Fasten Your Seatbelts: A Flight Attendant's Adventures 36,000 Feet and Below (4 page)

I smiled at the instructor as she nodded for me to jump. My hands stretched out as instructed and I took a big leap. As I was
going down the slide, my footie slipped off my heel. I felt a burning sensation and pain but didn’t say a word. After reaching the bottom of the slide, I took off the sock. Skin mixed with blood was dangling off my ankle. I still didn’t say a word.

The hard part was over. I passed the examination and finally the day we dreamed of arrived. Graduation! We joyfully sang our class song, and I was so happy. I did it! I was now officially a flight attendant for a major airline.

It has been more than 25 years since then, and from what I understand “the charm farm” has become less rigid. Looking back, I realize the instructors needed to toughen us up and see what we were made of. I’m just glad I survived. I am also grateful for the rigorous training which has prepared me for the many crisis situations that lay ahead.

The unrealistic weight requirements have long been relaxed and as long as flight attendants can fit through an airplane window exit and put a seat belt on without an extension, they can fly.

uring training the instructors jokingly said, “Stay away from the pilots; they are nothing but trouble.” That remark was long forgotten by the time I took off on my first official working flight.

We were flying from Dallas/Ft. Worth to Orlando. I couldn’t wait to go. Stepping on the Super-80 aircraft was like walking on the moon to me. After introducing myself to the three flight attendants working the cabin, I poked my head into the cockpit.

“Hi, I’m Chris, your number four flight attendant.”

The captain was in his late 50s with gray hair and deep wrinkles. “Hi, I’m Joe and this is First Officer Rick.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. I glanced at them and noticed how handsome they looked in their uniforms.
Wow, real pilots
.

The gate agent came on the aircraft notifying us it was time to board. I felt a little nervous and awkward standing in front of the forward entry door. As the passengers boarded, I welcomed
them. “Good morning,” “Hello,” “How are you?” The nervousness gradually diminished and excitement took its place.

After takeoff, my fellow coach flight attendant, Jessica, and I served a delicious breakfast with a choice of pancakes or cheddar cheese omelets.
This is the greatest job ever
, I thought to myself, while eating a leftover omelet in the galley. Later, I went through the cabin offering pillows, blankets and magazines.

As the aircraft began its descent, I anticipated all the fun things we could do on our long layover in Orlando. “Flight attendants, prepare for landing,” the captain announced.

We arrived in Orlando around 11:30 a.m., and I was ready to go out and see the sights. However, none of the flight attendants cared to do anything. But the captain did, and asked if I would like to get an ice cream cone with him. That sounded like a good idea to me. After all, it was my very first trip.

Captain Joe and I walked across the street and tasted the best orange sherbet I had ever eaten. We slurped our ice cream cones and headed back to the hotel.

“Hey, would you like to see some pictures of my boat?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, not wanting to be rude.

We walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed looking at his pictures. Suddenly I felt his fingers creeping
around my neck. I was appalled. Being in my early 20s, this guy could be my grandfather. I jumped up, made some kind of excuse, and got the heck out of there.

Later, in my room, the flight instructor’s warning came flooding back,
“Stay away from the pilots; they are nothing but trouble.”
Yep, lesson learned. (But soon forgotten).

s newly hired flight attendants, we had the opportunity to choose the base of our choice. The instructors called it our wish list. Two bases were opened for our class, New York or Dallas. My first choice was Dallas and luckily I held it.

In training, we heard there was some sort of rivalry between the Dallas based and the New York based flight attendants. In fact, there was a phrase quoted by New York flight attendants, “Death before Dallas.”

I was put on reserve right away. Being on reserve meant we were on call and never knew when or where our next trip was going to take us. For most of my trips, I was called out for what was referred to as an extra position. Basically, that means we are covering a very full flight where extra help is required. During each trip flown, I pretended like I knew what I was doing and had flown all of my life. At the end of the flight, I informed the flight attendants that I was brand new. I soaked up all the praise they gave me.

My second month of flying, I wasn’t so lucky. I received the call for a DC-10 flight. This was one of our largest aircraft we had at the time. I walked on the airplane and again was going to pretend like I knew what I was doing even though I had never stepped foot on a DC-10.

As I walked on the airplane, my confidence immediately was shattered. All of the flight attendants were senior (a.k.a. skynosaurs). What was worse, all were New York based.

They were cackling in the galley as I entered. The conversation stopped as their eyes shifted toward me.
Please don’t ask me where I am based
. Unfortunately, the first question asked by one of the flight attendants was just that. I told them proudly, and they shrieked and giggled like witches brewing up a scheme for their next victim. I felt uneasy and quickly evacuated the galley.

The whole flight was a nightmare. I heard one of the flight attendants ask, “Where is she, where is she?” I tried to hide from her, but when the old biddy found me she threw an empty insert at me. “Go pick up the cabin,” she commanded. They would all boss me around until I locked myself into the lavatory. That happened only once, but it was disconcerting.

The rivalry between the bases has long been forgotten, but the memory of that day still lingers for me.

hen training was over, we thought we were home free. But in reality an eight month probation period was still ahead. We couldn’t call in sick, have a late sign-in for our trip, and we certainly didn’t want any bad letters from passengers.

After a couple of months of flying, I started to get the hang of it. I just loved it. It was everything I imagined and more. The passengers were always nice to me and appreciated my smiles. I received many thank you cards and letters of commendation.

One morning, I was called out for a reserve trip to fly first class on a DC-10. The entire crew was brand new. As we boarded the flight, I noticed a passenger plunking himself down in my section in first class. He certainly had not cleaned up for the flight and was wearing a navy blue uniform with an embroidered name-tag on it. His hair looked like Albert Einstein’s and he had a salt and pepper untrimmed gray mustache. His demeanor was
overbearing and obnoxious and he obviously loved the attention (albeit negative) the passengers were giving him.

On some flights we serve only orange juice or champagne for our pre-departure beverage service. This was one of those flights. I stopped at the grease ball and asked which one he preferred.

“I want a beer,” he demanded. He poured on the charm and showered me with compliments.

I said, “I’m sorry, but the beverages are down in the lower galley of the airplane. “OJ or champagne?”

He took my hand and said, “Come `ere.” To my horror, he forced my lips to his. Then, he laughed hysterically. His breath reeked of alcohol, so I knew he had been drinking prior to the flight. “Now go get me some G__ D___ beer,” he commanded. Totally disgusted, I ran to the restroom to wash my lips, and then I rushed to the galley flight attendant. “I think we have a problem here. No, I know we have a problem.”

I continued hanging the passengers’ jackets as they boarded the aircraft. “EXCUSE ME,” I heard in the distance from Mr. Gutter.

Cautiously approaching him, I said, “How can I help you?”

He acted as though he was going to whisper something in my ear, but he grabbed and pushed my head down to his crotch. Mortified, I wanted to take my lovely silver serving tray and
bash him over the head. Several passengers in first class saw the incident, but no one knew what to do.

The gate agent boarded the aircraft. “Well, I’ve got some bad news for you. We are delayed by an hour for takeoff because of aircraft traffic holds into Chicago.”
Oh great, that is all I need
. I told her about the unbelievably crude passenger and asked if she could remove him from the flight. She said she would check his itinerary and be back in a few minutes.