Confessions of a Hostie (18 page)

Janie points out that the toilet is unoccupied now: the door is not latched, and the placard on it says ‘unoccupied'. Janie backs herself into the bi-fold door and sticks her backside into the toilet area. I hear an almighty farting noise, and then Janie steps forward, allowing the bi-fold door to automatically close behind her.

‘That's the way you do it,' Janie boasts as she walks into the galley.

Just as I am about to burst into laughter, that same door opens and a little old lady emerges from the toilet. She was obviously in there and hadn't locked the door.

I never thought I would see the day where Janie would be embarrassed and regretful about anything, but I was wrong. Today is that day. The little old lady is so disgusted, and Janie is so apologetic.

I don't know how Janie explained the situation to the manager onboard, but somehow she gets the little old lady upgraded and gives her free bottles of champagne and anything else she can get her hands on. When Janie finally makes it back to the galley, she burst into uncontrolled fits of laughter, and doesn't stop.

trying to remember what ‘normal' means

It is unusual that I'm dressed in my uniform and walking into my apartment, yet not feeling like hell. Sure it has been a long day, but it has also been a fun day, thanks to Janie. I am feeling so good that I slip into my pyjamas, make a G&T and stay up and watch educational TV – well, it's just regular TV, but I call it educational because it teaches me that I should have gone to bed much earlier.

It is during moments like this that my body yearns for some semblance of normality. It has been so long since I have had a regular nine-to-five job that I have forgotten what it feels like to not be tired and jet-lagged. I turn the TV off and try to remember what my life was like before I began my flying career. I do remember, and it was horrible.

I pick up my roster and study it. In the last month or so, I've had a white Christmas in Germany, a shopping spree in Singapore, gin and tonics by the pool in India, drinks on the beach in Hawaii, and gyozas with Danny in Japan.

That was such a wonderful night. Danny. I wish I could meet a nice guy like Danny. Before I start getting too melancholic I remind myself about the good life I have. I travel the world and stay in five-star luxury. I meet the most fascinating people and work with some extraordinary crew. I have seen things I would never had the chance to see if I had been doing something else. I have forged some amazing friendships and been able to share so many travel moments with them.

My next trip is to Johannesburg, South Africa, but simply referred to as Jo'burg. Most people would give their eye teeth to go to Africa. And the best part is that I am getting paid to go there. Sure, it is horrid work on the way, but even though I spend fifteen torturous hours inside an aluminium tube, on this trip, I do get three magical days off when I get there. Three days!

Some of my most memorable trips have been to Africa. I have been on safari many times, down to Cape Town on several occasions, and I've been to Durban, Port Elizabeth and Sun City. I was in Jo'burg for the start of the 2010 soccer World Cup, although I am not such a huge fan of watching men run around and fight over who gets to kick a ball. However, I would love to go on another safari; watching animals is something I can do all day. It all depends on what the other crew members are up to. Africa trips are a lottery. It is one of those places where it is too dangerous for a single girl to do anything on her own, so my plans depend on what the other crew members want to do.

I get online and check the crew list, and I realise that I don't know a single soul. Sometimes that is a good thing, because if the crew are junior and haven't been to Africa very often, then they will be keen to get out and explore. Sometimes it is not such a good thing. Often the crew do nothing. I cannot fathom being in an exotic location like Africa and staying back at the hotel, staring at the walls, if my crew chooses to do just that.

This has happened once before, and it is no fun at all. On that trip, most of the crew that came along were straight guys who knew each other, and they went off to play golf every day. They had an absolute ball. I did not.

I might just have to spend my time in the room watching TV, if I have to. And as far as South Africa is concerned, it doesn't matter what sport is being played or telecast, South Africans will watch it. South African TV consists of about ten channels. One channel has local soap operas in Afrikaans, while the other nine channels broadcast different sports or news programs that feature sports. There is no way I am going to sit in a stuffy hotel room for three days, in the middle of an African summer, watching cricket.

I jump onto the internet and see if there are any two-day tours or even day trips in or around Jo'burg. I won't book anything just yet, but I better have a back-up plan in case I am confined to the hotel grounds. There are a couple of options available, so I jot down the details and congratulate myself at being so well-organised. I am normally not so efficient. I sometimes joke that I would like to do a time management course, but I am just too busy to do so.

I pack clothes that will fit all possible scenarios, and I wait for the taxi to pick me up. On really long sectors, like today, the company provides us with free transport, both to the airport and back home. They obviously know that we'd be too exhausted to drive a car safely.

I arrive at our briefing and meet some of the crew. They are pleasant, and although I hadn't recognised any of the names on the crew-list, several of the faces do look familiar. Without appearing to be too needy or too pushy, I ask some of them what their plans are for Jo'burg. Nobody seems keen to get away. It is just as well I have a back-up plan.

The boss is about the same seniority as myself. It is unusual that I haven't flown with him before as we tend to do most of our flying with those of similar seniority. His name is Ryan, and he seems nice enough, quite enthusiastic.

The flight is fairly full. We prepare for a long day ahead, for it daylight all the way to Jo'burg. I am working at the pointy end of the plane, which is a nice change from my last few flights in cattle-class. Business-class passengers can be demanding, but on a long sector like this we have plenty of time, so there is no need to rush.

As the passengers board, I hang up their coats, assist them to their seats and deliver pre-take-off drinks. The passengers all seem lovely, at least until a South-African couple, Mr. and Mrs. Vandenberg, come onboard. Mrs. Vandenberg, in particular, should have been wearing a tiara. Within seconds of entering the aircraft, she has picked, criticised, condemned and critiqued: the plane is too old; the seats aren't wide enough; the overhead lockers aren't big enough; the champagne glasses don't have long enough stems. I am sure that if she were to walk around the tarmac, she would comment that the tires don't have enough tread.

The great thing, for me, is that she is on the other side of the aisle, and I will not have to be near her for most of the flight. The other great thing is that a really cute guy is sitting in Seat 4J, and that is on my side of the aisle.

He looks a little familiar. Where have I seen him before?

I do notice that he is not wearing a ring and that he has beautiful manners. When I ask him if he would like a drink before take-off, he replies, ‘No thank you, but thanks for asking.'

Sitting just behind my nice guy is an elderly gentleman in 5J. He looks a bit pale.

‘Are you OK, sir?'

He nods, but I get the distinct impression he isn't. I voice my concern to Ryan, and he has a chat with the man after boarding is completed. Ryan assures me that the man is alright. His name is Mr. Weiss and he has been suffering from a virus, but he is feeling better now. I'll take their word but am not entirely convinced. The gentleman still looks ill to me.

I do my safety demonstration on my side of the aisle and, as is usually the case, no one is watching – except for Mr.4J. He not only looks at me, but also smiles in acknowledgement. I think he knows that he is the only one watching; however I am appreciative that he is respectful and courteous towards me.

As I walk past him, I whisper, ‘Thanks for watching the demo. I haven't had a Business Class passenger pay attention since 1995.'

He smiles at me with a warmth that could melt a polar ice-cap.

in the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight

There was a time when the boss onboard only did managerial duties, but with cost-cutting and the resultant minimal crew, they are now required to help out during the meal service as well. Ryan is on a cart with me. He is hard working and nice to work with. I am fairly sure he is gay. Not that it matters, but I usually have good gaydar and take pride in identifying a gay guy easily.

‘What are you up to in Jo'burg, Ryan?'

He tells me that he is going to the gym every day and he might do a little shopping.

There you go. He's surely gay.

Mr. and Mrs. Vandenberg are not on my side of the cabin, yet she waves her arms at me to get my attention. Unfortunately for me, the first row where they are seated is easily accessed from my side of the cabin. She complains that the beans on her plate are not hot enough.

‘Are the other vegetables OK?'

She says, ‘Yes, just the beans.'

All the vegetables are cooked together and are therefore the same temperature when plated, including the beans. However, I can't tell this to Mrs. Vandenberg. She is clearly the type of woman who would think that someone has handpicked the beans for her and cooked them individually, has then tested their serving temperature three seconds before it is delivered to her throne and deliberately made sure that they are not hot enough as the vegetables on her plate.

I know the beans are not cold, and I know exactly what someone like Damien would say to her. But what would Danny say and do in such a situation, I ask myself.

I then apologise profusely for our chef's mistake and take her plate away, offering to return with a new dish and hotter beans. I take the meal back to the galley and pick out the beans from the plate, throw them in a bowl of hot water. I then return the beans to the original plate. They are now hotter than everything else and Mrs.Vandenberg is much happier. It all about the attention she gets, with a woman like that.

I have no such troubles with Mr. 4J, and I can't help but return the sweet, warm smiles he offers me every time I walk past him.

The boss gives us a print-out of the passenger's names in our zone, but unfortunately the ink on my copy of it is smudged and I can't quite decipher his name. I can make out that his first name starts with a ‘D' and his last name ends in ‘ly', but that's all I can make out. I am initially too embarrassed to attempt his name, but after I have referred to the passengers next to him as ‘Mr. this' and ‘Mrs. that', I decide to be come right out and ask him.

‘I am sorry, but my copy of the passenger names is not very clear. How do you pronounce your name, sir?'

I'm pleasantly surprised when he extends his hand towards me, ‘Just call me Dean.'

‘Nice to meet you, Dean. My name is Danielle.'

I shake his hand and he politely replies, ‘Very nice to meet you too, Danielle.'

I am little flustered, but in a good way.

For the rest of the meal service, he uses my name and I use his. Having a passenger call me by name usually makes me a little uneasy, but in this instance it feels so natural. It is very rare for me to feel this comfortable with someone so quickly, but I do.

I have greeted, served and interacted with hundreds of thousands of passengers over the years and have worked with thousands of crew. So much so that I have developed the knack of making snap judgments about people and their personalities; I can count the number of times I have made a wrong judgement on one hand. There are a small percentage of people whom I dislike straight away. Conversely, there are a small percentage of people to whom I take an instant liking. Dean is in the latter category of people.

Mrs.Vandenberg is definitely in the former category. She has badgered every crew member who has gotten within ear-shot of her. It also seems likely that her call-button would short-circuit within moments due to overuse. The crew have begun referring to her as ‘Her Majesty'. As I stand at our bar area, pouring yet another champagne for Mrs. Vandenberg, Dean approaches me. He is on his way to the nearby toilets.

He says, ‘Hey, I see Her Majesty is having another bubbly.'

Embarrassed, I reply, ‘How did you know we call her Her Majesty?'

He looks surprised, but then smiles. ‘I didn't'.

After I have delivered the drink to Her Majesty, Dean has returned to the bar area, where I just so happen to be. I ask him about the purpose of his trip to Africa, and he tells me he is off to Tanzania to work as a volunteer in the missions.

‘Are these religious missions?'

He shakes his head, ‘No, I have a little time off work, and I thought I'd help out.'

I am impressed by how generous and thoughtful he is. ‘How long are you going for?'

‘Only a few months. It is not much, but it is something I have wanted to do for some time. How long do you get in Johannesburg?'

I deduce that this is his first time to Jo'burg as he has referred to the city by its full name. Nobody who has been there calls it ‘Johannesburg'.

‘Three days,' I reply.

I tell him about possibly going on a safari and how much I love watching animals. He tells me that he has never been to Africa before (I try to act surprised) but will be staying in a village not far from the edge of the Serengeti, so he plans to do number of safaris in his spare time.

‘Wow. That should be so exciting.'

He agrees. ‘First and foremost I want to help the local villagers, but I would be lying if I said I didn't want to see some lions.'

‘I love lions,' I gush.