Glad it's not a Baby!

My previous careers stop short. This one goes to infinity.

Dear Shawn,

As I start my 19th year at Mother Airline, I started to reminisce last night.

It's hard to believe it's been 18 years since I walked into World Headquarters in Chicago with nothing but a large suitcase. I was both excited and nervous, as I had never quite embarked on anything quite like this. Of course, leaving my comfort zone of Texas for Annapolis, MD to become the general manager of a motorcycle dealership five years previous was of immense help.

I remember that the Olympics were going on at the time, I was not able to watch them, as I had done so many times before. This was something I would have to get used to, as one misses many things when flying for a living- birthday parties, dinners, dates, weddings, holidays, so many wonderful times given up for so many unknown others.

I had been living in temporary housing in Annapolis, because it was about six weeks from being hired until I started training, and I had to move out of the luxury riverside town home I had been renting. A friend had a room in her back yard, basically, a shed converted to a nice room. I had to use the main house for the rest room and kitchen, but I lived in that little room with my two cats, Adelie and Kipper, who deserve freaking medals for enduring what I put them through for the six months it took me to settle into California. It was an interesting transition from the comforts of that town home on the Severn River, across from the Naval Academy, with views of the state capitol in a six-level, four-story home on the water, to living in a shed in someone's back yard. My whole life was about to shift in a similar fashion.

I have so many vivid memories of the Chicago training center and the wonderful people I met there. I loved the training, graduating top of my class, and wish I had fallen into doing this so many years sooner. Aviation was always a passion of mine, it just never dawned on me to go for a career in it, and I certainly never wanted to be a flight attendant. I didn't want to, even when I was training to become one. But as soon as I got on the line and started flying, I fell in love right away.

My first year flying was the best. I had great trips, long layovers with time to explore the world, one city at a time. Staffing levels on the planes were high and the work was easy. I was meeting so many wonderful people, both on the jumpseat and in seats on planes and in terminals. When I was done working for the day, I was in another city and a van, or in some cases, a limo, would pick me up with very little wait to take me to a very nice hotel. Pilots often treated the crew to drinks. It was a very social life, just, always with different people.

For a typical Sagittarius, one who loves travel, it was the perfect fit. I still had a large savings from my previous job, so I was able to afford living in the Bay Area on what little income we had. (One does not become a flight attendant for the pay, that’s for sure!) It was all so magical, I began writing about it to my friends and family. It was my Uncle Joel who convinced me to write a book.

Then 9-11 happened and I found myself with a lot of time off to write that book, as those of us more junior were furloughed. With money still in the bank and unemployment benefits coming in, I didn't find another job. Mother Airline gave us a year with travel benefits. I wasn't sure I'd ever have the job again, so I took advantage of those benefits and I went out to see more of the world- Hong Kong, Milan, New York City, London, Honolulu, Brussels. It was almost a disappointment when I was called back to work six months later, thus ending my long vacation, but being back with my airline family brought tears to my eyes. Of course, the job was now much changed, more work, less pay, longer days, shorter layovers. Also, my life is pretty much nothing but a vacation.

There are so many people I'd like to thank....

I've learned so much from this career, and I'm still learning. If this were a university program, I'd have so many degrees! If you ever want to know things, mostly silly things, just ask a flight attendant! We know the best places for shopping, eating and drinking. (Drinking comes natural, to help deal with the insanity we are faced with on a regular basis!)

It’s hard to believe that if my career were, instead, a child, birthed at the time of the 2000 Olympics, that child would now be off in college. Sure, I face many challenges with this job, but at the end of one of my worst days, I feel like it’s better than some of the best days doing a normal desk job. My bags are always packed. I have two of every toiletry item, and I buy underwear to last at least 2 weeks, because it can often be that long before I have time to do laundry. I may miss your weekend BBQ, but hope you keep inviting me, because eventually, the planets will align and I will be there, although, most likely with jet-lag. I love airplanes, I love airports, I love hotels, I love meeting people and trying to make them laugh (and sometimes I fail because they just don’t get my humor). Most of all, I love my career flying around the world!

My passion for safety now me has volunteering for our union.

We Should Have Just Charged Them

Dear Shawn,

It must have been one of the most coolest things I’ve heard a captain say to passengers, “That’s what happens when you come on my airplane and act like children.” I asked the others in the galley if they had heard it, since most were talking among themselves. When I repeated it, their mouths went agape.

It started as we began to taxi in Houston for our takeoff to Rio. A man was seated in the last row of first class by the window. The flight attendant realized that he was not a first class passenger. The safety demo had just begun playing, and I was standing just behind him. He was instructed to get up, gather his things, and go to his seat in 31K. He sat there for a moment and started telling a story about his last flight. I moved in and used my stern voice, “Hi, I’m sorry, but we need you to move to your seat immediately, we’ve begun our taxi for takeoff, and this is not your seat.” Less chatty, more moving!

As he did this, the purser stopped the demo and after he returned to his seat, which he did by sort of stumbling, as it was apparent that he’d already enjoyed some adult libations in the airport bar. At least he was a friendly drunk, and had even apologized. There were now a few minutes of silence in the cabin as the purser informed the captain of what was going on, so the flight attendant in the next aisle and I exchanged comments on how unbelievable this was, and how it’s been years since we’ve seen this happen.

I noticed, as we did this, that the passenger in the middle seat, the last one of first class, the young man in tight blue shorts with his sandled feet up on the forward console of this seat pod, had ignored the whole situation. His blinders made the issue going on in the seat next to him of no interest to him. It seemed odd to me that he didn’t listen in or acknowledge what was going on, as most others would do. He was watching a movie, had his earphones on, and enjoyed a bourbon from pre-departure. Oblivious.

As it would turn out, he was doing this to not bring attention to the fact that he, too, was a coach passenger who gave himself an upgrade. In fact, the passengers in all three seats in the last row of first class had moved up. They were in cahoots. The first one, seeing open seats when he boarded, left 31K and took a seat at 10A. He then texted to his buddies, who had flown in from Austin, TX, that there were seats for them, too. Just before the door closed, when we were busiest, they moved in, and even asked for drinks. So much for your charm and good looks- they don’t always get you everywhere!

The biggest issue was that one man, after being found out and forced back to his seat in coach, came back to the first class seat in the middle of the flight. He placed the seat in the lie-flat position, and started to go to sleep. Needless to say, when we landed in Brazil, the authorities were waiting. However, because of this, no one was allowed to deplane until the Brazilian police had also arrived, so there was a delay of about 5 minutes before anyone was allowed to leave the plane, and this is when the captain came on the PA to apologize for the delay, and warned of the ramifications of acting like children on his plane. So, how was your day?

The Presidential Connection

Dear Shawn,

On my flight from Houston yesterday, I worked with a young woman I’d not flown with before. She was from Arkansas, complete with the sweet southern accent. As we taxied for takeoff, she disappeared into the aft lav. Next, I could hear a series of flushes and the distinct sound of one getting ill. There’s nothing worse than getting sick on an airplane, or being far from home when it hits.

I recall the first time I fell ill while working at this job. I had enjoyed a long layover in New Orleans. My crew had gone out for drinks, as one does in New Orleans. We had gumbo, beer, etouffee and hurricanes- not necessarily in that order. We sang Karaoke, too, and I rocked it, I’m sure. I’m just happy there does not seem to be audio/visual evidence.

Needless to say, I was not feeling chipper the next day. If only I could make it for one last flight from Chicago back to San Francisco, I’d have five days off to recover from my illness. My body would have none of that. I called out sick in the middle of the trip. Mother Airline placed me tenderly in a nearby hotel. When I finally felt well enough to fly home, I regretted doing so as early as I did, as the bumpy flight played havoc with my sensitive stomach.

The next time I went sick in the middle of a trip, I had flown from San Francisco to Washington, DC, where, on my flight in first class was Al Gore, shortly after his run for president. He was a wonderful passenger, chatting us up in the galley and posing for photos. Later that night, in my DC hotel room, I began to empty the contents of my stomach. As for Mr. President (as I called him, since he had won the popular vote), I prayed I’d not made him sick.

There was a third time that I fell ill while working. This time it was on a trip to Osaka, Japan. The date was historic, leaving California the very day of the US elections when Obama became president. I’ll never forget being on that 747- the captain calling in the middle of the flight, most of the crew were down for their mid flight rest, passengers were all sleeping. He told us Obama had won, and mini celebrations began in the galley. Some of the passengers caught wind and it was very thrilling.

By the time the bird landed in Japan, I was so ill, they removed me from the flight in a wheel chair. To avoid facing a bus ride to the layover hotel, which was an hour away, we were sent to the hotel attached to the airport (I was not the only one to fall ill on this flight!). It was a good thing, too, as the minute I locked the hotel room door behind me, I had to run to the oval office to let loose a torrent of foul that seemed to come out of every opening in my body. We both returned to the states flying in first class a few days later. I was too ill to enjoy the fact that I was flying over the Pacific in a first class 747 lie-flat seat.

My flying partner eventually emerged from the lav just in time to be prepared for takeoff. She assured me that she was feeling much better, now that it was all out of her system. Being sick at home is bad enough. Being so in flight or in a hotel room far from home is bad, but having to call out sick in the middle of a trip is the worst.

The Answer is Always Spokane

Dear Shawn,

A few years ago, I began to play a game on line about my travels. I have always loved to learn more about the places to which I travel. One of the things I love best about my job is the chance to see and explore more of the world. It doesn’t matter if it’s Paris, Cairo, and Beijing, or Boise, Wichita, and Omaha, I always enjoy getting out to experience the local customs and foods.

I once heard that a few years of being a flight attendant can be the equivalent of a college degree. To ensure that this is correct, I always research the cities to which I fly. One day, I thought some of the things I learned were so interesting, that I started to post them on line, which is what lead to my game, “Where is Penguin.” I leave clues based on my research and hope my friends can guess.

My friends can be quite crafty, and some the of the responses could induce laughter. One friend always guessed correctly, but another always guessed the same city...Spokane. She had a good story behind it, too. Years ago, a friend of her mother’s, a travel agent, booked a flight from the West Coast to the East with a stopover in Spokane. She always thought it was the strangest place to have a stopover. Most people do so in Denver, or Chicago- maybe Minneapolis or Dallas. No, this flight routed through the mighty metropolis of Spokane.

A while back, I started to see the same cities over and over again, so I stopped playing “Where is Penguin.” Lately, with my seniority on the decline, I’ve been touring America, once again. I’ve been to a few cities, which I’ve not been to before, and a few that I’ve not been to in many years. The timing was right, as my friend, and a few others, have recently stated to me that they really miss the game. I’m really enjoying playing it again, even though not many people actually respond.

The best part of the game, and it’s only happened twice, is when I actually get a trip to Spokane. The first time I did so, I gave a bunch of bogus clues, things that made no sense at all, knowing that she’d guess Spokane and I’d have the pleasure of telling her that she was correct. This time, I was thorough in researching interesting facts and odd laws about Spokane.

Any time I see the airport code of GEG, I get excited about the chance to go, just so I can play this game. I don’t see these trips often, they may be seasonal. When I saw that I was awarded a line with this trip, I made sure not to try to trade out of it. It’s a nice place to visit, but it’s a better place for “Where is Penguin!”

My Personal Heaven

Dear Shawn,

Someone once told me that heaven was going to be different for everyone. To them, Heaven was an eternity of doing your favorite things from Earth. I realized today what that might look like for my version of Heaven.

In Penguin’s Heaven, I’d be flying around in a plane, all over the planet. While up high, at altitude, I’d have great views of mountains, valleys, forests, clouds, colorful sunsets and towns dotting the countrysides and deserts down below. I’d observe the majesty of the Grand Canyon with her nooks and crannies, and witness the dazzling colors of the sky, clouds and terrain as the sun sets. At night, I’d look up at the glorious full moon surrounded by stars and see the moonlight bouncing off the tops of the clouds below, or dance with the Aurora Borealis. I’d do these things time and again, as I have enjoyed doing in the past.

Over cities, we’d descend to a comfortable height to watch traffic on streets and look at the various homes with their pools and yards. I love to try to pick out what home I’d want to live in, one with a large back yard and neighbors that aren’t too close, and maybe along a stream or river. I’d look for people walking on sidewalks and kids playing on play grounds. I always enjoying looking at these views of 3-D maps as I fly overhead. There’s nothing like it. I love sitting at a window flying over a city on approach to landing.

These planes in my version of heaven have seats filled with people I adore. The carts are full of great food and wine and the in-flight movie always makes me laugh and cry and cheer. The landings are always perfect, the takeoffs light and fast.

I guess that it’s a good thing I love flying so much. I don’t have to wait very long to experience heaven. I only have to wait until my next flight. When you see me flying overhead, give me a wave so I can wave back!

The Horrors of South America

Dear Shawn,

Many years ago, I used to watch a lot of TV. You miss a lot of TV when you’re a flight attendant, unless you have a good programmable VCR. I was a pro at programming a week’s worth of shows and making sure I had a tape with enough room for all my favorites. The bad part was trying to get caught up on eight or more hours of shows on my days off. I quit television shows cold turkey.

Now I have a Roku device, and when partnered with my Netflix, I can binge-watch like no one’s business. I watched season three of The Walking Dead in two nights! What I really love, is getting reacquainted with shows from the seventies, and even sixties. Bewitched, I Dream of Jeanie, Mary Tyler Moore, Gilligan’s Island and currently, I’m on season five of Dallas, one of my all-time favorites!

Today, while flying from Bozeman to Chicago, a man asked me if I fly mostly domestic. I let him know that I try to fly South America as much as possible, and he remarked strongly to this- a combination of shock and awe. It reminded me of the show Dallas, and the manner in which they dealt with the passing of Jim Davis, the actor who portrayed the Ewing patriarch, Jock. For nearly the entire season, they had him down in South America prospecting for new oil reserves in the jungle. I remember how exotic that sounded, in much the same way as it did in the movie, Nine to Five, when the boss gets sent there to the delight of the women who worked under him.

Maybe that’s why, for so long, I had such a strong desire to visit South America. Not because I was a sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot, as Frank Hart was in Nine to Five, but I love adventure. After 9/11, I was furloughed from my job for six months, and unsure if I’d ever be invited back, I took advantage of the fact that I had a big savings account, and spent that time traveling with my flight passes. It was basically my goal to visit all of the countries to which Mother Airline traveled. One such destination was Santiago, Chile- and that was my next trip planned when I heard they were recalling us to come back to work. It became known to me as ‘the city that got away.’

Now that I’m based in Houston, I love going to South America often; Lima, Santiago, Buenos Aires, Rio- all such great cities to visit with warm, inviting people and vibrant culture. It’s a shame Jock Ewing didn’t just get to go to these cities. Maybe his character would still be alive- simply enjoying life and great Chilean wine. I love good Chilean wind. Speaking of which...

Thanks For Flying With us, Now Move Along

Dear Shawn,

The funniest thing happened today. Our plane arrived at the gate and as the passengers were coming off, my crew walked down to board, since the inbound was a little late. When I got to the end, near the plane, there was a man standing there. There was nothing remarkable about him. He didn't seem odd or out of place, as it's normal for someone to be standing there, if they were seated on the plane in front of someone they are flying with and choose to wait there for their other party to exit the aircraft.

For a few more minutes, passengers continued to exit and finally, the parade of life ended. The man was still standing there. The purser from the inbound flight came to the door and looked out and saw him there. She asked if he was waiting for a checked bag. Sometimes, we have to gate check a bag, which comes up in baggage claim, not plane side, but some people think we are like Mother Airline Express, where the bag is returned in the jet bridge. He didn't indicate that he was waiting for a bag. He just stood there, sort of expressionless. She didn't know what else to say.

The other two flight attendants emerged in the doorway- one was holding a back pack that had been left by one of the passengers on the plane. When they saw the man standing there, right in front of me, they knew instantly that it was his, so they assumed that was the reason he was standing there. They handed the back pack to him, and he placed it over his shoulder, and still he stood there, as if waiting for something else. The purser even asked him, "Are you waiting for someone? There are no more passengers on board."

"No," he responded. There were next a series of blank stares. He stared at the crew, they stared back. My crew stared at him and then the inbound crew, who stared back. It was very strange. We needed to board and no one was saying anything. So finally, I broke the silence, "Well, sir, you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

A light seemed to come on in him with my little cliche, and he turned to start walking up the jet bridge towards the terminal, but he stumbled and nearly fell. Catching himself, he continued on as if nothing had happened. The crews all got wide eyed.

I knew two of the crew members, and we hugged in passing, and they mentioned that he had had a few drinks. I'm guessing he had more than his share, based on his performance. The whole thing lingers in my mind and has continued to make me laugh as I think about it. The odd, stares, the way he just stood there. How I finally had to say something to encourage him to walk away from the airplane. Just another day at the airport.

Oh, Are You a Pilot?

Dear Shawn,

Shortly after the devastating events of 9/11, Mother Airlines decided that we needed to update our image. She gave us new uniforms. I don’t mind change, and I did love the old uniform, especially in contrast to the new one, but in order to save a few nickles, they did away with our stripes. The pilots kept theirs, but the flight attendants lost out.

I was upset, mainly, because we now looked like any ordinary person wearing a dark blazer. I was working in the back of a 757 during boarding, helping people get settled in. I heard the purser make an announcement for all passengers to take their seats. “Good,” I thought, “I’m ready to push back and get home.” A second announcement was made asking for all passengers to be seated. I looked around and saw no one out of their seats. Who was she talking to? When the third announcement was made, I realized that she was talking to me. Without my stripes, I was a nobody.

Secondly, as a safety professional, I felt that I had earned my stripes. You’d never see the pilots get new uniforms without them, why would we? We are the ones in the cabin dealing with the masses and are the face of the airline. We should have our stripes to maintain our image of being just those professionals.

Fortunately, I was not alone in this feeling, and a few years later, we got new uniforms once again, and this time, our stripes returned. The uniform I wear now has two stripes on my epaulets and blazer sleeves, which I love, especially when people mistake me for a pilot. “Look out, Billy,” I’ll hear as I’m walking through an airport, “that pilot is trying to pass you.”

Tonight, while waiting for my flight, a young man approached me and asked if I was a pilot. I let him know that I was not, that my two stripes meant that I worked in the cabin, and explained that the first officer has three stripes, and the captain has four. I then asked if I could answer his question, anyway, and he told me about how he wanted to become a pilot. I encouraged him to follow his dream, wishing I’d started my career in the skies much sooner than I did, and reminded him that we will soon be facing a shortage of pilots. He was enthusiastic and grateful for the chance to talk to someone who obviously loves the career. And something tells me that sometime in the future, I’m going to see this young man come onto one of my planes with three, or possibly even four, stripes.

A Snowball in Hell

Dear Shawn,

For the first time this year, I got to see a winter wonderland. I was in Calgary, up in Canada (eh?) and noticed the snow as we descended in the darkness of night. I certainly noticed it waiting for the van out front in the 7 degree night air. It wasn’t until I opened the window this morning that the full glory of the wintry snowscape captured my attention. I stopped, grabbed my camera, and took a photo of the airport in the distance, where nothing was between it and me but snow, snow, snow!

We got in the hotel van to leave this morning and I enjoyed the views on our short journey. The driver had the heat on, and it made me wonder about people and heat in vehicles. For seventeen years, I’ve enjoyed traveling the world with this job, relishing the chance to see a landscape covered in snow in the winters, since I don’t live where that happens, and for seventeen years I’ve dealt with hotel vans that seem to either be witch’s tits cold, or Satan’s crotch hot.

The heat was on full blast. We all had coats and jackets, it was only a short drive, so why did it have to be 130 degrees inside the van? Can’t we just deal with something more like, 75 degrees? I think I noticed snow melting as we drove past. The driver appeared to be from India. Perhaps he simply missed the heat of his home country. I was in India once, on my birthday, in December. I remember when the wind stopped blowing onto the beach, and instantly my sweat glands went into overdrive and my shirt was as wet as a college beauty at a wet tee-shirt contest. It felt like 120 degrees. Miserable.

We finally arrived at the airport and as I stood in the cold, waiting for the driver to get our bags out of the back, I think I saw steam rising into the air from my jacket. It was nice to feel the cold again. My name sure is appropriate for my love of cold. I do love to visit it, but I’m glad I don’t live in it.

Let Us Entertain You

Dear Shawn,

Until the day I die, I may never understand why people don’t push the ashtray back in. For some reason, the functioning of the lavatory door seems to escape a great number of people. I see it nearly every time I fly. Someone approaches the lav door, looks it over, as if they are searching for something other than a bathroom, can’t seem to figure it out, and pulls out the ashtray, thinking that by doing so, it will open the door. Usually, the brain kicks in right after this, and the next thing they do is open the door, as if the ashtray tells them how to do it, but they never push the ashtray back in.  

Of course, planes are required to have ash trays, even these days after smoking has been banned on aircraft. The reason for this is that should someone actually light up, and it does happen, there must be a safe place to put it out, so we don’t have fires while in the air.

Perhaps the big mystery ends for them because once they pull it out, the brain kicks into gear. This leaves a puff of smoke, much like starting a go cart, and that puff of smoke clouds their thinking, so they forget to push the ashtray back in. It is an amazing thing to watch, how people from all walks of life can be so similar. We see this happen in all countries- Asia, South America, Europe, the USA- people are all the same.

We only have two types of doors on our planes at Mother Airlines- either they push in and fold in half, or it swings out with the turn of a lever. I’ve heard some flight attendants say, “Think of your trailer home,” because it really is the same kind of door knob you’d find on a travel trailer. When I see someone go for the ashtray, I tend to say, “Oh, no smoking please.” Others tell passengers immediately, how to open the door, “Push, ma’am. Push. No, just push,” (usually, it takes more than one telling for them to understand the concept). I don’t say anything- as this is my entertainment.

Watching passengers use the lav entertains many a flight attendant. We groan when we see people go in with bare feet or in only socks. We wrinkle our nose when they come out ahead of a smelly, green fog that wilts the wallpaper. We wonder about some being raised in a barn when they leave the lav door ajar as they head back to their seat. But, hey, we have to have ‘something’ amuse us on long flights, and we’re stuck right there. So if you fly, and can't figure out how to open the door, and end up pulling out the ashtray, please push it back in.