Confessions of a Hostie (16 page)

I would normally walk someone around the cabin in this situation, but decide to let this girl sleep it off. When she finally sleeps I slink back to the galley to rummage for something to eat and to tell Damien about our brain-dead friend's antics. As I try to scavenge any morsel of food, Damien stands up, turns to me and points towards the aisle. ‘You are not going to believe this!'

I look down the aisle to see the young girl staggering towards us. That is not the unbelievable thing that Damien pointed out though. She is naked, totally and utterly naked.

I grab the only spare blanket I can find and wrap it around her. She is totally oblivious to the fact that she has taken off all her clothes and is muttering ‘toilet, toilet'. I throw her into the toilet, close the door and stand outside, guarding it.

Deb returns from delivering drinks in the cabin and I ask her to call Geoff again. I need some pyjamas from the front of the plane, if there are any.

Geoff arrives with the last pair of pyjamas onboard. I tell him the story, and he chuckles. He is amused but not surprised; this has happened several times before in his career.

The young girl has been in the toilet for some time now.

I knock on the door, ‘Are you OK in there?'

No answer.

Geoff also tries, but there is still no answer.

I explain to Geoff that I have given her a blanket to cover herself. Geoff knocks a few more times, and then he decides to go in. He pushes the bi-fold door open to find the blanket crumpled on the floor and her sitting on the toilet, fast asleep with her legs wide open.

‘Hello, vicar,' I hear Geoff mutter as he closes the door again.

He hands me the pyjamas and says, ‘I think you better handle this one, Danielle.'

She is out cold. Although small and thin, trying to dress a collapsed rag-doll is almost impossible. She partially comes to as I slip the pyjamas on. I help her out of the toilet and back to her seat. Just as I am about to leave her, she throws up all over herself.

Could this flight get any worse?

In the meantime, Geoff had gone over to check on the Polynesian in the crew rest. He approaches me just as the young girl finishes vomiting and passes out again.

Geoff really does find the situation amusing and bursts out laughing.

Not seeing the humour in the moment I ask, ‘What is so funny?'

Geoff explains, ‘The big fellow in crew rest has just woken up and wants to go to the toilet. When I told him he wasn't allowed to go, he has called me every name under the sun.'

Once somebody is handcuffed onboard it is policy, as well as the law I guess, that they cannot be uncuffed until they have been handed over to the appropriate authorities. The Polynesian will be unable to use the toilet for hours.

Geoff continues, ‘This young girl is now throwing up, and I will bet any money that she will soil herself shortly. Why don't we make them a couple?'

Unsure of what Geoff means, I ask, ‘What do you mean a couple?'

‘Let's put her in the crew rest with King-Kong.'

Geoff does just that, and after about fifteen minutes I go to check on them. I open the curtain just a smidgeon and take a quick peek, already sure that one or both have indeed soiled themselves. I race back to the galley to tell Damien, ‘You must come and see this. This will cheer you up immensely.'

Damien follows me to the crew-rest area. The young girl is lying out cold there. The man responsible for his injuries is sitting in a pool of his urine and covered in vomit – not his vomit, but the young girl's – and he looks exactly like you would expect someone to look if they were handcuffed, facing jail, hung-over and sitting in your own excrement and covered in someone else's vomit.

Damien looks at the Polynesian and grins from ear to ear, ‘You, my friend, have just learnt how karma works'.

mai tai madness

After what can only be described as a night in hell, we finally arrive in Honolulu. The weather outside is in direct contrast to the storms we have endured on the aircraft.

However, before the passengers can leave, four of the biggest security officers enter the aircraft. It is US policy that in situations like this, the cuffed prisoner must be removed before any passengers are. The Captain has made a PA throughout the cabin, clearly explaining this procedure and requesting the passengers to wait until the Polynesian man had been taken away. There could be nothing more humiliating for the Polynesian man than being escorted past all the passengers, with his hands behind his back, his eyes looking down and his clothes covered in vomit and excrement.

Nobody should have had any sympathy for his behaviour and his predicament, but later – and this is a completely uncalled-for reaction – one of the cat owners seeks out the captain and tear strips off him, loudly and in front of everyone, about how disgusted she is with our airline for the unnecessary shaming of the Polynesian man. She suggests that the man should have been taken away after the passengers had disembarked, rather than having him walk through the cabin, handcuffed and escorted, in front of the other passengers.

Even with the captain clearly reiterating that this procedure was in fact not our airline's policy, but the law and procedure followed across every airport in the United States, her mind is probably in her kitty's litter. She continues her verbal barrage.

‘I will never fly with your airline again!' If she is so unreasonable and short-tempered, she might get restrained herself in the future, after a similar outburst. It is my experience that if people are unreasonable once, they will be unreasonable again, and again. I chuckle to myself as I imagine the irony of this woman being handcuffed (by another airline's crew) and being led through the cabin in front of all the other passengers.

The young girl, who is a few flowers short of a bunch, has escaped being cuffed herself by the sheer fact that she passed out and slept for the remainder of the flight. She was asleep even when security took away our Polynesian friend. We have been instructed to not let her leave the aircraft as Geoff has asked for a doctor to check her out. There is no need for us act as she is still passed out.

Unfortunately we cannot leave the aircraft until all the passengers have gotten off. By the time the doctor has come onboard, woken the young girl up, examined her and then assisted her to the aerobridge, a further twenty minutes have expired (along with what little patience we had left). None of the crew members have had any time off, and none of us have gotten a chance to eat. We can barely talk, let alone function. All we want to do is get to the hotel and collapse; the authorities, however, have other plans. We are all required to be interviewed over the Polynesian man's restraint and subsequent arrest. Even the FBI wants to have a chat.

Our airline has also requested that we stay back for a debriefing session. Our company doctor is on hand to assess Damien's injuries, and a psychologist has been called to assist us during the debriefing period. We are forced to wait a further lifetime for the psychologist to show up.

Suddenly, Geoff stands up and angrily says, ‘I think we've all had enough'. He then leads us all onto the crew bus. It is the first time I have seen Geoff so angry, and ironically he is fuming at our employer, rather than the incidents or the people that have caused all this drama.

When we get to the hotel I hardly have the energy to push open my room door. I usually have a shower and then set the alarm to allow myself four hours of sleep before I can hit the shops. This time I just fall onto the bed and fall asleep.

I wake up to find myself fully dressed and lying on top of the bed. I feel like I have slept for five seconds, but the bedside clock tells me otherwise. It reads 5:15.

5:15? Is that at night?

I look at my own watch. It is 5:15 in the afternoon.

Well, there go my shopping plans right out the door.

The crew has organised to meet downstairs at 6:00 p.m as usual. I rarely do the crew-drink routine these days, but after the ordeals we've been through, I need a drink – a damn big drink!

Every crew member turns up for drinks. Even Damien has turned up, with a plaster stuck on his nose and with sunglasses that hide his black eyes. He has recovered from the initial shock and is now revelling in all the attention he's getting. We all walk to one of my favourite bars in the world, Dukes, located right on the beach at Waikiki.

I order what almost every tourist orders in Hawaii – a Mai Tai. It barely touches the sides, so I order another, and another. They go straight to my head. It dawns on me that I haven't eaten anything for over twenty-four hours.

‘Food. I need food!' I slur to Damien.

We all stagger along the beach to another beachfront institution called the Shorebird. They give us a crew discount. Our airline doesn't give any discounts to the Shorebird's staff, but for some reason they, as well as a lot of other places, give us cheap food and cheap booze.

Who am I to question why?

I have never eaten so much food in my entire life. My stomach's full of food and booze, and I should be feeling tired, but I am not.

Let's party!

We end up at an Irish bar with the most fabulous band, and we dance the night away. I don't know how I got back to the hotel and at what time, but I vaguely remember dancing on top of a bar at one point. At least I managed to remember what room I was in and get back in one piece – I don't sometimes, even when I am sober.

* * *

I sit up with a jolt. The room is pitch-black except for the glow from the bedside clock: 2.15 a.m. Where the hell am I? And, more importantly, am I alone?

I come to the quick realisation that I am alone and that I am in fact still drunk. My call time is in less than two hours, so I need to sober up fast.

The company has a rule that we are not allowed to drink for eight hours before a flight. I think that means eight hours before take-off, although I have heard some crew joke that it actually meant eight feet from the aircraft. I know that technically I should be OK, but physically I am a wreck.

I get changed as quickly as my hung-over body will allow me to. I slip sunglasses over my bloodshot eyes, grab a towel and quick-step my way out of the hotel room.

But first I need a double shot latte.

I visit my good friend Mr. Starbucks and then head to the beach. I sip out every last drop of the lifesaving coffee-bean elixir and then throw myself into the Pacific Ocean. The crystal-clear water makes me feel a lot better, but a lot better than extremely lousy is still pretty lousy.

I race back to the hotel and make call-time by just twenty minutes. One of my greatest fears is to walk into a hotel foyer and see my crew waiting there. Fortunately, this has never happened to me, but it has happened to a number of my friends over the years. In such situations, we normally go one crew member down. I am positive that Damien won't be operating on our flight, so we will be working with a minimum crew compliment. Should another crew member go sick or not turn up, then we won't be going at all.

Although I would rather be sitting on Waikiki beach than working in an aluminium tube, I know I must soldier on as, I am sure, the other crew will too. The company doctor has decided that Damien will not operate, but instead will passenger home with us. We are down one and the flight is full, and all I can hope is that the flight shouldn't be as dramatic and tiring as the last sector.

Whilst walking through the terminal I see something that makes me sick to the stomach. It is Gabrielle Reiner, dressed in civilian clothing.

What the hell is Princess Gabrielle doing here?

She is obviously here on holiday, and is probably returning home on our flight. Or is she? When crew are travelling on their staff benefits, they can do so only on a stand-by basis and allowed to board based on the availability of seats.

After we board the aircraft Geoff pulls each of us aside and asks, ‘As you know, the aircraft is full. There is a staff member trying to get on the flight. Are you willing to give up a crew-rest seat for her?'

It is company etiquette to ask the crew if we are prepared to give up one or more of our entitled crew-rest seats. If one person in the crew says ‘no', then the crew seats are left vacant. Nine times out of ten, the crew approve, especially if we are flying on the larger aircraft, where we have bunks as well as three crew-rest seats. However, on a 767, this could become an issue. If we give the seats away we have nowhere to rest and nowhere to put problem passengers.

When my turns come up, I ask, ‘Who is the crew member, Geoff?'

Geoff purses his lips: ‘Gabrielle Reiner.'

I half smile, ‘Do you know Princess Gabrielle?'

He nods then replies, ‘I have only flown with her once, but I remember her well. She went sick during the meal service and miraculously recovered just before we landed. She apparently has a reputation for pulling this all the time.'

I can't help but give an evil grin, ‘Well, Geoff, I have never said no to giving up crew-rest for staff ever before, but today I will make an exception. So, that's a big fat
no
from me.'

Geoff couldn't be more pleased. ‘Good on you, Danielle. I'll let the ground-staff know.'

I did vow to repay Princess Gabrielle for making me work over Christmas, and repay her I have. Revenge is a dish best served cold, indeed.

some couples are meant to be together, some are not

The flight back home is a smooth one, at least compared to the flight over to Honolulu. I did get a break of an hour or so in a crew-rest seat and literally collapsed there. Even so, I still feel exhausted. On the crew bus back to the base I play my message-bank, and I note that I've received a message from Mary, inviting me to a housewarming party at her (and Mike's) new place. She apologises for the short notice, as the party is tomorrow night. The chances of me being home and available for parties are usually fairly remote, but I can make this one.