Fasten Your Seatbelts: A Flight Attendant's Adventures 36,000 Feet and Below (35 page)

After 9/11, it was taken away from us. Most people were afraid to fly, leaving the airline industry suffering as the planes were taking off with fewer and fewer passengers. Our company was desperately trying to stay solvent along with everyone else.
Some airlines had to claim bankruptcy. In order for us to avoid that, we had to cut expenses across the board. The flight attendants had to give up our new contract and then some or we too would have to file for bankruptcy. We begrudgingly accepted those cuts with the understanding that when the company got back on its feet, we would eventually get back what we had given up. We not only said goodbye to our pay raise, but took a significant pay reduction. The work rules dramatically changed. Our days got longer and our vacation days got shorter.

If you have ever flown, you know what it is like to have jetlag. Just because we fly for a living doesn’t mean we are immune. After a long day on the airplane with recycled air, the flight attendants have red eyes and a sallow complexion. I call it “the pasties” because we all look kind of pale. After a typical three-day trip, I am basically on the couch the next day recovering from jetlag.

The frequent changes in air pressure has an effect on us also. Have you ever seen a potato chip bag during a flight? It expands and gets hard as a rock. Or, have you ever had the unpleasant experience of opening a container of yogurt while flying? It explodes all over you. Now you know where all that gas is coming from! After I get home from a trip, my stomach looks pregnant. One can only imagine what that is doing to our bodies.

When I was single, I was asked to participate in a study comparing our occupation to a teacher’s occupation. My understanding was that a high rate of miscarriages and fertility problems amongst flight attendants had come to the attention of a health organization. They wanted to gather some relevant data including how much radiation we were exposed to while flying. For one month, I wore a device similar to a watch that detected and reported radiation. I also had to spit in a tube every morning and freeze it. I never saw the results but I am still curious about them and the study.

The turbulence has been noticeably awful in recent years. I have found myself thrown onto a passenger’s lap on more than one occasion. When I get home from trips, my husband is always asking how I got this or that bruise. It is always due to turbulence. We are constantly being thrown about the galley and bounced around in the aisles. I know of flight attendants who have hit the ceiling during the flight. Some have become unconscious or have broken bones because of it.

One other strain worth mentioning is lifting bags into the overhead bin. I don’t mean our own bags, but those belonging to certain passengers who think it is the flight attendant’s job to store their carry on. Lugging our own bags from employee parking lots, thru security, from gate to gate, into the bins and onto vans to the hotels is plenty for all of us. So don’t take it
personally if when you ask for help with your bag and you catch a bit of an attitude from the flight attendant. Sure I lend a hand, I am a sucker for kids and little old ladies who need help, but what I really want to say is, “Honey, next time please check your bag.”

One of our work rule legalities that changed was lengthening our day from a twelve hour maximum day to a fifteen hour maximum day. Our minimum layover time was shortened to eight hours. It usually takes me about fifteen minutes to wash my face, put my pajamas on, and hop into bed. I set my alarm an hour and fifteen minutes before my pick-up time. If I went to sleep right away, that would only give me six and a half hours of sleep.

In the old days, we were allowed to reward our frequent flyers with a to-go bag full of liquor miniatures. They loved it! It made them feel appreciated. When I was on a long flight or one that was delayed in the air, I often played a game over the PA with the passengers. I’d ask, “Does anyone have a paper clip in their bag? Who has ten or more one dollar bills with them?” etc. etc. Whoever won got a bottle of champagne or wine. Those days are gone. No more giveaways. I understand these are different times and conditions. But when people say it is not the same, I relate because it is not the same for us either.

We have to absorb and roll with a lot of interesting passenger behavior and constantly contain our emotions and feelings.
If someone treats us badly, vents their flying frustrations on us, or say a situation is our fault, we have to address it professionally and take it; that is our job. The pressure has gone up, longer hours in the air, lower pay, more responsibility and a lot less fun and glamour.

You may want to factor some of this in before coming to a harsh conclusion about the flight attendants serving you. Some of us are morning people like me. I don’t mind early morning trips at all. Now, I turn into a pumpkin around seven o’clock at night. My energy is gone and my smiles are a bit forced.

I am not making any excuses for unprofessional behavior by flight attendants. I’m just saying that it’s a challenging job and for the most part, the good old days are gone for us also. I believe the vast majority of the flight attendants are hardworking, committed employees that care about the passengers and their fellow crewmembers and work very hard to make your flying experience as smooth and enjoyable as possible.

very time uniformed military personnel come aboard, I always welcome them with a pat on the shoulder and a simple phrase, “Thank you for serving.” It is always said with heartfelt sincerity, I thought, until I got a wakeup call from a soldier named Bob.

Before a trip begins — usually on the way to the airport — I often say a prayer. On this day, I said my prayer and asked God, “If there is someone you would like me to talk to on the flight, please send them my way.”

After my first class service was complete, I was busy in the galley cleaning up. A man probably in his late 30s poked his head in and said, “I am glad the company I work for switched airlines because I really enjoyed watching the two of you do your job.” His seat was in the first row of coach, but he could observe the first class service from where he was sitting. Now I will have to admit I was preoccupied with my galley, but
there was something about him that urged me to talk to him. About that time, Angie, the other first class flight attendant, stepped around the corner. The mannerly young man felt in the way and gracefully left the galley. Before he could leave, I grabbed his arm and ushered him to a private spot next to the exit door.

“Did you serve over in Iraq,” I questioned.

“Yes,” he said. “I was shot two times in the stomach.” He pointed to where he had been wounded. I noticed one of his ears was disfigured, perhaps due to another combat injury. There was a hearing aid in his other ear. He noticed me looking at him and said, “I am partially deaf now, but I can read lips.” He showed me his wrist where his hand was severed but was surgically reattached. I took a deep breath knowing this was going to be quite the conversation.

“Do you have post-traumatic stress disorder?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” he replied. “All of us who were witnesses to anything severe have it. I saw thirteen of my troop lost.” He continued, “I was a sniper. I was posted on top of a building monitoring activities on the ground. One day, I saw a young boy who was obviously handicapped being lead into the middle of the street. I remember saying to myself, oh no, no, no. Then I witnessed and heard the explosion. Someone had placed a bomb around this helpless child and executed him.” In stunned silence,
I swelled with sympathy and gazed at Bob. He continued, “The next time, a woman was escorted out into the street. Again I said, oh no, no, no…”

Many of us have been traumatized by a single incident in our lives and it takes us years to adjust. The horror that many of our young men, many barely 19 or 20 years old, saw while serving is literally unimaginable for most of us.

Bob went on to explain, “What compounds issues for many returning veterans, whether they are mentally or physically challenged or not, is the fact that decent jobs are hard to find. A friend of mine who couldn’t find work committed suicide, another sits at home on the couch day and night drinking himself to death. It is a real problem.”

I told him how sorry I was, and that it was an honor and privilege to have met him.

On my flight the next day, a uniformed soldier boarded the aircraft. Now as I spoke the words, “Thank you for your service,” they had much more meaning. A first class seat was empty, so Angie and I upgraded him. He was a handsome young man who like so many of our troops was mannerly and gracious. He favored a young Leo Dicaprio. He was so exhausted he slept during the entire flight.

As I was serving the women next to him, she whispered to me, “Do you always upgrade the military?”

I said, “We do what we can for them. If they are in coach, we give them something to eat for free.”

As her eyes filled with tears, she looked fondly at the sleeping soldier, “He is someone’s baby boy.”

“I know,” I said sadly. I smiled at her as I too was getting weepy. I went to the restroom to grab some tissues for the woman who now had tears streaming down her face. We shared a helpless nod as I handed the Kleenex to her.