Around the World in a Bad Mood! (7 page)

“T
ESTING, ONE-TWO-THREE.
. . . hello? Is this thing on? Oh, for Christ's sake. . . . OK. Welcome aboard We Apologize for This Inconvenience Airlines, also known as WAFTI. OK, this is flight 5050 to, ummm . . . to . . . let's see here, today we are going to . . . umm, well we will figure that out later, ummm, it's on your ticket if you really need to know. This flight is under the command of Captain Booze, assisted by First Officer Chance, and as we like to say here at WAFTI, if Booze and Chance can't get ya there . . . nothing can! All right then, moving on. My name is Mona—Mona Lott—and I'm your senior indentured servant for this flight. Once airborne, if we should ever live to see the day, this flight will take about four hours to get to wherever the hell we're going! We will not be showing a movie on today's flight because we don't feel like passing out the headsets, plus people never have the correct change and I'm getting sick of spending the whole flight trying to change a fifty when I could be sitting in my jumpseat reading
People
magazine. Now for your comfort we have four lavatories on this aircraft: one in first class and three in coach. However, only one is working, so pace yourself on the drinks! The airphones are not working, we have only three pillows and two blankets, and we're short two flight attendants, fifty-five meals, and one good engine. And by the way, this flight is oversold. We do not have any magazines or newspapers, but we do have the pamphlet
How to Deal with Anger in a Positive Nonviolent Way
. Today we will be passing these pamphlets out in lieu of the meals. In the meantime, please remember that to be human is to know pain and suffering and to be a prisoner—I mean, a passenger—on WAFTI is to know rage. We here at WAFTI appreciate your business and we want you to know that we're constantly upping our standards. . . . So up yours!

“Now it is time for the safety demonstration. This information could save your life so please pay attention, and remember ladies and gentlemen, next time your plans include air travel, wherever your final destination may be, please keep this thought in mind: Flight attendants are on board the aircraft to save your ass, not kiss it! Is my crew ready? All right, it's time for the ‘Safety Demo Shuffle.' I will now be dimming the cabin lights to enhance the beauty of our flight attendants. Oh yes, one more thing: When the captain turns on the seat-belt sign I want to hear
one
click! Sit back, relax, and enjoy your trip.”

S
AFETY
D
EMO
S
HUFFLE

If you've never traveled by car

this is your seat belt, please know

where they are. To fasten the belt,

just pull till it's tight and don't let

go till the end of the flight!

This is for safety, especially yours, pay

close attention as we point out the doors,

please keep in mind this aircraft has eight,

they all have slides and we hope they inflate.

If we have to get out, there won't be much time,

so head for the door and follow in line, should the

cabin lose pressure, place this mask on your nose,

if the plane's going down, just reach for your toes,

if we have a water evacuation, use your tushy

cushion for your flotation, pull up and remove,

then hold to your chest, dive in the water, and

hope for the best!

A few more reminders, then off on our way:

No smoking, no cell phones, no meals today!

Thank you for flying, we're glad to arrive.

If you want to get there faster, if you want

to get there sooner, if you just want to get there

why don't you drive??? We dooooooo!!!!!

S
O, THERE I WAS
living in a studio apartment with Bitsy and a bunch of other new flight attendants who came as quickly as they left. To call it an ever-changing cast of characters would be an understatement. We did have a lot of fun, and the neighbors thought it was something to have all these wacky chicks coming and going. And wacky we were!

I had started taking voice lessons and could be heard vocalizing at odd times of the day. I was also taking tap-dance lessons, and when none of the other girls was around I would practice my tap and vocalize at the same time, killing two birds with one stone. We also had a girl from Alabama living with us for the summer, Kitty O'Malley. Although she was a bit older, she was junior to us because she had started three months after we did. Kitty was quite pretty, recently divorced, and glad to be out of Alabama. She had a Southern drawl and a general Southern charm that drove the men crazy. Often I would come home from a trip to find Kitty sitting on the futon, sipping champagne with some Wall Street guy who was hoping to get to know Kitty a bit better. I always hated to break up the party, but I was exhausted and there was a house rule that those coming in or going out on a trip called the shots. Since I had just come in from a trip, whatever I said was the law of the land. After all, it was a one-room apartment. In any case, I think my wanting to lie in bed and watch television might have taken something away from their romantic evening. Kitty never seemed to mind, but I certainly got some evil looks from her assorted dates. Actually, the general layout of the place didn't really inspire romance. You walked in the front door and there you were in the middle of the kitchen. To the right was a little dressing area and a small bathroom, which always had panty hose, slips, and other hand washables hanging in the shower. To the left was a perfectly square room that had two tall windows that looked out to a brick wall. We had furnished it with two single beds (in front of each window), a futon across from one bed, and a tall plastic collapsing shelf unit across from the other. We also had some folding lawn chairs that we stored behind the shelf unit. There were always suitcases and uniform pieces strewn about the place, which gave it the feel of a flophouse rather than the pied-à-terre of international flight attendants. Bitsy had filled her side of the shelf unit with her mug collection. She had recently entered a phase where she was questioning her career: “What is the point of this insipid little job anyway?” she asked us daily. “All I have to show for the last four years of my life is a mug collection. Some people have homes, cars, kids, husbands. I have mugs.” Her mug collection consisted of a mug from every city she had ever visited, even if it was just to get off the airplane to buy a mug. Some of the mugs were pretty ugly, but they meant the world to her so we never asked her to get rid of them. They kind of grew on us after awhile.

Bitsy, Kitty, and I also had another girl living with us on a part-time basis. Her name was Rose. She had been flying for ten years and held terrific trips to Asia. She really lived in Phoenix, but since there was no base there Rose had to fly into New York the day before her trip. She always needed a place to spend the night. This is what's known as “commuting.” Some people think it's a big deal to have to commute an hour to work by car. People in the airline industry often spend eight hours getting to work by plane, and that's pretty much what Rose did. She would leave Phoenix on the first flight bound for JFK; if she didn't get on that one she would have to wait around for the next one. When and if she got to JFK she would then have to take the Carey bus into the city, and then a subway or cab up to the apartment. Then the next morning she'd have to get up and get ready and go back out to JFK for the trip she was assigned to work, and when she finished the trip three or four days later she would just hop on a flight back to Phoenix. If for any reason she missed the flight or couldn't get one, she would come and stay at the apartment again. Why would someone put themselves through this torture—and believe it or not a great many airline pilots and flight attendants do—just to get to work? Because they want to live where they want to live, and if there's not a base in that city then they have to get to a city where there is a base. Since we airline employees can fly for free, why not? It's complicated, but definitely part of the airline life.

Anyway, one hot August night all four of us went out carousing around the Upper East Side: smoking, drinking, and looking for men. Unsuccessful, we went home to the apartment, which lacked air-conditioning. We were all drunk as hoot owls. We were also a bit irritable because it was crowded with all four of us there at the same time and it was so bloody hot—even with the windows wide open and two fans blowing it still felt like an oven. None of us could fall asleep. Bitsy and I were each in our respective beds, and Kitty and Rose shared the futon.

“We should close the windows, it just brings more hot air in here,” Bitsy pointed out.

“I don't think so, if we close the windows we will just trap the heat inside; at least this way if there is a bit of a breeze, we might feel it,” Rose argued. We discussed this subject for about fifteen minutes and then Kitty got up, stumbled to the bathroom, and began taking a shower. She returned to her futon naked, with a bath towel soaked in cold water, and laid the cold, wet towel on top of her. I thought this was odd, but she said it felt wonderful and began to doze off. Then Rose decided to try this remedy, and it seemed to work just as well for her. I was next, and Bitsy was last. By the time Bitsy returned from the shower the rest of us had fallen asleep. Somehow in the darkness—with all the naked bodies and luggage lying about the place—Bitsy accidentally tripped. She tried to save herself from falling to the ground by grabbing the collapsible shelf unit. Unfortunately for Bitsy, the collapsible shelf unit collapsed, and all her mugs fell to the ground with a great crash. “Goddamnit, there go my mugs,” she screamed. “All I have to show for my miserable, banal, rotten life lies before me, shattered in a million pieces!”

We spent the next day taking inventory of which mugs had survived the great crash and which would have to be replaced. Billings, Paris, Chicago, Rio de Janeiro, Baton Rouge, Dallas, Cozumel, Aspen, and San Diego all survived. We were sad, however, to report that Boston; Washington, D.C.; Dublin; Tokyo; Lisbon; and Nashville were permanently destroyed. It would be very difficult to replace some of the goners because we had discontinued service to some of those cities. This was very disheartening for Bitsy because she figured that the ruined mugs represented at least two years of her life—gone in one fleeting moment. We observed a moment of silence in honor and in memory of the forever-lost mugs.

Although we all felt sad for Bitsy, the loss seemed to give her a renewed interest in her flying career. She decided to replace each and every one of those lost mugs and even to add new mugs to the collection. “The phrase ‘meaningful employment' has significance for me now. This has helped me find purpose in my job, my raison d'être. Finally, I have a career goal! I think I am going to pull through,” she said as she wiped away her tears and applied a fresh coat of lipstick.

I
T IS NO WONDER
we have an obesity epidemic in this country. Instead of trying to assuage the hunger of their souls with something meaningful and significant, people seem to choose to satisfy it with extra-large Diet Cokes, sugary doughnuts, greasy hamburgers, potato chips, and anything else that gives instant gratification and temporary fulfillment. Nowhere is this more apparent than on an airplane where you a have a cross section of society.

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Hello, can I get you a beverage?

P
ASSENGER:
Yes, I'll have a can of tomato juice, a bottle of water, and two cups of coffee with cream and sugar.

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Are you ordering for the whole row?

P
ASSENGER:
No, that's just for me. . . . I'm kind of thirsty.

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
I guess. Anything else?

P
ASSENGER:
Yeah, now that you mention it, I'll have a can of apple juice for later.

In addition to the rampant gluttony, I have also noticed that a great many people are completely unaware of anyone or anything else around them. I guess it's what you might call complete and total self-absorption. Recently, a passenger went in between two beverage carts while trying to get to his seat. Instead of recognizing that he was causing the flight attendants a lot of difficulty in serving the other passengers, he just stood there with his headphones on, doing some kind of Tai Chi stretches in the aisle.

Early in my career I witnessed a wonderful payback that illustrates the overall consciousness of certain people on the planet these days. A flight attendant was walking down the narrow aisle of the aircraft and she was carrying a stack of about six dirty dinner trays—one on top of the other—back to the galley. A very large passenger was walking up the aisle, and as he tried to navigate around the flight attendant he said, “Hey, get me a Coke, will ya? I'm thirsty.” Without missing a beat, the flight attendant answered, “Oh, you need a Coke, do you? Well here, hold these and I'll be glad to get you one.” With that she handed him the dirty trays and then very slowly walked back to the galley and poured him his drink.

Airline food has been the butt of many jokes over the years. People make fun of its quality, color, taste (or lack thereof), but as soon as you take it away people miss it! People used to complain about the food choices we offered: “All you have are three choices?! And all of them terrible! My God, what is the world coming to?” Then as we incurred some cutbacks and started giving everyone the same meal, people were downright appalled: “You mean everyone is getting the chicken? This is horrifying, I can't believe I don't have a goddamn choice!” To that fine gentleman I replied, “But sir, you do have a choice: eat or don't.” Now, as cost-cutting measures continue, we have not only eliminated the choice, but on certain flights we've eliminated the meal service altogether.

Just the other day a passenger reamed me out about the fact that there was no meal service on a one-hour flight at two in the afternoon. “What kind of cheap-ass airline is this anyway?” he inquired.

“One of the finest,” I said. He didn't appreciate my humor (they never do), and so I will now take this opportunity to address the food situation and hopefully put an end to all the malarkey about airline cuisine.
Airlines are in the transportation business, not the restaurant business!
The primary reason they put food on airplanes in the first place was to occupy the passengers during long flights when commercial air travel was new to the world. They should have put in libraries instead, but no, somebody had to come up with the idea of serving six-course meals. There have been many noble attempts over the years to create the impression of a five-star dining experience at thirty-nine thousand feet: regional variations, world-renowned chefs, elegant china, and the dreaded “special” meal. But these days it's more about logistics, portion control, and profit margin than fine dining—and everybody is pissed! Simply put, fine “whining” has replaced fine dining. When the airline tells you they'll be serving a five-course meal, it means an apple, a granola bar, cheese, crackers, and a mint in a paper bag.

The best way to handle this unfortunate reality is to lower your expectations. You might even try the self-reliance thing—you know, carrying a small supply of food with you. One would never go into a fine restaurant in New York City, consume a meal, and then expect to walk out of the restaurant and be in Chicago. The same should be true for the in-flight dining experience: As a passenger you are paying for
transport
from here to there, not for the bologna sandwich that we throw in your face. Try to think of the food as a sideshow, not the main attraction. I know the commercials tell you everything is going to be grand, but the truth is that you will be happier if you expect less and bring something of your own, just in case you don't like what we're serving (if we are serving anything at all). Also, most decent airports have improved their concourses and feature a pretty good selection of food. Personally, I try to bring my own food or to eat before I arrive rather than eat the plane food. Naturally, there are exceptions. If you have a close connection or a very long flight you might have to eat what is served on the plane. It won't kill you, but just remember: The flight attendants didn't plan the menu, prepare the food, or forget to put the food on the plane . . . they just serve it! So if you don't like it write a letter to the chef.

This brings me to another thing that has been “eating” at me for some time now; the special-meal protocol. As you may or may not know, airlines offer special meals for those passengers with special dietary needs. You can order them when you purchase your ticket. We don't have them on board unless you order them in advance, and sometimes even then we don't have them. Now, if you order a special meal it means that's what you will be served, it
does not
mean you have a choice of the special meal
or
whatever the unspecial meal is for all the unspecial people on board. Bottom line, you cannot order a vegetarian, kosher, or fruit-plate special meal and then ask if you can also have the regular meal. Sorry, but there's usually only enough food available for each passenger to have one meal.

Sometimes passengers who have ordered special meals try to act as if they are not the special person who ordered the special meal, just so they can have the standard meal. In this case, some poor slob gets stuck eating the liar's special meal or a few bags of lousy peanuts instead of the meal that is rightfully his. This will bring bad karma to you and it is recommended that if you go to the trouble of ordering a special meal that you eat it. Besides, we generally have a list of who ordered what and which seat they've been assigned. In other words, we can find you! I mention this because lately I've noticed an increase in the number of special meals on board; it seems that more and more people are ordering them, only to discover that the standard fare is the better fare. It really is getting out of hand—the other day I had nineteen special meals on board a breakfast flight! The only difference was that the vegetarian meal got peanut butter for the bagel rather than cream cheese. Not very special if you ask me! I think airlines should impose a small surcharge for ordering a special meal; that way only the people who really have to have a special meal would order one. Or better yet, get rid of the meal service altogether—I mean everyone seems to hate the food so much anyhow!

Ah, the meal service is such a chore, and everyone is miserable while it is happening. First of all, the poor passengers cannot get up because the cart completely blocks the aisle. Second, the flight attendant to passenger ratio makes it difficult to serve everyone in a timely manner. Third, it always seems that as soon as we pull the carts into the aisle we hit a patch of surprise turbulence that makes it all the more difficult to pour coffee. In the best interests of the traveling public I have compiled a list of ways that might help make the meal service a bit more bearable, at least for the flight attendants:

1. When ordering a drink—and God knows you'll probably need one after running through the airport, then being stuffed into a metal tube so crowded that it resembles a flying can of sardines, after which you'll be told that you will be sitting on the ground for at least an hour before takeoff—please try to have the exact change, or at least small bills. Once, a woman gave me a twenty-dollar bill for a vodka that cost $4.00 at 7:00
A.M
. in the morning. I didn't have the change and could not find it anywhere else, so I suggested she buy four more vodkas and we'd be even. She informed me that if she consumed five vodkas, she'd be drunk as a hoot owl. I pointed out that she didn't have to consume them on the plane during this particular flight. Instead she could take them with her and keep them in her purse. After all, when traveling these days you never know when you might need a little nip. She thought that was a wonderful idea and gave me another twenty and bought ten bottles. I'm sure this type of salesmanship is contributing to the downfall of our national moral character, selling people things that they don't need and that have an adverse impact on the individual, but sometimes it's every man for himself. I've also had people give me a big bill, say a fifty, and I've had to take a few moments to go locate their change. If I'm not back in ten minutes they start inquiring as to my whereabouts with the other flight attendants. “Where is the brown-haired stewardess, the one in the bad mood? I gave her fifty dollars a long time ago and she hasn't come back.” One time I was flying with a real wiseacre and she said, “Oh, you mean Rene. She took your cash and ran out the back door somewhere over Montana.”

2. If you're seated next to someone who rings the call button and summons the flight attendant because she'd like a cup of coffee, and you suddenly think that you'd like one too, don't hold it inside! Tell the flight attendant while he is there. Don't be shy, just blurt it right out: “I would like a cup of coffee too, please!” This way he can bring two cups of coffee in one trip. If you wait until he returns and then ask him if you could have a cup of coffee, he may kill you!

3. If you must set your meal tray on the floor because you have to return to your laptop, please have the courtesy to pick up the tray and hand it to the flight attendant when she comes through for garbage collection, rather than making the flight attendant bend down to pick up your dirty tray from the floor.

4. Never tap or poke a flight attendant. I have come home with bruises from passengers poking me in order to get my attention, even though I am standing there right next to them. One time a gentleman poked me in the rear end in order to get my attention, and I damn near hauled off and hit him. But I refrained and instead poked him back when it was time for me to answer his inquiry. Yes, it is loud on the plane with the engine noise, but most of us can hear and do respond to the following phrases: “Excuse me,” “Pardon me,” or even the simple “Sir,” “Ma'am,” or “Miss.” There is also that trusty call button located above your seat, right next to the reading light. So, poking or tapping your flight attendant is completely unnecessary.

5. Manners and common courtesy go a long way in an overcrowded airplane. Saying “please” and “thank you” make a world of difference, and you'd be surprised how many people neglect their importance.

6. When walking about the cabin it is advisable to wear your shoes. Especially if you are taking a trip to the lavatory. I have seen a great many people going in there barefoot. I'd like to state for the record, particularly for all of you who practice this disgusting habit, that the fluid on the floor in the bathroom isn't always water, if you know what I mean.

7. If you are interested in “seconds” (hard to believe, but true), wait until everyone on the plane has had “firsts.”

The last thing I'd like to remind people is that the flight attendants, just like waiters, are the last ones to touch your food or beverage before you consume it. Keep this in mind at all times and
bon appétit!