More Confessions of a Hostie

More Confessions of a Hostie

The Second Sector

(Vol.2 in the Confessions of a Hostie series)

Danielle Hugh

Disclaimer

The episodes featured in this book describe my experiences working as an international flight crew. To protect confidentiality, not everything I write can be taken as gospel truth. Some parts have been fictionalised, and names, airlines and locations have been changed. I have avoided revealing any information that would put my colleagues in the air at risk and, most importantly, I have disguised myself to such a degree that I should not need to worry for my job, because I don't want to lose it and become an ‘earthling'.

Contents

a shin is the perfect device for finding a glass coffee table in the dark

they should make all shirts the colour of what you are most likely to stain them with – red wine

nowhere to run and fewer places to hide

the adjective of ‘break' is ‘broken'

if i were any more affected by jetlag i might need watering twice a week

is ice-cream a food or a frozen drink?

it's a balancing act

sometimes the job stinks

time spent laughing is time spent with the gods – the japanese say so

rudeness is the weak person's imitation of strength

never reward bad behaviour

someone's manners are often a window to their soul

grab my attention, but don't grab me

a traveller without observation is like a bird without wings

the word ‘paradise' is often overused, but rarely overrated

how can heaven and hell be so far apart, yet so close?

sometimes you can feel too sorry for someone

some people go one way, some go another

talk may be cheap, but some people are cheaper

you never know if you never ask

not all emergency-related scenarios end badly

collecting bruises is not my favourite hobby

sometimes crew get very badly battered and bruised

beware the fury of a patient woman

next time i am on a beach and see a starfish …

thank goodness not all people are the same same

there is no such thing as a silly question, just silly people

delays are preferable to other consequences

not all surprises are good, but some are very good

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

COPYRIGHT

When I was eleven I fantasised about being an international hostie. I thought I had some idea of what the flying life would be like. I had no idea at all. After about twenty years of flying around the world, I finally have an inkling. Every story I am about to tell you is true and every character you are about to meet is based on someone I know or have met.

Welcome to more snapshots of my world.

www.facebook.com/Confessionsofahostie

a shin is the perfect device for finding a glass coffee table in the dark

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?

I try searching for the light switch, but then give up. I roll out of bed and make my way toward the window. It is then that my shin discovers the glass coffee table with ferocious force. I clutch my throbbing leg, screaming out things that would make a seasoned sailor blush.

If I wasn't so jetlagged, deliriously tired and hopping about like a one-legged rabbit, I would be far more excited that I am in Hong Kong.

Who am I kidding – I am still excited!

I know I ought to be putting some ice on the already darkening bruise, rather than making perceptive but useless observations about how the bruise is ironically taking the shape of Hong Kong Island. However, thoughts of shopping in a hostie's wonderland far outweigh the ones about the bruise on my shin. All I can think about is buying shoes.

Hong Kong is a single girl's shopping Mecca. Here, East meets West, and girl meets shoes. It would be nice if I could manage getting a few more hours sleep though. The flight over was a nightmare. We were nearly two hours late departing, thanks to a storm that hit the airport whilst the passengers were boarding. The sky turned black, and the winds were very strong. Even a massive aircraft like the jumbo 747, although sitting on the tarmac, rocked quite a bit. When the last passenger had boarded, all I had been able to see out the window were flashes of lightning and pouring rain.

The captain had immediately made a PA to inform passengers that due to the severe weather outside, particularly the lightning, the loading of their baggage into the cargo hold was momentarily suspended, until the lightning was gone.

I've had some dumb things said to me in my twenty years of flying, but one passenger wins the blue ribbon in that category.

‘How long will the lightning delay the aircraft?' a woman asked me.

I replied, ‘I don't know, ma'am. That is up to a higher authority to decide.'

She doesn't understand my tongue-in-cheek response. They say lightning never strikes twice in the same place, but people who ask silly questions do strike repeatedly.

With a very serious expression, she asked, ‘So, who does know then?'

No, no, no! Don't make me say it, I think to myself.

‘So your question is basically this: How long will the lightning last? I have already told you that I don't know. We already know the captain doesn't know. The ground-staff don't know, the airport doesn't know, the airline company doesn't know and I'm guessing that if Albert Einstein were still alive he wouldn't know. Only one person knows – that's God. G.O.D., the Almighty!' is what I would have loved to scream out, but how can you be sarcastic to someone who would lack the basic commonsense to understand sarcasm? Albert Einstein himself once said, ‘Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the universe.'

Instead I tell the woman that weather conditions are out of the airline's control and that the captain will be told by the ground staff when it is safe to continue loading bags.

In addition to the irritable passengers and the extra hours we had to work, it proved to be an eventful flight. A woman collapsed in her seat, and we spent much of the flight treating and monitoring her condition. Fortunately there was a doctor onboard (as there usually is). It was diagnosed that the woman had a severe twenty-four-hour virus. With oxygen and some onboard medication the woman's condition improved slowly, but we still needed to monitor her, which added to our already heavy workload.

Elsewhere in the cabin, an elderly woman had lost her necklace. This woman had been brought onto the aircraft in a wheelchair and she had been so feeble. If she were my mother or grandmother I would never have allowed her to travel on her own. I had helped prepare her tray during the meal service and had then helped her eat as well; I had done everything except spoon-feed her. Not long after we had cleared the tray she discovered that her necklace was missing. I prayed she hadn't left it on her tray as the chances of finding it amongst hundreds of dirty trays were almost none.

It had probably fallen between seats or under her cushion, I guessed. I helped her up from the seat, so that I could search in and around the seat. As I lowered my head to her seat the smell hit me at the exact moment as the wetness of the seat cushion oozed through my fingers.

She had urinated in the seat. Gross, gross and triple gross.

I donned gloves, removed the cushion and replaced it with the only spare seat cushion available on the plane.

I eventually found the necklace where I had suspected it would be found. I also found that it was a piece of very cheap costume jewellery and had a broken clasp, which effectively rendered it useless anyway.

Was all my discomfort and effort worth the effort? Nope.

The smell of urine lingered in my nostrils for the remainder of the flight and through the bus trip to our crew hotel. On reaching the hotel, the first thing I did was run into the bathroom and give myself a long, hot shower. Then, I had the choice of either crawling straight into bed or to go out for crew-drinks and treat myself to a couple of glasses of wine, and unwind with the crew.

I went with the more sociable option. I might be still paying the price for those few wines, with a hangover (and now a bruised shin) but thoughts of shopping have put back the spring in my step – or ‘in my hop'.

Whoever said money can't buy happiness didn't know where to go shopping. Sadly, shops aren't open in the early hours of the morning, so after watching infomercials on TV for several hours I decide to have another long shower and then hit the gym. I'd like to say that I love going to the gym, but I don't. Guilt is my motivator and boredom my vindication.

Airline crew hotels are a sea of treadmills in the early hours of the morning, with hostie after hostie pounding the conveyer belts. The girls all have the same steadfast expressions on their faces, as if to say, ‘There's only a few more hours before the shops open'. At least, that's what I am thinking when I run.

I am sure that most of the girls on the treadmills will end up going to any number of ‘markets' available at Hong Kong. My favourite place is Stanley Market. It is not just the shopping there that makes it great, but it is also the market's location. I remember the first time I ever came to Hong Kong and some of the crew took me to Stanley. The bus ride there was spectacular, and after shopping we ended dining in a superb restaurant on the waterfront. This restaurant has had a few name changes over the years, but it is still there. I have lunch there every time I go out shopping in Stanley Market, which is pretty much every time I come to Hong Kong. I am sure today will be no exception.

I never tire of doing fantastic things. My philosophy for life is quite simple really: I sleep when I can, work hard when I have to, and I have fun because I want to.

they should make all shirts the colour of what you are most likely to stain them with – red wine

There are two Danielles. There is the university educated and well-bred Danielle, who I would like to think of as an articulate and thoughtful woman; then, there is the jetlagged and moronic Danielle with the IQ of an invertebrate. The last time I saw my boyfriend, Dean, I was the latter. I will never come back from a trip tired and jetlagged and drink red wine again.

‘Next time I'll drink white wine. It doesn't stain as much,' I had grumbled while trying to wipe off the spreading red stains from his shirt.

At the top of my shopping-wish-list for today is the following item: Buy Dean a new shirt (or two).

The truth be told, I like shopping for him as much as I do for myself. With that said, I have ruined several of his shirts and one pair of pants.

I cannot remember the last time I spilled a drink on a passenger, even in severe turbulence. I am not a clumsy person, yet deprive me of sleep and work me through five different time zones, and I turn into one of the Three Stooges.

I have unintentionally destroyed some of Dean's wardrobe, but in saying that, he is not the most adventurous of fashion trendsetters – a few Ralph Lauren polo shirts and a pair of Guess jeans are all he's got in there to show for good fashion sense – and I bought those for him. I have a feeling his wardrobe will be a tad healthier after my excursion today.

Stanley Market has a number of factory-seconds shops. Many of the big brands are manufactured in Asia so the overstocked or the outdated often end up in such markets. Sure, there is a lot of rubbish too, but the prices are ridiculously cheap. I love that. What girl wouldn't?

I am right about the other hosties flocking to the market. I literally bump into two girls whom I know from another crew. I have flown with both several times, and they are lovely. You can tell a lot about a person from their shopping bags. One of the things crew members end up doing in situations like this is comparing shopping bargains.