joining us. Good news; the more the merrier! With none of us knowing the area, we took the advice of another crew member and went to the food court in the mall across the street. Food courts in China are so much more interesting than those in the states; not full of mass-produced meals from national conglomerates.
     After ordering an oyster pancake and some dim sum, I found Kitt and Vaughn and took my seat at the smallish table with silver metal chairs. Kitt, wanting beef, had gone across the hall to McDonalds for a Big Mac and fries. I know, right? Who goes to Beijing and eats at McDonalds? I could tell his was a foreign value meal; the soda cup was the size of a can of soda and not the huge monstrosities served in the US.
      Vaughn, wanting vegetables and rice, had gotten a variety-pack meal from the food court; rice, soup, diced chicken and some vegies. He said it was good, although he seemed a bit uneasy with the whole deal and only finished half of what was on his tray. It was his first time in Beijing, and perhaps his first time in a Chinese mall food court, where one purchases a debit card for each station; no money changes hands. There were all sorts of great looking Chinese dishes. There were soups, dim sum, dumplings, noodles and all sorts of foreign oddities to delight the palate of those bold enough to try something new.
Gyoza and dim sum at the food court.


      The conversation came easily between the three of us. Vaughn was full of questions for both of us and Kitt was very outgoing. I enjoyed the conversation as much as my dinner companions obviously did, as we sat there for about 90 minutes- long after we had finished eating.
      People watching was fun as the conversation meandered around our lives and interests. Suddenly, I became very much aware of how great my life was. Here I was with two people I had not known before the previous day half way around the globe. Vaughn and I had worked together a few years prior going to Sydney, but we had not spent any time together. I love that I get to meet new people all the time with my job. I love that we bond over our jobs and sharing a city and new experiences. I love that in a short amount of time, I get to learn so much about people, and chances are, I won’t see these guys after this trip for months. Maybe years!
      Kitt is Swedish, hailing from a small town almost an hour north of Stockholm. He left for New Jersey at 17, although I didn’t ask why he moved. His parents still live in Sweden and he goes home once a year, although it’s been 2 since his last visit.
      I was amazed when he met us that morning to go shopping. He wore a grey tee shirt and jeans with the legs rolled up to the middle of his calves, very European. I had to comment to him at how well his uniform had hidden his muscles. I could tell he was in good shape, but now one could see just how well developed, and large, his muscles were. So large, in fact, that his veins sat above them, restrained by skin, looking like a map of German roads. Obviously, a guy who spends a ton of time in the gym.
      When I first met Kitt, I couldn’t tell he was gay. He did look German, with facial features typical of such, and blond hair with a hint of wave in the front. During the whole flight, it was hard to tell if his demeanor was slightly effeminate or just European. But when he spoke now, out of uniform, he definitely sounded gay. He began to speak of his partner, who he had married 14 years ago. I asked if he was a body builder as well. He is, but Kitt says he’s not as big. Well, If he were half as muscled as Kitt, he’d still be ripped.
      His partner owns a car dealership in the Denver area that specializes in luxury cars. They drive a used Bentley that was originally over $200.000, but they got it for “cheap”; a measly $50K! I looked at Vaughn, who looked at me, and said, “Obviously one person’s cheap…” Vaughn finished the sentence for me.
A street near our hotel.
      Vaughn is a larger black guy who lives outside Vancouver with his wife and daughter. He has two boys, as well, both in college. He normally only flies to Sydney, but has decided to start flying Beijing trips to do what so many other flight attendants do; sell inexpensive Chinese merchandise in the US. He told us of his plans to build a customer base through a web site to sell iPhone charge packs. But after he saw the quality of small Bluetooth-enabled speakers, he’s’ now convinced he can make over $900 in just 4 months.
      When asked about his plans for his first trip to Beijing before we left San Francisco, he told us that other than shopping, he was only going to stay in his room. He had no interest in seeing the Great Wall of China, Tiananmen Square or the Forbidden City. I was actually a bit surprised he was open to have dinner with me, thinking maybe he’d stay hidden in his hotel room that evening.
      He comes across as a shy, quiet type, who doesn’t like adventure or risk. In fact, he admitted as much at dinner. We started talking about cruises (Kitt has been on over 30) and he mentioned his fear of being at sea. “I can go all around the world and have no problem walking in bad parts of town, but being on the water in the middle of the sea…”
      Vaughn was very inquisitive and often kept the conversation going with a line of questions – what’s a luxury car to tell someone to stay away from? What’s your favorite city? What do you like most about going on a cruise? I could have sat there another hour, but when Kitt suggested we head back, we all just got up. I was eager to hit the gym, sauna and soak in the pool on the 27th floor of the Renaissance Hotel with a grand view of the moon rising over the ancient and now modern looking capital city. That was sort of surreal; being in a pool with such a view.
The pool at the Renaissance Hotel. Great views.
      As I clung to the side of the pool, I thought about dinner. It was very much like dinners I’ve had before in cities like Sydney, Seoul, London, Frankfurt or even New York, Miami and Chicago, getting to know crew members for a short time. I love my job and how I get to peek into the lives of so many interesting people while seeing so many wonderful places.
      After my soak, I returned to my room and opened a beer. My view from the 17th floor was the same as from the pool, only ten floors lower. The moon was rising. The buildings flashed images of children jumping rope. The Chinese do love flashing buildings at night! Tomorrow would be breakfast, packing and taking the bus back to the airport for my flight home. I can’t wait to return. Next time, I will go to the Great Wall of China. They say you can see the wall from space, but did you know you can see space from the wall? Lots and lots of space.

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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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The Lyngbakr, or, I should have known when she ordered the shark’s fin soup and chicken feet

The Lyngbakr, or,
I should have known when she ordered the shark’s fin soup and chicken feet      
By PenguinScott
I looked out the window and below me was France. There were towns and villages and roads meandering from one direction to another. It looked lush and inviting from 29,000 feet. I wished I were down there sitting in a café enjoying some wine with bread and cheese. Oh, and butter. I remember how delicious the butter was when I was in France!
                For the past six days I had been in Barcelona and I was flying back to America. I had been fairly stressed, which is odd, having been on vacation for 3 weeks. Before Barcelona, I had crossed the Atlantic on a cruise ship. We left from New Orleans with stops in Miami and then the Azores. It was a wonderful trip taken with a group of friends. We had all been through a lot, maybe not so much on the ship, but in Barcelona.
                I found myself loving Spain. It was my first visit and it was hard deciding if I liked Spain more than other European cities I’ve been to. The architecture was exciting. The food was fresh and creative. The people were vibrant and easy going. We had good weather for the most part and getting around was a breeze. I was choked up when viewing the steps upon which Columbus climbed to inform Queen Isabella that he had just returned from what would turn out to be America. Such history!   
                Flying over France, I was of two minds as I relived my vacation. I had truly seen both sides of the coin on this trip; the good and the bad. Sure, I had my camera and travel wallet stolen. Gone were all my photos from the cruise, from New Orleans, from Ponta Delgada in the Azores and from 2 glorious days sightseeing in Barcelona. That’s what I really cared about. Not the travel wallet with 2 credit cards and about $100 in cash. Not the feeling of being violated for having someone’s hand inside my front pocket without my knowledge…or enjoyment. Many of the photos can be reproduced from those taken by friends, but many- my artistic shots, shots of myself and shots I took when alone- cannot.
                The thing is, this is not the worst part of my trip. When people ask me about it, it wasn’t all of that behind my answer, “I had a great time. I had a horrible time.” No. The real reason behind it was that the woman I shared a room with on the cruise and an apartment with in Barcelona turned out to be a Lyngbakr. I had been calling her the Kraken, but Lyngbakr seems more appropriate.
                You see, Lyngbakr is a mythical sea monster known to bait seafarers by posing as a lovely island, and when a crew landed on its back, it sank into the sea, drowning them. This is a more appropriate illustration of my point; as I had been lured into a lovely relationship, even sexual, and then once safely at sea, the woman I had boarded the ship with in New Orleans turned into a monster, and sunk us into the darkness.

Lyngbakr

                I had originally met Beth at a camp out with a large group of friends about six months prior. I hadn’t really gotten to know her. I can’t stand cigarettes and she smoked, so there was never really an impetus to go over and talk to her. She still walked with a cane after an illness left her paralyzed for a brief period of time. The extent of it was just a hello and a smile now and then.
                Several months later, when I realized that Christmas fell on a Sunday, I decided to see if I couldn’t round up some people to join me for dim sum, a traditional Chinese Sunday brunch. Beth was the first person to respond. Even though we hardly knew one another, I was excited to see her enthusiasm. She even tried her hardest to round up others, as well.
                As it turned out, it was just the two of us. There was a place she recommended right across the street from her apartment. The arrangements were all in place. My only problem was that I didn’t really remember what she looked like and I feared walking in and not recognizing my brunch guest. When I arrived at the restaurant, it was packed with people, and every single one of them was Asian, so it would have been easy to pick her out. At least I knew it would be a good place for dim sum, even if it was Christmas morning.
                Fortunately, she recognized me and approached as I was in line to leave a name. She was an attractive woman, taller than I and now off of the cane that had supported her when I met her. She still walked slowly and methodically, which is sort of the manner in which she spoke, making sure to pronounce each syllable of a word; sometimes over-pronouncing them. She wore a sun dress with flat sandals and her black hair was straight with a hint of body to it. She was also all smiles.
                We were seated and began to place our order on the menu sheet we had been given. I marked a few items I was interested in and turned it over to her. She marked a few things, asked a few questions, and then paused. She looked up at me and asked if I’d ever had shark’s fin soup.
                I immediately protested, “Of course not! Do you know how they treat those sharks? They cut off the fin and toss them back into the water to die a horrible and painful death. I’ll have nothing to do with shark’s fin soup!” My inside voice most likely continued, “And neither will you!”
                After another pause, I was asked if I had ever had chicken feet. Now, I’m sure they don’t cut off the feet of chicken and toss them into a pen to die a horrible footless death. But I have an issue with eating animal’s feet. I don’t eat pig’s feet. I don’t eat chicken feet. This, I made clear to her as well, but maybe not as strongly as my issue with shark’s fin. After all, someone might as well eat the feet; it just won’t be me!
                She made two marks on the menu order form and then explained that she likes to try new things. She was ordering both the soup and the feet. I was invited to try them as well. I assured her that as much as I love a new thing, I’d not be trying either one.
                She didn’t like the soup and asked that it be taken off the bill. She thought the chicken feet was disgusting. Nice waste of animal appendages, I thought to myself, but I didn’t gloat.
The rest of the meal was wonderful and with time to kill before attending a party we had both been invited to, we went to her place and talked for hours. Our conversation meandered through our separate medical issues and our lives and experiences. There was never an awkward silence or an acrimonious word. I had a wonderful time and made a new friend.
                Several weeks later, I saw a great deal on the 13 night cruise to Spain and posted it on line. She replied almost immediately. I had a hard time believing she was serious and after detailing all the expenses, I wrote her to say that if she said yes and I put down a deposit, there was no backing out. Even though it was her first cruise, she assured me that I need not worry.
                I booked the cruise and we started making plans. We got together a few more times at her house and usually had lunch or dinner together. I was really enjoying our friendship and the things we had in common. We’d spend hours on line chatting to one another- joking and flirting. It was looking like we were really going to enjoy ourselves on this trip!
                Soon, she had invited others to come along. Kit, a mutual friend of ours who I’d known for years and lived about an hour away and Will, a guy she knew from Burning Man, in his 60s who lived in Boston. I had mentioned the cruise to another guy I had just met in December, Jerry, so he was on board with our plans. The sixth member was a guy we met on line from a cruise community web site. He was our age, fun and seemed to have a lot in common. He’d be on the cruise as their stage manager, but wanted to spend a few days in Barcelona with us. His name was Nathan and he lived in Vegas with his partner of 19 years.
                For the 6 weeks or so leading up to the trip, we all got together on line for chats and planning sessions. We needed a hotel in New Orleans as we were arriving 2 days early to attend a festival. I led the way with our plans in the Azores. Several people were utilizing my buddy passes to fly to and fro. And then there was the apartment in Barcelona for the six of us. There was a lot to plan out for six people!
                Jerry invited those of us living in the bay area to his place for planning parties, which included dinner and a hot tub soak. We were all getting along famously and the anticipation of the trip was almost more than I could bear.
                Jerry, Beth and I flew together from San Francisco to New Orleans on Friday. Kit flew in Thursday to visit his daughter, who attends college there and would meet us at the festival. Will would fly in on Saturday and meet us at the hotel. Nathan arrived Saturday early enough to meet us at the festival. Each of us was so excited, it was better than Christmas!
                When we arrived in New Orleans is when Beth started to complain. It wasn’t major, but the airport was undergoing construction and there were no signs to indicate where to pick up checked luggage. We had to go outside, and then back in. Next, to pick up the van for the hotel, we had to go back out and to the other side of the terminal. It was late and she had taken a Xanax and may have been in a bit of pain as well, so I paid little attention to the complaining and tried to be accommodating. I’ve been in that situation numerous times…well, without the Xanax.
                With the festival going on downtown the next day, I was eager to get out of the hotel and explore. I set an alarm to wake us up, and after a breakfast of beignets, which she didn’t care for, and meeting Nathan at the airport, we were on a bus headed to the French Quarter Festival. We turned up Bourbon Street, which was cordoned off and full of people having fun and drinking. Beth needed a restroom break and Jerry needed a beer. At the first bar we came to, they went in to take care of their needs. I told them I’d wait outside for them. After all, this was Bourbon Street and I wanted to soak it in.
                It was a wonderful day; clear with a few billowy clouds and warm but not hot. The people in the street were all having a great time. I stood in the shade and waiting. After 15 minutes, a bit flustered, I wandered inside. What I found was an empty bar with lame music and my two friends sitting there with a beer each. I asked if they understood that they could walk around in the streets with their beer. They did. They had no interest in the goings on outside.
                I was near crazy. Who goes to New Orleans, on Bourbon Street, no less, and sits at a bar? Apparently only those two, as everyone else was in the street. You can sit in a bar at home! I told them I’d meet them later. We had already contacted Kit and told him we’d meet at the Napoleon House, so off I went, not wanting to keep him waiting.
                By dinner time we were all together, except for Will, who was arriving later that night and would miss out on our downtown experience. Nathan brought along a guy he would be working with on the ship and Kit was with his daughter. The seven of us went to dinner at a popular place and our adventure together was off.  
Then the bill arrived. At first, it got passed around and we all looked it over and contributed our portions. When it got to Beth, she pulled out a piece of paper and her calculator. She began to query everyone on what they had ordered and began dissecting the bill with the skills of some sort of hybrid mad surgeon/engineer.  It was the most thorough going over of a bill in history.
                Nathan gave me a look that I completely understood; as did his friend. We were eager to get back out to the festival and blow this joint already. We rose and advised the group that we’d meet up later; we all had our phones, after all. Beth looked cross at me and probed whether I had left enough money. My reply? “Well, dear, I’ve put in $5 more than what I owe with tax and tip. If you discover that I owe more, then you know where to find me. But I’m done sitting here and I need to get out there.” Nathan and his friend were all smiles as I led the way out the door.
                We did meet up later but Kit and his daughter soon made their exit. After a spectacular fireworks display and a long walk, we found ourselves in yet another restaurant. Seems we were eating our way across this fine city! It was a nice little Italian place, too. We had a grand time. The bill arrives and this time, there is a loud exclamation complete with expletives about the price of Beth’s hurricane. Heads turned in our direction. I wanted to crawl under the table and hide. I might have met Nathan under there had he followed his impulse to do the same. We explained to her that a hurricane is a large drink full of alcohol and being served in a nice restaurant during a festival. She slowly accepted this and began to calm down. We left a huge tip to apologize for making a scene. At least the bill didn’t get dissected again!  
               
My past cruise experiences have taught me to arrive at the cruise terminal early. I’d rather wait an hour in the lounge before we can board than wait an hour standing in line. We arrived around 11AM and got our bags checked in. Beth and Jerry needed some things from a grocery store and upon hearing of one in walking distance, they were off. Will was now with us, and had a mission of beignets and coffee from Café du Monde, so he was off as well. I got checked in within 15 minutes and found Nathan and a few people I had gotten to know on line waiting in the lounge and had a great time getting to know new friends.
                An hour passed quickly and I received a text from Jerry and Beth- Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum? They had decided to go back into the city and explore a voodoo museum and have lunch. I reminded them that we had to be on board by three. The people around me were a bit concerned. Jerry can be like a child and Beth had never been on a cruise. But I knew if they missed the boat, they could meet us in Miami and would have two days to get there. The funny thing is, we wound up leaving the pier an hour early. We did leave a few people behind, but Dee and Dum were not among them, and it was close.
                We got to Miami and Jerry’s parent’s, who lived a few hours away, had come to town to meet him. They offered for Beth and I to come along and they could take us to South Beach. We met them outside and they had also brought Jerry’s brother. Beth and I felt so bad about Jerry’s mom having to sit up front between the two seats on top of the emergency break that we nearly backed out. She assured us it was fine, and not a long journey, and that we should definitely get in the car.
                We headed out and Jerry’s dad needed navigational assistance. Beth got her phone out and started giving directions that I knew was a longer route than necessary. I got mine out as well and waited for it to boot up.
We were already on the causeway headed to South Beach. Our ship was to our right and I was so engrossed in trying to get a photo of her that I failed to realize that Beth had just instructed Jerry’s dad to turn around, which he promptly did. We were about a mile from our destination, but we were now headed back to downtown! This new route would take another thirty minutes. It was after we were well into our new route of taking the islands to South Beach that she realized her phone was giving walking instructions instead of driving. It was a scenic route, however, and nice to see the grand homes on the islands.
                With construction projects under way, there were a few police visible. Each time we passed one, Beth made mention of the “pigs”. After hearing this for the hundredth time, I asked that she not call them such. I had friends and family who were in law enforcement and I found it a little demeaning. She protested and asked when she had ever called them pigs. Well, since she asked, I informed her; this morning as we came into the port of Miami, there was a police boat and she called that a pig. When we were at Jerry’s house both times for our planning parties, she mentioned pigs. And the two hundred times this morning on our short, but detoured time in the car, she called them pigs. In fact, I’ve never heard any other name come out of her mouth than pig, when referring to the police. She apologized. I noticed Jerry’s mom smiling at me with approval.
                We were dropped off in South Beach and Jerry’s family went to find a parking spot for the car. It would be an hour before we’d see them again. We began walking to the south along the pathway of the beach. I heard mention of thirst and the first bar we came to, which happened to be the Ritz-Carlton Spa, we stopped. I was beginning to see a pattern here, and to regret my selection of travel companions. I got a text from Nathan, who was doing his own thing, asking how things were going. I informed him of what was going on. We both agreed that when we reached Barcelona, he and I would have to leave these 2 behind in a bar. I have a strong desire to see and explore. Sitting at a bar is for after having done so for long enough that my body needs a rest. We were just starting out!
                As we finally left the bar to meet up with Jerry’s family, I was shocked that there was no comment about the pricey drinks at the Ritz. They had 2 each, after all. But loosened up with libations, she let Jerry walk ahead of us and she confronted me about something. I slowed down and leaned in to listen. She asked that in the future I not call her out in front of other people. Not knowing what she was talking about, I asked for clarification. She was referring to my asking her not call cops pigs. I was floored! You mean I can’t ask not to do something that bothers me until we are in private? I don’t think so, and I told her as much.
                I had asked nicely. I even said please and thank you. I didn’t bark it out. I didn’t call attention to it. I stated it calmly to her in a volume of voice that was intended only for her. That the others heard it because they found it more interesting than to carry on with their conversation is not my fault. Then I warned her, I would do my best not to call attention to her shortcomings around others, but if I felt uncomfortable about anything she was saying, I would have to say something about it without delay.
                Perhaps this is when the beast was born. Lyngbakr: the monster who lures the unsuspecting and then carries them under the sea. It didn’t seem to bother her that I stood my ground. We carried on that day, having a delightful time with laughs and talks and stories and smiles.
                The next day at sea, and for the rest of our time on the ship, Beth was a different woman. Oh, there were times when the woman I had gotten to know the previous 3 months was with us. As a VIP on board the Spirit, I was invited to a small cocktail party hosted by the captain. I invited her, of course, and we even dressed up for the occasion. There were elegant canapés with caviar and shrimp and cream cheese on toast and the booze was flowing. The top officers were there in their ornamental dark uniforms with gold trim. She really appreciated having gone with me and said so numerous times. We even had sex that night. But for the most part on the voyage, she had become Lyngbakr and was dragging me into the deep.
                She slept all day. There was one day where she was only awake for 5 hours. Another night, I came in to go to bed around 2AM and she got up and went out. From what I could tell, she spent much of her time outside the room smoking in the lounge one deck up. I know that our room stunk to high heaven of cigarette smoke emanating from her clothing. And she had promised that she was going to quit for the cruise.
                When she did come to dinner with our group of new friends from the on line community, she complained about the food; not as bad as the scene she made in the Italian place, but close. She’d take a bite of a dish and push it back with a face of a child and exclaim, “Well, this is awful!”, as if to wish for the whole table to understand that she was displeased.
                At one point, one of our new friends leaned over to me and asked what was wrong with her. I explained that I had only known her for a few months and I guess she is one of those who need to complain about things to feel alive. It got to the point where others in our group began to complain to me about her as well. I was even asked if she had a drinking problem. And then I learned from a friend that she had gone of her meds right after Miami.
                “Off her meds? What meds?” One thing I didn’t know was that she was bi-polar and decided to stop taking her medicine to help regulate the condition. Why she would chose such a time is beyond me. It certainly explained the sudden turn of behavior in my friend.
                All I knew was that I was going crazy. I couldn’t go to the room and not find her in bed. I enjoy having my room attended to in the morning. I was receiving daily treats from various ships’ officers as a perk of being on the VIP list. There were days I didn’t get my treat, because she was in bed with the ‘do not disrupt’ sign on the door. One day, I found that my plate of chocolates was gone; my fancy delicate chocolates with the ship’s logo emblazoned across the top. She ate them; this after complaining to me several times at how her roommate back home was eating her food from the fridge! She told me she even wanted to dupe her by somehow contaminating a dish and leaving it for her roommate to eat.
                The last I could bear from her shipboard behavior came a few nights before reaching Barcelona. I was in the disco with friends, enjoying libations and dancing. While taking a break and sitting with a guy I knew, I saw two uniformed security officers enter the club. I’d seen them do this on rounds before, but I immediately knew these were not rounds. They were looking for someone. My heart sank.  I knew it was me they sought. Sure enough, they approached and asked if I was Mr. Penguin, rooming with Miss Lyngbakr. Yes, I was that poor soul.
                They had just escorted Beth to our room after finding her too intoxicated to make it back on her own. She was discovered in a bar, where others informed the officers that she had only ordered one drink. I explained that she was on medication for a health issue and maybe she had taken too many; or secretly, maybe she was drinking from the supply of vodka in our room! But perhaps more importantly- both!
                I was asked to go with them to check on her and make sure she didn’t need medical assistance. Jerry came along as well. I opened our door and was greeted with Beth’s bare ass, stuck between the bed and the wall. I grabbed the towel animal our steward had made and covered her up. With Jerry and the security lady, the 3 of us managed to get her back in bed. Apparently, she had attempted to use the restroom. She got her pants down, but fell and got stuck and passed out. Needless to say, she no longer needed to use the restroom.
                At this point, I was over it. I was this close to asking for a new room. The new low was the following morning explaining to our room steward that after Miss Lyngbakr awoke, he’d need to replenish all of our linens and bed coverings. He sure got a nice tip from me on the last day for that!
               
The hell of the cruise was over. I had loved the cruise and now had so many new friends. I assumed that she hated the cruise and that was the reason for spending it in our room sleeping and watching movies. I never had the chance to ask, because I had eventually given up on trying and we saw so little of one another. She even stopped joining us for dinner. Simply, she had just given up. Hopefully that would all change now that we were on land.
We were finally in Barcelona and were eager to experience this wondrous city none of us had been to. Of course, Beth had again over-indulged the previous night and before leaving the cabin, she relieved her stomach of its contents quite unexpectedly.
We got to the neighborhood in which our apartment was located. I called to have someone meet us with the key and while we waited, Beth needed someone to escort her to a nearby restroom; quickly. Only this time it wasn’t her stomach.
When we got to the apartment, we settled in for a bit. Nathan and Kit rushed me, exclaiming they wanted to share the room I had chosen and that Will and Jerry could share the room with Lyngbakr. I didn’t care; I had spent enough time in a small room with her and my reward was the one large bed in a room that didn’t include her. Another reward was that my room had a drawing of a Picasso penguin. It was fate!
At my urging, we selected a time at which to finish up settling in so that we could go out and explore the city a little. After all, I hadn’t come all this way to sit in a small Spanish apartment. They agreed, and after catching up their statuses on line, we were ready to head out. As we did so, Beth lay down on her bed and got under the covers, making it apparent that she would not be joining us. For this reason, not much was said about it by anyone. After all, she had spent much of the morning in the restroom, so we weren’t exactly surprised.
What did surprise me was that much like on the ship, she continued to stay in bed for most of her stay in Barcelona. She only went out in the evenings and usually that was to go to a bar. She never went sightseeing. She didn’t go on any tours. She never left our neighborhood. There was one day she never spoke to any of us but Will; and we later found out from him that she was being a Lyngbakr to him as well. One morning, she and Jerry were getting into it, as they often did. Will, who had the misfortune of sharing the room with them, turned over in his bed and asked that they turn out the light. She reprimanded him by commenting that she should simply die then, since she wouldn’t be able to see what medicine she needed to take. Oh, I guess she went back on them? Most likely not; she had many to take.
At night, we would announce sightseeing plans for the following day and invite anyone to join. She never said a word. We weren’t going to make her have a good time in Barcelona. We’d come a long way and wanted to get out without having to wake her and wait for her to ready herself. She knew the plans and if she wanted to join us, she could have done so.
The drama was much more than passive-aggressive. One morning she informed us that the night before she was attacked and nearly raped. We felt awful for her, until reading on line that her story didn’t match what she told us in the apartment. As proof, she showed us bruises on her arms. They appeared to be the same ones she got from getting her back into bed when she entrapped herself that night on the ship.
The following night, she tells us she heard a woman screaming. Fearing she was about to be raped, Beth goes downstairs to assist and was again, attacked, but she kicked the shit out of him. Later, in a post she made on line, she stated that one of the six of us had nearly been mugged on our first night. I went around to everyone to find out who this was and what happened, since I hadn’t heard about it. No one was nearly mugged. We doubted anything she said at this point.
Nathan, Kit and I traveled really well together- and even Will, but he usually had his own agenda. We spent a good deal of time exploring the city and dining out. We all liked to see as much as possible and had similar travel habits. However, it got to where, upon heading back to the apartment in the evening, we’d wonder to each other what had befallen ‘Drama Central’ that day. More arguments with Jerry? Another attack? It was scary.
I felt bad for her. But I had reached out to her more than once and she always closed down. She had trained me on the ship that I could try, and maybe she’d come around to near normal for a few hours. But then she would return to the dark side, close down and sleep all day. I was on vacation, not a bi-polar summer camp, after all.
While dancing early one morning in a disco with Nathan is when I had my pocket picked. I lost most of the next day dealing with that issue. As horrible as that was, it was nothing compared to being drug under a black ocean by Lyngbakr.
When we returned home, she commented on how bad a place Barcelona was. She shared her stories of rapes and muggings and of being abandoned in the apartment while we all went out and had fun. I couldn’t stand it. I posted back to her so that others could understand; she didn’t know Barcelona because she never saw it, so it was an unfair review. She wasn’t abandoned; she chose not to go out with us, even if we secretly hoped she wouldn’t. There were other people to hang out with besides Nathan, Kit and me, who she came to call the Three Musketeers. But most importantly, she needed help. There is no doubt that she had a bad time. She needed to be back on her meds and she could obviously use some good therapy. I knew she wouldn’t listen to me, so I hoped others could see through the veil and offer her that which she needed.
After we had all returned to America, Beth defriended us on line, telling others that I was spreading lies. Most everyone saw through this and many have lent me their support. It’s all drama under the bridge at this point. She is out of my life and I am out of hers. I survived the Lyngbakr. Barely; she nearly ruined what was close to being a perfect vacation. I would have gladly sacrificed the contents of my pocket if only that would have made the rest go away. I missed the woman I came to know in the month before we set sail.
She and I had a great few months together, and even a few good times on our cruise across the Atlantic. For me, it was a great trip; and it was a horrible trip. I’d do it all over again- with someone other than a Lyngbakr.   

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Penguin’s Cruise to Bermuda

Penguin cruises to Bermuda by Penguin Scott

The trip hadn’t started off as I had hoped, yet as I emerged from the underground tunnel of the East River into Manhattan, I smiled and knew things would be fine. It was a beautiful fall day in New York and Stevie Nicks was on the radio; this was a good sign. The buildings looked down on me and people moved about seemingly at a slower pace than normal for the city. It was still early in the morning on a Sunday and I was so very tired. Maybe everyone was.

Penguin on the Veendam sails down the Hudson

I’d flown in on the redeye from San Francisco and had been expecting to be in first class. The flight loads had been looking good for this to happen until an hour before the flight, when all of a sudden there were more people clamoring for seats than were open on the flight. So instead of a nice lie-flat seat where I could get a decent nap on the 6 hour flight, I had to ride in the one and only open flight attendant jump seat. As a flight attendant, I fly for free if there are open seats, which includes the jump seat. Open jump seats have saved my trips more times than I’d like to admit.

Another wonderful benefit of my job is access to inexpensive cruise vacations. Cruise lines do not like empty rooms on a cruise ship for some reason, so they often dump open rooms for really cheap on a few web sites I have access to. The prices are so attractive, they are often very difficult to refuse. And this time, I had the time off from work due to an injury and my travel account had money in it to cover the costs. All I needed was a travel companion.

When cruising, I never care where the ship goes; I cruise for the experience of being on a ship and not for the destination. I like the pampering and how rich I feel on a cruise. I like dressing up for 5-course dinners and taking in a show afterwards. I love meeting people at high tea and enjoy a glass of bubbly at the art auctions. Yes, cruising is a great way to pamper one’s self and for me, it’s quite affordable.

Of course, when trying to find a companion, everyone wants to know where it’s going. This one was to Bermuda. I’d never been, so that was alluring for me. I love putting another pin in the map of places I’ve gone. But I wasn’t overly excited about Bermuda; I’ve done islands so many times. No, this vacation was simply about being on a boat, clear and simple.

My problem with cruise deals, which are often very last minute, is that my friends can never seem to get the time from work. Or if they can, they don’t have the money. And even though my friends can’t fly for free, which makes the vacation a little more expensive for them, it’s still a deal that’s hard to pass up. But even as attractive as these cruise deals were, there were not enough and the ship sailed without me.

The following week, the web site again had the same deal for the same ship to the same destination. I tried again to find a companion. After a few more days, the deal was still there and I decided, screw it, I’d go by myself! I called on a Wednesday and booked it and started getting ready right away, I’d be leaving in only 3 days. I’d have to pay double for going alone, and that plus the taxes was still a good deal. So Saturday night, I was off to the airport for my little vacation.

And what a rocky start it was. Had that jump seat not been available, it would have been very hard to get to the boat in time, as the next flight in the morning wouldn’t allow me time enough to get to the pier. I could have flown overnight to Chicago or Boston, but those flights were also oversold. As upset as I was to be missing out on enjoying champagne in first class, I was just happy to be on the flight and headed for New York.

Everything else worked out great. The weather was wonderful; clear, blue skies, very comfortable temperatures, slight breeze. My plan was to take the subway, but the flight attendant advised me of a bus that, for just a few extra dollars, would be so much better. It was. It deposited me about a mile from the pier. I was going to take a taxi, but it was just so beautiful, I decided to walk; after all, my bags rolled just fine. And what a wonderful walk it was, taking me through part of Hell’s Kitchen.

I was one of the first to arrive at the port and was rewarded with a number one card for boarding. I checked in easily and after a slight wait for the ship to be ready, boarded Holland America’s MS Veendam, the smallest ship I’d been on yet. She was decked out in flags fluttering in the breeze and seemed even smaller against the wall of towering buildings from Manhattan.

After boarding, I first went to my stateroom and immediately met the two men who would be servicing it all week. They called me by name and I was quite impressed! After a quick look around the boat, I found my way to the Lido for lunch and took some photos on my phone so I could impress my friends back home with the fact that I was on a wonderful cruise vacation. Maybe next time I could drag a few with me!

Sailing down the Hudson River alongside the tall buildings of Manhattan was quite impressive. Sailing past the Statue of Liberty was a thrill. Going under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge was neat. And I even liked the high-rolling seas on our first night. I’m an odd bird; love turbulence in the air and feeling the boat move on the seas if fine with me. My room was at the very rear of the boat, so I feeling the seas would be certain!

I liked this ship. It was smaller than most these days, but very quaint and elegant. The show room had tables like an old cabaret might. There was only one pool which could be covered in inclement weather. And, fortunately for me, it was easy to meet people, as one was constantly running into the same people. It’s easy to get to know people on a smaller boat and I really liked that, especially since I was sailing solo.

On the very first day I started meeting others. By the second day I’d met more and by the third day I had found a group of friends to do things with. We had happy hour every night and there was never a worry for whom to dine with at dinner (I had been assigned open dining, which meant I didn’t have an assigned table with the same table mates all week). In port, I usually did my own thing, and actually, I never even left the boat at our first port stop in Bermuda. Days were always full with activities, lectures, shows, lessons and such. Of course, most days, I found a need to squeeze in a nap to keep up with my nocturnal activities. These included the after-dinner show in the theater and usually ended up with music and dancing in the Crow’s Nest, the club at the top and front of the vessel.

My new friends were really fun; mostly other flight attendants. They got to know some of the actors from the show, and before I knew it, we were having them dine with us at dinner. It was fun getting to hear about their time spent on the ship and how they rehearsed for the shows. I also enjoyed the attention from others, eyeing us as they recognized the performers.

Dinner with new friends and a few of the actors.

I had a wonderful week and found this to be the best cruise vacation I’ve had so far. The food was fantastic, best of the three ships I’ve been on. I gained about 7 pounds during the week, and that was even after avoiding the midnight buffets! I got to speak with the captain while he made pizza and went on a tour the main kitchen. I enjoyed exploring Bermuda and taking photos. The best part of the cruise was making so many new friends; from Ruth, who was celebrating her 100th birthday, to a group of American Airlines retirees I met at tea. And if I thought I was hooked on cruising before, well, I’m hopeless now. Let’s go!

This link takes you to highlight photos from my trip: https://picasaweb.google.com/107950777569456838804/BermudaCruiseHighlights?feat=email#

If you want to see more, see the videos or were on my cruise and want to see photos I may have taken of you, the rest of my photos are found at this link: https://picasaweb.google.com/107950777569456838804/BermudaCruise91811?feat=email#

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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.