Work on a holiday? Thanks, but no thanks.

Memorial Day, sitting outside with a good book and a cold drink under a sunny sky, I received a somewhat snarky text from my sister. "In your blog, could u explain why a gate is not ready when u land?  And why does it take so long to open the door?  Lovingly, your sis."  Now I agree, she doesn't sound very "loving" at this moment.  And that's my point.  Flying can send even the most rational, calm and seasoned traveler (said sister) into a tailspin.  (She later shares lurid details of a horrendous travel day complete with cancellations, mechanical delays and hordes of holiday travelers, leading to her less than charming text.)

  Sometimes we say people check their common sense with their luggage, but we can't really say that anymore because hardly any one checks their bags nowadays.  (But, that's another story for another day.) I once spilled tomato juice on a priest who was reading his bible.  My first thought, after "****"  (under my breath) was "Thank heavens (!) I spilled on a priest, and not the crazy lady in 4C with her white linen dress and holier than thou attitude." Wrong. The priest, with a big glob of tomato juice on his shoulder, looked up at me and as I was apologizing, getting towels, talking about using club soda to get the stain out, and said nothing.  This, of course, made me talk more.  I heard myself say "Thank heavens (!) you're wearing black.  This should wash out easily.  Where are you headed today?"  Still nothing.  His neighbor finally looked up at me, and with a wink, said, "Young lady, I'll have a Sprite.  Because if you spill it on me, it won't stain, right?" And with that, the priest let out a noise, kind of a combination of a snarl and a hiss, and looked back down at his bible. 

So, the answers to your questions, sis?  I'll get back to you on that.  It's a holiday, and I'm NOT at work. And, there's a reason for that.

And one more thing:  Buh Bye, now.

Fly Free?

The first reaction most people have after hearing you work for an airline is "Oh, you get to fly for free, right?"  Yes, we do.  Mostly.  International flights have a nominal fee, and some airports charge taxes for entry, but yes, we do fly for free.  Not so fast, however.  My standard comment is 1)  We can get on flights that  nobody else wants to go on and 2) We can go when nobody else wants to go. As we all know after 9/11, bankruptcies, and the price of fuel, seat capacity has gone down and consolidation has made it very hard to get anywhere.  In what I like to call the "Highs and Lows of working for an airline" (get it?) one day I can be on a first class flight to Australia, with seats that lay completely flat and be served champagne before the rest of the passengers even board.  The next day I can spend hours, which turns into days, trying to get on a plane to Tulsa, Oklahoma.  Yesterday I took a short little hop and ended up getting the next to the last seat, and it was even a window exit row seat.  Perfect.  I noticed the woman next to me did not seem at all happy about me sitting there, but I was there and I wasn't leaving.  (Well, sometimes the gate agents do come and take us off if a regular, full fare paying passenger shows up late and wants their seat).  That's obviously a "low" of flying free. 

Luckily, the flight was relatively short and sweet, because my seat mate sent me evil glances about every 10 or so minutes.  I had showered, I had all my body parts in my seat, and I even let her hog the middle armrest.  As we taxied into the gate at our destination, she turned to me and said "How did you get that seat?  When I checked the seating chart a half hour before the flight, that seat was open." I knew I couldn't tell her the truth, that I was in the seat for FREE, because I worked for the airline.  She would have hit me with her very large Gucci bag, that frankly, really didn't fit underneath the seat in front of her, but I was off duty, and not about to tell her that.  I smiled widely at her, and said, "Oh, I'm a million miler (well, I clearly am) and I was here early and the gate agents very kindly put me on an earlier flight so I could visit my aging, ill grandfather before he goes into a nursing home tomorrow. Wasn't that kind of them?"

Properly chastised, she turned away. When I saw her again in baggage claim, she walked as far away from me as she could.  Imagine if I would've told her the truth.  Gucci bags leave big bruises.  Believe me, I know. 

LaLa Land

Today took me to Los Angeles and back. Lala land. It proved to be a lala kind of day. During boarding, a man was standing right beside me going to his seat. He looked at me and said "Do you have an air sick bag?" As I rummaged for one in the closest seat, he let loose and projectile vomited all over me, my seat, another passenger, his bags and the aisle. As we ran for cleaning supplies all the while holding our noses, passengers just kept walking right through the "mess" to get to their seats, even though we directed them elsewhere. It was, to say the least, not very appetizing at 8:00 in the morning.


After we took a delay, for cleaning said mess, de-icing, and who knows what else, we left an hour late. That left everyone thirsty, hungry and cranky. While we bumped around the mountains, a passenger said to me
"Did you know that there's a kitten running loose around the plane?" "No" I said. "Are you sure it's not a rat or a mouse and not a kitten?" (Editor's note: A mouse or rat running around a plane would be much more likely than a kitten). "No", he said, "it's for sure a kitten." So, I start looking around while carrying a bag of trash in my hand, and I spot the kitten,sticking it's tiny little head out from beneath a seat. I reach down and grab her, and I walk down the aisle with a large, overfull garbage bag in one hand and a kitten in the other. Talk about feeling like you're in lala land! We make a PA--"If you have brought a kitten on board and that kitten is not in it's approved luggage carrier, please come to the back galley and claim your kitten."

A woman strolls back and claims her kitten, while she is purring in my lap. I must say, holding that purring kitten was the highlight of my day. Much better than cleaning up the remains of 33C's breakfast.

Endings....and Beginnings....

One of the best things about this job is that every single day is different. Even if you do the same flight over and over, the group of people that is gathered together that day is new, the crew is different, etc. That's good for those of us who get bored easily, or those of us (me) who are always interested in meeting new and different people. Last week, my longtime girlfriend did her last trip, as she is retiring after 31 years of flying. It is bittersweet, to leave this job that becomes a lifestyle. We celebrated in style, with flowers, dinner and wine in Paris and friends meeting us at the end of the flight. There were tears, hugs and many good wishes for the future without this job; with no more jet lag, no more crabby passengers, no more layovers. On this same flight, during boarding, an obviously ebullient passenger walked by with a huge smile, saying "Hello!" I replied "Hello, how are you?" He said: "Fabulous! I surprised my girlfriend in Paris and asked her to marry me!" Me: "She apparently said yes by the looks of your smile?" "Yes, she did" he said. "She's right behind me." As I got to know them and their story, their short courtship, how they both knew by the end of their first date that each other was "the one", their plans for their future, I felt extremely lucky to be a part of this special moment for the two of them. The rest of the crew and I showered them with champagne, chocolates and attention, and by the end of the flight, insisted on keeping in touch so that we would know the end of the story. With this job, you see many beginnings, many middles, but not so many ends. Passengers come on the flights, connections are made, then everyone goes their own way. But in this case, Krista and Blake, please let us know how this beautiful love story turns out. Because we all fell in love with you two, with your promise and youth and pure happiness. And your beginning.

No to Kindles in Airplane Lavs

As I've written about before, there are lots of rules on airplanes. There has to be. It's a tiny space, crammed with people who don' t know each other, aren't familiar with the procedures, are ready to blow at any moment. But this weekend, several new P.A. announcements came to mind. "Ladies and Gentleman: As there are 257 of you, and 6 lavatories, it is never a good idea to settle into the lav with a KINDLE. There will be a line up of people, angry people, who, when you finally open the door with said kindle in hand, 20 minutes later, will want to choke you. You are not in your bathroom at home, which 1) doesn't have blue fluid in the lav, and 2) is usually bigger than a closet (and smells way better, let's hope). "


Announcement number 2) "Ladies and Gentlemen: Although I just spent the last five minutes going over our service and all the products available during this flight to eat and/or drink, I will gladly repeat them at every row, and even every person if necessary. But, when I do repeat that whole, REALLY long list, please listen to it. After I go through that list for the 100th time that flight, please don't then say "do you have buttermilk?" Really? Have you been to a restaurant, or frankly, anywhere, lately, that has buttermilk? Do they even make it even more? Isn't it awfully bad for you? Hasn't it been outlawed in most states?


So, in conclusion, please, no kindles in the airplane lavs. And, no buttermilk has ever been served on an airplane. Ever. And hopefully, never will be.

Labor Day

While Stephen Slater brought a lot of attention to our career, today is a good day to thank all those who labor on holidays to get us where we want to go, who give up time with their families to serve us. Working with the public is an incredibly demanding profession. I've always thought it should be a requirement for graduation from high school. I think kids would learn more from one shift at McDonalds then three months of Calculus. Remember, the person serving you in a restaurant, airplane, shop, etc. is a real person with real problems and concerns. Please treat them kindly, respectfully, like you would want to be treated. No snapping, poking, pulling or yelling. Right after 9-11 someone pulled on my jacket to get my attention, and I thought I'd go through the roof. I turned around and practically decked the guy, and all he wanted was a beer.
A friend of mine tripped and fell down face first in the aisle when a passenger had a carry on sticking out too far. Luckily, there was a man right behind her to help her up. Or not. He leaned down and said "Can I get a Coke?" We also have a lot of people walk on our airplanes and say "Smile." OK. Let me put a frozen, fake smile on for 8-10 hours. I feel better already.

Some passengers bring us chocolate, and one particularly lovely woman one Christmas brought us homemade chocolate chip cookies and a card. You don't have to go that far, of course. If you really want to make someone's day, today or any day, all it takes is a smile and a "thank you for your service." It makes all the difference.

Galley Talk Email Updates

If you would like to receive email notification when new articles are posted, sign up as a "Follower".

A message will be delivered to your email address only when new content is published. This makes it easy to stay current with Galley Talk's updates without having to check daily.

Men Behaving Badly

On a plane at any one given time, someone is behaving badly. You might think that would be the unaccompanied minor, sad to leave one parent, anxious to see the other parent, etc. Or it could be the High School Band, who has been fundraising for 6 months to afford their trip to play in the Disneyland parade, delirious with excitement. Or the children, of all ages, stuck in a seat for hours on end. But no. This week, it was the men.

It started with the argument over the definition of an aisle. Me: "Sir, your bag needs to go in the overhead bin because it is blocking the aisle." 6B: "This isn't an aisle." Me: "What do you mean?" 6B: "This is an aisle" (pointing to the center aisle). "This is not an aisle" (pointing to the aisle in front of his feet). Me: "Well, I think the gentleman at the window would disagree, because if he needed to exit the airplane in an emergency, this would be his aisle." 6B: "I would lift the bag out of his way." Me: "OK. Enough. I'm not going to argue the definition of an aisle at this point. Put the bag in the bin, or it gets checked." I sigh, and walk away. 6B is full of delight at his keen observations about aisles.

During the ascent to 10,000 feet, a call light rings. Is it an emergency, or a mistake? I make the upward walk, legs aching, holding on to every seat, to 33A. "Does this flight have food?" Again, a middle aged man. 'Yes, but let's chat more about that when I can actually walk, and the lead will make an announcement and let you know what is available to eat." 33A: "But, I need to know when I can get food. And a beer." Me: "Again, that information will come. I need to sit down before I am part of the ceiling."

On to the meal service. Believe it or not, some flights actually have meals!! (only very.............long flights. Don't get too excited.) While serving the meal, I ran out of the choice of chicken or pasta. 44E threw his lunch on the table when I said I had run out of chicken and only had pasta left. He went on to list all the wrongs that had been done to him by my airline, and my crew in particular. When we offered him miles, drinks, etc. for one of his legitimate concerns, he said no to everything, and pouted and gave us dirty looks every time we walked by.

At landing, thinking we had seen all the bad behavior we needed for the moment, the flight attendant sat down on her jumpseat. Her newspaper was stuck in her jumpseat because that's one spot where no one will steal it. As she sat on her jumpseat and thus her newspaper, she pulled the paper out from under her. The MAN across from her blithely noted: "I thought you were going to read that out of your ass."

Now, I know, the tide will turn and next week it will be someone else behaving badly. But this week, if you don't try to give me an english lesson, and don't pout or stomp your feet, and are 7 years old-for real - you will be my favorite passenger.

The Time Zone Trot

If you see me this week and I seem 'out of kilter' (well, ok, more than normal), here's why: I had no Thursday but two Friday's, no Sunday morning but two Tuesday's, and Saturday was pretty much a wash. This is the life of an international flight attendant flying transcontinental flights (what she can remember of them). Even as I write this it makes no sense. During the course of a week (due to fatigue) I lost (and found) my ID badge, my camera, several pair of readers and my ipod. I couldn't remember how old my son was. I didn't know why I was hungry for breakfast at four o'clock in the afternoon. When a passenger asks me what my route is, I think "I don't even know where I am now?" and when deciding when to eat, sleep, etc. I decide to follow the Buddhist saying: "Eat when you're hungry. Drink when you're thirsty. Sleep when you're tired." So, two days past the time zone trot, at three o'clock in the afternoon, I'm hitting the sack. It's bedtime somewhere.

Happy Mothers Day

I was chatting with the family sitting across from my jumpseat, coming from a holiday cruise. They were telling me about their vacation, and how much fun their 15 year old daughter had, returning home with many new numbers (mostly guys) in her cell phone and sadness at leaving her new friends. The dad (we'll call him Mike) mentioned that his parents were returning from an extended stay in Costa Rica the following Tuesday. "I'm working that flight!" I said. "They are in First Class and they're in their late 80's and their names are -----------------, Mike said. I promised to look them up and went on with my duties. As has become a quite annoying habit lately, I forgot all about this incident until about 15 minutes before landing on the flight Mike's parents were on. I walked up to the front of the airplane and quickly figured out who Mike's parents were. They were sitting quietly holding hands watching the airplane descend through the clouds. I introduced myself and explained that I had met their son and his family on another flight several days prior. "Mom's" face lit up, and as we talked about their vacation, her son's vacation, her grandchildren and I said "I have to tell you something." When Mike and his family boarded the plane and settled in, they noticed an older woman struggling with her baggage. Mike jumped up, and without any prompting, followed this woman to the back of the plane simply to help her stow her luggage. He, of course, got stuck at the back of the plane, and when he finally returned I thanked him over and over for what he had done. He didn't understand why I was making such a big deal about it, until I explained that I see so much bad behavior, that I am really touched when I see good, kind, giving behavior. Mike said, "That's what I was taught growing up by my mother."

So, here's the really cool part of the story. I got to tell Mike's mother, a perfect stranger, something lovely her son had done, and even though he was 55 years old and the lessons she had taught him were a long time ago, her smile turned even bigger and she just shook her head and said "That's Mike. That sounds just like him." And she got tears in her eyes, and I got tears in my eyes, and I knew that I would never forget that moment.

For my boys: You make me proud to be your mother. And you always will.

And for my mother: You left us too soon. I miss you everyday. and I love you, to the moon and back.