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.

And You Are...

Dear Shawn,

Soon after I transferred to Houston, I flew with a guy who looked familiar, and he thought the same of me. I wasn’t sure when we had flown together, or where, and that is quite common with this job. Of course, I can forget people easily, until we talk more and something reminds me of having flown with them in the past. I can fly with someone for a four-day trip, have multiple meals together, work the other side of the cart ten times, and two weeks later, I have no idea what their name was. Since running into this guy that day, we see one another from time to time, and we’re friends on Facebook, and it’s because of this that I remember his name.

A couple of months ago, I was going through some old photos and came across some that I had taken on a trip to Sydney, Australia. The trip must have been over twelve years ago, and I remember parts of it quite well. Someone had a debriefing. Now there are times when a debriefing comes into play for a reason other than social, such as after an incident, but normally, debriefing is code for a crew party. This debriefing was one of the more memorable ones, as it involved crews from different bases and days.

The Sydney layover was two nights, so when we landed, we met up with the crew who had arrived the previous day, as well as members from the Los Angeles crew. There were copious amounts of beverages, a sampling of snacks, and lots of laughter. It’s a great way to unwind after a fourteen-hour layover. I felt sorry for the person in whose room we all met. It must have been a hot mess in there.

I don’t always take photos at a debriefing, but I did at this one, and lo and behold, there was my friend, who, like me, had left San Francisco for Houston. I sent him copies of the old photos, and we laughed at how young we both looked in them. It was nice to finally figure out how it was that he and I knew one another.

Her Tears

Dear Shawn,

The last time I had looked at her, she wasn’t crying. She seemed just as normal as any woman sitting on an airplane during taxi out for takeoff. This time, she was crying. If she was trying to hide it, she wasn’t doing a very good job. It wasn’t a huge cry. It wasn’t one of those with the shoulders shaking up and down and the sad, distorted face. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, a bit of a frown, her forehead marked with lines. She wasn’t looking at me, and when I thought she might, I averted my gaze to the right to look past her to the back of economy.

As the purser on the Airbus, my seat at door One Right inboard allows me to see nearly all of the cabin. This is a requirement, that a flight attendant be able to see 90% of the cabin from the jumpseat. This is why, even though I sit at the double jumpseat alone, unless they add a fourth flight attendant, which is rare, or we have someone sitting in the jumpseat as non-revenue employee, the purser always sits in the jumpseat furthest from the door, next to the aisle. It’s also why we ask that head rests be lowered.

In this seat, I have a perfect view of any passenger sitting in 7E. This is the first row of economy, on the aisle. And today, there was a woman seated there in a pink blouse. She appeared to be in her fifties and up until the point just prior to takeoff, she had appeared just as any other passenger. The only reason I wound up taking notice was when I looked up, I saw her with tears falling from wet eyes.

Instantly, I felt badly for her. With this job, I see people cry often- people saying goodbye, traveling to a funeral, tears of joy at a long-awaited reunion. I wanted to comfort her. I thought about offering her comfort or some kind words after we got in the air and it was safe for me to get up. I wondered why she was crying. Did she break up with someone? Was she thinking of doing so? Had someone she loved passed away? There are so many reasons to make one cry, but to do so in such a place as on an airplane...there must have been a real reason.

Her sadness made me feel more human. I know I have a lot of stress at times, but I am not alone. For a moment, I felt as if her tears represented my own. I felt as if her sadness reflected some of the sadness I feel in my own life. Maybe it was for this reason that I averted my eyes. That, and, I can be like a typical male, not wanting to deal with a woman in tears.

By the time our aircraft reached the heavens, she was composed and back to normal. The tears had dried and her face looked calm again. Surely, she hadn’t been crying due to a fear of flying. She certainly didn’t appear nervous or stressed. No, this was some grief that weighed on her to the breaking point of shedding tears, and as they usually do, seemed to work in helping her get past that point.

I never did say anything to her, but as we prepared to land and I stood at the front of the economy section to make sure things in the cabin appeared ready for landing, I glanced down at her as she glanced up at me, and I smiled. Her smile in return was a comfort. She and I will be just fine.

Act Your Age

Dear Shawn,

In a good year, I will go on two cruise vacations. Since buying my home, this hasn’t happened very much as I always seem to be working on projects around the house instead of exploring the seas and their many ports. One of the first things I do when I get on board is to start looking for the people my age. I seek out the thirty-somethings, twenty-somethings, and people in their forties, if they seem to be acting young. The last few times I was at sea and I did this, I realized later that something’s not right. I am no longer in my thirties and it’s starting to show. I’m afraid people are now thinking, “How nice of those young people to be hanging out with their father!”

One of the best things about this job is working with fun people. I don’t have much of a social life at home, so hanging out with a fun crew is often the only social life I get, and that is usually fine with me. Long layovers allow for a chance to have dinner, drinks, maybe go to a movie from time to time, or just hang out in a hotel room and commiserate. It’s a great social life, but with different friends each time. Sometimes the ages can vary quite a bit from one person to the next, but as flight attendants, we all have a lot in common.

The crew I am working with today are both in their mid-twenties. I feel like I fit right in when we were hanging out after our flights the other day. We had a long layover and there was talk of going to a few bars the following day. I was asked if that sounded like fun, and I said that it depended on the timing, as we had an early flight this morning, and there is nothing worse than flying home with a hangover.

Yesterday, I went to lunch on my own, wanting a little quiet time. I got back to my room and realized that I had never heard from the other two. As it turns out, they did go out to a few bars, and for about a minute, I felt really left out. Why didn’t they call me? Oh, yeah, maybe because they don’t want to be out with someone who could very easily be their father. Who wants to go out with a fat, old, bald guy, right? They ‘should’ be out having fun without me as a chaperon.

I’ve always had friends who were older. When I was general manager of the Harley dealership, one of the people I was closest to was our book keeper. She was a fun woman who could have nearly been my grandmother, yet she loved the music I listened to, was vivacious, fun and called herself Maxine, as in the cantankerous character from the greeting cards. Well, she nearly looked like the real-life model.

That will be me. I will the older friend who never acts their age. Like my father, I always love having a good time, and I can’t help it if the younger folk are having the kind of fun I want to have. I just hope they don’t mind me tagging along. And trying to keep up.

Time Served

Dear Shawn,

There are times when, even after a twelve-plus hour duty day at work, when we still want to hang out and have a few drinks when we get to our layover hotel. This is especially true when working with people who all really get along, as does the crew I’m currently a part of. Yes, we were beat and tired, but who wants to end a day like that? Let's have a drink and some fun!

To say that our day was long by only talking about its length is an injustice. The day began in Houston, where we pushed back from the gate, taxied out, paused, heard from our pilots of an engine issue, and then returned to the gate for what fortunately turned out to be a fairly quick fix. Amazingly, however, we wound up landing in LAX only a few minutes behind schedule. The pilots really wanted to get home!

Once in Los Angeles, we had a wheel chair passenger in the last row of economy, so it took a while for the assistants to arrive and then be able to board the aircraft with the aisle chair to assist the passenger. In the mean time, they decided to cater the plane from the rear, so immediately following the wheel chair passenger were two caterers, each with two carts. Of course, my bag storage location was in the overhead bins in the center of the cabin, and I couldn’t get to them until the passengers were all off of the plane. By the time I could get to them, I was now behind the caterers.

This was problematic for me to get off of the plane, because now, to put the four carts they brought with them into the spaces, they had to remove the carts currently in the way. So now I had five carts and two workers blocking me. I kept telling them that I had another flight to get to, that we were delayed and I was late for boarding my next flight. I had to use what my best friend calls my stadium voice to really get their attention, “Hi, I’m sorry, but listen, I HAVE to get off of this plane or my next flight is going to be delayed because you are blocking the aisle.” They heard me, and finally moved things out of my way. My two flying partners were ahead of me in the terminal by at least the length of a football field.

Leaving for San Francisco, doing my pre-departure service in first class, two passengers asked me what drinks I had to offer. This always has me thinking, ‘really? You have no idea what we have to drink? How did you get to be in first class if you don’t know what we have to drink?’ It’s always a good thing that inside voice stays inside! Oh, how I love to run the beers that we carry. How fun it must be to watch me look at the ceiling, as if the menu was up there, as I try to recall them all. I didn't know I was going to be tested today!

Finally, after our three hour sit in San Francisco, we were on our bumpy flight to Medford, where the bar closed five minutes prior to our arrival. No worries, we were still able to obtain some drinks and have a little debriefing in the hotel room. It was fun to unwind, tell stories, give toasts, and vent our frustrations. I love working with Richard, he’s like a mini me. He’s small framed, for one, but he and I share many of the same work practices and know of some of the same tips for making work easier. We worked very well together.

Today, I awoke not with what I would exactly call a hangover, but my body certainly knew, without a doubt, that I had subjected it to a long night imbibed with strong drinks. I didn’t hear from the other two, so I ventured out to get Chinese food, which is surprisingly good for such a small town in Oregon. It was nice to have some quiet time alone, after a day being surrounded by so many people. It was also fun listening to the man at the table across from me ramble on to his work buddies about his time running from having to spend ten days in jail due to drugs, and how ten years later he turned himself in, but since there were no issues in that time, the judge sent him home with time served. Did you know that if the police don't actually see you get out of the car they have been chasing, that they can't pin it on you? The things you learn over coconut shrimp!

The Ruse

Dear Shawn,

I'm back in one of my favorite towns...Portland. The West Coast Portland. Oregon. I love this city. I have many friends here. I once thought of moving here, but the commute to San Francisco was more than I could bare, so I never did. But I think I would have been happy living here.

Many flight attendants complain about our long layover hotel here. It's close to downtown, but it's not really downtown. Two blocks away is the train, and three stops away is the heart of downtown, so it's close. It's also close to numerous restaurants, a mall, a theater and the hotel itself gives a good discount, including on alcohol, which is rare. Very rare.

One thing is odd about my staying here, however. I can't stay here and not think about something that happened a few years ago on one of my layovers. As usual, I'd arrived late and stayed up until early morning. When I awoke, I turned my phone on and saw a message from my mother. In this message she said something along the lines, "Oh, Penguin, I'm so sorry. Don't worry. Every thing will be OK. Just call when you get this. I love you."

This freaked me out. What was she talking about? Had Mother Airline gone back into bankruptcy? That really was the first thing to go through my head. So, of course, I called. She asked if I was alright. When I said yes, she sounded urgent, saying she would call me back. Now I'm really confused.

So what happened was this. Someone called my grandmother, saying that I had been in an accident. After a night of drinking I had hit a woman and was now in the hospital and the woman was in bad shape. The caller was a lawyer and asked for money to give to the woman in hopes that she would not press charges. My grandmother said that she would have to bring in my mother. She was told that I was adamant about not bringing in my mother. She asked to speak to me, and someone spoke to her. She believed it was me, after being told that I sounded so bad because of the accident.

She did the right thing by bringing my parents into the event, but they bought the story as well, and wound up sending the louse money. Once this was done, they got a second call, informing them that the woman I supposedly hit was pregnant, so they needed more money. It was at this point that my father put the brakes on, and it was shortly after this that I called.

The phone number being used was quickly shut off and they were no longer able to reach the snakes that had tried to first swindle my poor, elderly grandmother, and eventually did swindle my parents. We now have a password worked out, so if anyone ever tries to call for me in an accident, there is a way that I can let them know that it really is me. Of course, first off, I would never drive intoxicated, so I think of all things, I was most disappointed that they fell for this story.

So every time I am in this hotel, I think of that, and how my mother used her rainy-day fund to pay this swindler. Hopefully, they may see some of the money returned, as they have heard from a lawyer involved in a class action suit that will paid out to all who enter the plea. I hope they do get their money back. At least a portion. Lesson learned.

BBQ Cook Off

Dear Shawn,

Tonight was the Houston Championship Barbeque Cook Off. I know I always just call it the rodeo. It's not the rodeo, that actually starts in a few days. The BBQ cook off is the precursor to the actual rodeo. I grew up going to the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo in the Astrodome. I'd never been to the BBQ, but since Mother Airline has a BBQ tent with free food and an open bar, and I've heard so much about it from other flight attendants, it's become one of the highlights of my year. Did I mention the open bar?

There are two work-related highlights of the year for me. The first is Family Day in San Francisco. It's most likely quite boring for anyone not totally into airplanes. They also have a bunch of cars and hot rods on display, but I couldn't care less about that. I go for the airplanes on display and the swag Mother Airlines and some of the vendors give out. Airbus and Boeing, for example, are usually there with things to give away. And for volunteering, I get a free meal.

Then there is this BBQ. There is a charge of $15 to get in, but once in the tent, the BBQ is decent, the potato salad is the best I've ever had, and oh, there is an open bar! This year, two of the young ladies serving drinks recognized me. I'm totally turned onto the Pecan Praline Bourbon, which I have on the rocks. The cute blue-eyed girl asked if she didn't turn me onto that last year. I can't believe she remembers me! But yes, she did.

It's fun to see people from work having fun. I saw quite a few people I knew there. The band was really fun and I danced a lot. I had two servings of the BBQ, savoring the warm, creamy potato salad, wishing I had the recipe. I'm thinking of going back again tomorrow, since it lasts Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I have a flight on Saturday.

I went with Barbara, and she brought her friend, Ginna with her. She's also a flight attendant. Normally, I take Chris with me, my friend from middle school, but this morning he fell off a ladder at work and broke a few ribs. We had just talked about how this was becoming an annual tradition for us. It wasn't the same without him, but in the end, I was sort of glad he didn't come, because I think he would have been ready to leave sooner than I was. I had a really good time tonight.

There were lots of cowboys in hats and jeans along with cowgirls with boots and bling. The worst part is having to drive home, so after only a few drinks, I had to stop to sober up for the last two hours. One of these days I think I should get a hotel room nearby so I can just get ten sheets to the wind and get a ride to my hotel. It really is a good time. I hope you can join me one day. Yee-haw!

I'm a Sucker for a Thunderstorm

Dear Shawn,

Last night, I stayed up much later than I planned. It was about 2am and I turned off the TV and shut down my puter. Then I heard it. Distinctive plops and pings of rain hitting the roof and tin of my house. Then, in the distance, a rumble. Then a flash and boom. Thunderstorm.

I grabbed my phone and took a look at the weather radar app I love to use. There was a small cell a few miles to the south, headed right for me. There was a larger cell just beyond that. I decided that I'd turn my puter back on and do more work and wait. There's nothing like an early morning thunderstorm before going to bed.

Staying up late wasn't an issue for me. My next trip is a late check in, and then I fly back home, landing at 7am on Monday, so I needed to start getting ready for that schedule. I've got the next two days off.

The storm approached with more flashes of light. The time between the flash and the rumble or boom of thunder helped indicate the distance of the storm without having to look at my app. There were several bright flashes and thunder came on its heels. In the distance I could hear a car's alarm sounding. The frames on my wall vibrated as the sound of the rain permeated my home. I smiled. Soon, the time between flashes began to grow. The rain died down. The storm passed and it was silent. I went to bed as my clock sounded 4am. 

What in the World?

Dear Shawn,

The other night I was watching some of the Winter Olympics from South Korea on line. This is the only way I can watch them at home, since I don’t have regular TV. It was neat to see them cover some of what I loved about my visits to Korea. They showed a segment on making kimchi, a dish I never fully appreciated until having fresh, Korean-made kimchi. They showed a variety of street food, which I have previously savored, a tea ceremony, which I enjoyed once after meeting a woman on the flight, who invited me to her tea room. I found myself really missing Seoul.

Another thing I enjoyed, was seeing how people, athletes in particular, can gather from all around the world, putting aside political differences and with good sportsmanship, come together in a global community, to bring us all a little closer as we cheer the athletes on. Sure, we root for our hometown countries the most, but you can’t help but cheer any good routine.

Then I read a little blurb about another school shooting. This one was in Florida, and the headline mentioned seventeen dead. I cried. With nothing but that information. Normally, I would turn my TV on, navigate my Roku to CBS news, and follow along. This time, I could not do that. I did not want to hear about more kids being killed in school.

I don’t have solid feelings about gun control. I do think more needs to be done. I do feel strongly that Americans should have guns. I do not like seeing them in public and I do not feel that the average citizen needs assault rifles. I do know that we need to do more for mental illness. I also feel strongly that we should refer to those who do this type of terror, well, terrorists. That is what they are.

These days, I watch very little news. The news always seems to stress me out unlike ever before. So here I am, several days after this terror in Florida, and I’ve yet to watch the news, or read about it. It turns out that a pilot I know lost his daughter in that shooting. Again, I cried. It’s just not right. What are we going to do in America? I need a slice of pie. Pecan?

Valentine Date

Dear Shawn,

My first Valentine, year after year, was my mother. One of my first memories is of a small bean bag bug, a lady bug, but instead of spots, little hearts- given to me by Mom. Every year, as a little boy, I always got little gifts and cards from her. That little tradition has sort of died away, but she still calls me to wish me a happy Valentine’s Day.

This year, I had a new Valentine, my grandmother. She was so excited about my new furniture, she couldn’t wait to see it all in my house. I had scheduled delivery for my new table to be the fourteenth, without realizing I had chosen Valentine’s Day. When I called to let her know that I’d found a table, I told her I’d have her over for dinner, to be my very first dinner guest on my new table. I guess it’s a good thing neither of us had big dates.

She sort of tried to get out of it, saying I didn’t need to cook, she could just come see the furniture and I could take her back home, no need to go to all that trouble. It was like she didn’t want to eat my cooking. She is scared of cats, but mine never bother her when she’s over. I finally hooked her by telling her that I’d already bought the food. That was no lie. I had everything I needed for dinner in the freezer and cupboard.

She gushed over how much she liked the furniture. She sat on the couch and admired my new coffee table, which is shaped like an airplane wing. She commented on how much she liked my new lamp. She was quite impressed with my table. The only shame was that I’ve yet to decorate the walls and I still need window treatments. Baby steps.

When the meal was done and we sat at the table, she couldn’t stop glowing over how good the meal was. She wanted me to show her where to find what I had prepared in the store, as she wanted to duplicate the culinary experience, and I assured her it was easy to do.

The main entree was chicken Cordon Bleu, found in the freezer section. Open, place on a cookie sheet, and cook for forty minutes. The starch was instant mashed potatoes. Open the pouch, add two cups of boiling water and mix. It's amazing how far along instant potatoes has come over the years. I added two tablespoons of sour cream and half a cup of cheddar cheese shreds. The veggie was steamed broccoli, which was so flavorful, neither of us needed salt or pepper. That was it. As Chef William Tell used to say, “Very simpah- very ee-see!” To listen to my grandmother, you’d think I flew her to Paris for dinner!

It’s always a joy to have my grandmother over for dinner, and I’d like to do it more often. This is, after all, one of the main reasons I moved back to Houston. I want to spend as much time as I can with her while I can. Making her day with nice furniture and a good meal makes me so happy!

It Snowed in Newark

Dear Shawn,

 

Well, that was a long day. Woke up in Philly, flew to Chicago, worked to Newark and had a two-hour sit. Boarded a plane for Florida, but it was snowing, so the in-bound plane was delayed. Next, we had a delay to push back due to traffic behind us. Had another delay waiting for other planes to be de-iced. Delay was the name of the game. 

 

We never left the gate. Over four hours later, and an hour after we had gone illegal, the captain finally had the jet bridge return so the door could be opened. He had opened the door earlier, but before we had gone illegal. I don't think he was trying to be very helpful. I am pretty sure that when we closed the door, and he knew that we would go illegal in half an hour, that he knew that by the time we landed, we would be well over having gone illegal. I think he just wanted to get down to West Palm Beach.

The saving grace was that our passengers were very friendly and patient. We were practically out of water, had given out half of the snacks, all of the extended delay cookies, answered numerous questions, all while trying to keep to ourselves our issue of going over our duty day hours, so as not to create a panic and keep up the optimism. It was sad to hear how the weather was cutting into some people's vacation. Yet, there was another man who was sort of happy to have a few hours less with his in-laws!

They got a new crew and we were released to go to a hotel for rest when the door opened the second time. For us, it was a 15-hour day! Today, I see that our plane eventually left over six hours late, at 2:15am, and landed just before 5am. That's seven hours late! All I hope is that the captain wound up with a short layover in a dirty hotel room with loud neighbors. Karma is a bitch!

The Wet Spot

Dear Shawn,

Hello from Big D- Dallas, Texas. Things are quite different since I lived here in the mid-eighties. I’m actually just in the airport enjoying a three hour sit between my flight from San Francisco and the next one to Houston. Knowing about the BBQ place, I knew the minute I found out about this sit, that I’d be having a BBQ baked potato. First up, however, was a visit to the men’s room.

So I’m at a urinal doing my thing when a man walks past me and I hear a thud. I thought he’d dropped his bag and the handle had hit the floor just behind me. He began to break that rule in the Man Handbook about talking to a stranger who is doing his thing at a urinal. It was a bit shocking at first, but I assumed he was about to apologize for the loud bang. He stammered a bit to inform me that he’d dropped his phone. I thought perhaps it was just lying near my foot and he wanted to make sure I knew he was going to grab it before doing so. These are things you might read about in the newspaper, especially if one of us were an elected official. Nothing more shocking than an unexpected touch at the men’s room urinals! But he just stood there.

I looked down to see that not only was his phone practically touching my right foot, but it was smack-dab in between the right and left foot. He obviously didn’t want to reach for it there, so I asked if he could give me just a minute. Now he’s standing there waiting for me to finish up. And with a stranger’s phone between my feet, I made extra sure not to splash on it.

When I was done, I stepped aside. The man reached down for his phone with an air of shame unlike any I’ve seen in a long, long time. He walked silently away and went straight to the sink to began pumping out about ten squirts of soap. I’m not sure if his phone was water resistant, and I really don’t think it mattered at that point. Where his phone had fallen was the very spot numerous men before me had missed. It was that bad.

I washed my hands and walked out of the restroom before I started to laugh. The BBQ place was just next door, and as I rounded the corner, the cashier stood there looking back at me with a blank stare. Not even the wide smile on my face coaxed her into a smile. If she only knew what I found so funny!

And this, my friend, is why I never take my phone out of my pocket when I’m in the men’s room. That can wait. Were it me, I may have just walked out of the men’s room, leaving that phone in the wet spot of shame right where it fell. See ya!

Houston Winters

Dear Shawn,

For years, since I was a kid, I’ve joked about Houston winters. “Yeah, we have winter in Houston...it’s two weeks and not in a row.” That’s the winter I’m used to having on the Texas Coast. Most Thanksgivings are spent playing football in the front yard after the feast while wearing shorts. Most Christmas mornings only require a light jacket. It’s almost sad.

I always hated the weaker winters because they fail to kill off the bugs. Summers after a weak winter are itchier and crawlier. We do get a freeze from time to time. I do know what ice looks like, and Dallas has had some wicked winter ice storms when I lived there. Snow is quite rare in Texas, unless up in the Texas Panhandle, but I do remember it snowing once in Houston when I was a kid. Mom picked me up from school early so I could get home and play in it! Or, more likely, work closed down early in order to get people home safe, before it got worse. I’m not sure anyone drives worse in ice and snow than a Texan. It’s just not in our play book!

This winter has been different. Where, in the past, I can get away with not using the heat in my home at all, or once or twice at the most, I’ve had to use the heat a number of times this winter. It’s snowed twice! One day, it iced up and I was two hours late leaving IAH because at first the jet bridge was frozen, and then the tarmac was too icy to move the loading equipment, so they couldn’t unload the bags from the previous flight. Normally, I sleep with a fan all year round. This year, I turned off the fan and even added another layer on my bed under which to sleep, as I do like to keep my home on the cold side. That may be part of the reason why I’m still single.

Don’t get me wrong, I am NOT complaining. My name is Penguin for a reason. I love the cold weather. I’d rather be cold and have to bundle up than hot and unable to do anything but sweat like an animal. I terribly miss living in the Bay Area, where going out with a jacket and hat was the norm. No one wears hats in Houston, unless it’s a ball cap, so when I do wear one of my hats, I feel like I stick out like a tourist.

This year, every time it looks like Houston is back on schedule, the temps rise to the lower or mid seventies, and I start to think that our winter is over, at least for a month or so, until the next cold spell comes, where it dips back into the 40s and makes me smile. Case in point- yesterday, the high was 72. I woke up this morning and needed my skull cap because it was cold in my house again. Then I went outside to head to work and the breeze sent a chill through me as if I were in Chicago! It was 42, but the wind was blowing so hard that it easily felt like it was in the 30s. It made me look at the forecast, which seems to indicate that we are not quite done with Houston winter, just yet. Now, it’s warmed back up and the fan is back on. I’m hoping for another cold front. Take your time, spring. I can get into this chill!

Nothing but Grass!

Dear Shawn,

The flight was Houston to Philadelphia. With what was one of the rockiest landings of my seventeen years working for Mother Airline, the plane banked, fish tailed, rocked, dipped, rose and hit the ground on one wheel before bouncing and hitting it again. It was rough. It was almost exciting. It was like many of those fun landing videos I watch on line. I looked to my flying partner who had not yet started to laugh or smile, which I began to do as soon as I realized that I didn't have to start yelling, "Brace, brace brace!"

When we leveled out and nearly came to a stop, she looked at me and said, "That was wild. Did the wing hit the ground? I looked out the window and all I saw was grass!" That made me laugh even more, because I noticed that too. I looked out of the small round porthole window and instead of seeing the normal view of field, distant trees, etcetera, the plane was at such an angle that I did see nothing but the grass along the runway.

I've had rough landings in the past, even some where a few passengers gasp and or scream. I don't recall that happening on this landing, but that could very well be due to the severity of this one demanding all of my attention. At least it wasn't as bad that one landing I had in Burbank on a 737 where we didn't seem to land as much as we were hit by the ground. We hit so hard that it actually hurt my back. Sometimes, a landing is so rough, the pilots are required to do a walk-around to check for damage.

Most people are easily scared by such things. I am one of the weird ones who enjoys a bit of turbulence in flight and the occasional rough, side-winder style landings. I enjoy being reminded that I'm flying through the air in a beautiful, shiny metal tube. I have the most awesome job I can think of!

This experience reminded me of how Mom used to be scared to fly, and she would tell me that when something happened that was of concern to her, the first thing she would do is watch the flight attendants. She assumed that if there was something to be concerned about, they would indicate such by the look on their face. I've never forgotten this, so when I'm in view of passengers during turbulent flight, I always try to smile, maybe laugh a little, and show that I'm having a great time.  

In a Funk

Dear Shawn,

Yesterday was not a great day for me. I was in a super funk. It was one of those perfect storm situations.

The night before, I landed back in Houston. It was a ten hour day with three legs. The day before that was over twelve hours, also with three legs. In between was a short thirteen hour layover. I got about seven hours of sleep, but by the time I landed back in Houston, I was toast. The ladies I worked with walked back to the bus. I took the train. I was physically and mentally exhausted.

That night was sort of rainy and the roads were not as safe as usual, just like me. I nearly missed the turn off to the North Freeway. As I crossed three lanes to get where I needed to be, I was so cautious about traffic behind me that I wasn’t paying enough attention to what was in front of me and nearly collided with the barrels that protect where the lanes split. That sort of woke me up, but then I nearly missed my exit! When I did get to my neighborhood, I then passed my street and had to loop around the block to come back.

When I got up the next day, I was still tired and I was still upset that I had pick up that trip. It was not a trip that I would normally pick up. I avoid three-leg days like the flu. The boarding process is the worst part of my job, as we endure arguments over bag space, complaints about leg room, and acts of entitlement. There were simply no other trips to pick up. I’d been home for four days trying to pick up a trip. I’d passed other trips that looked bad on paper, holding out for something good. With nothing coming up, I had to pick this one up or not make enough money this month to cover bills. I was forced into flying a trip I knew would do this, and that just made me angry.

What do I do when I am angry? I post about it on Facebook. That stirred up a shit storm. I had friends calling, texting and writing notes about my post. I didn’t attack anyone. I was polite, except that I mentioned that people who fly 140 hours are on my shit list. I thought nothing of using this term, seems my father was always adding me to his. I grew up surrounded by people talking about their shit lists. I guess today, people’s sensitivities are such that I had to go back and edit it to poopie list. Later still, with nearly 500 responses, the post was deleted entirely. Probably better that it was. Not a single friend asked about me, though. No one thought to ask how I was doing, since I was obviously upset, which made me feel alone and singled out for expressing how I was feeling.

One of the things that scares me most in life these days is seeing how so many of our trips are built in such a way that I know I can’t fly them. I feel like I’m being squeezed out of the job I love so much. My health and age just won’t let me do six legs in two days without adequate rest between. We have so many three and four day trips with too many flights in one day and not enough rest in between. I’m scared that this kind of flying is either going to force me out, or kill me.

So yesterday, after venting my anger, taking a nice nap with my cats and watching some movies, I started to feel better. Let’s hope this period of poorly built trips is short-lived, and that with spring will come trips that are not only easy on the body, but ones that I’m senior enough to hold!

XYZ...Examine Your Zipper

Dear Shawn,

One of the flight attendant tricks of the trade I always impart to other travelers, especially the new-hire flight attendants, is something I learned on a layover in San Diego. It was a long layover, with plenty of time to get out and explore. The crew I had flown in with had their own plans, so I did so on my own. Someone had told me of a place for pizza to die for in nearby Little Italy. I love to die for pizza, so I went in. It was a nice place and the pie really was to die for!

The pie was also large, so I ate only a third of it and took the rest back to my hotel room. With no refrigerator, I had to take a plastic bag, fill it with ice, place it on a towel on top of the pizza box, and then cover the whole thing with more towels. Doing this keeps it insulated over night. The next day, I would be on a plane that had a fridge on it, so I could keep it cold until we landed back in San Francisco, where I could get home and heat it up in the oven for a fantastic dinner!

I'd worked hard on keeping my sweet pizza pie cold, and when I got home, I realized that I had left it in that damned fridge on the plane. I was crushed!

What did I learn from this? Some people leave themselves notes. Some are just good about remembering things. Others do what I did, and often just leave things behind. But I did learn something from my tragic mistake.

Now, when I have something stowed separately from my bags, I leave a zipper open. I have created a healthy habit of looking at all my bags as I walk up the jetway to the terminal. If I see a zipper open, I know something is out of my bags. I do this with my wallet, my passport, my computer and cords, and with food or drink. If I need to remember anything at all, I only have to look at my bags. It's amazing what a simple zipper unzipped can help you remember!

Hello, Sandie Go

Dear Shawn,

Finally, I am in San Diego. What a long day. It started with my alarm going off at 730am and me wondering what that infernal noise was. When I figured out what it was, I wondered why. Oh, yeah, I picked up a trip today! And I goofed!

For four days I sat at home trying to pick up a trip. This month, I held a line of trips that I didn’t like very much, so, as I’ve done many times in the past, I dropped a bunch of trips with the intent of picking up better ones. Usually, I’m really lucky. People drop them at the last minute, maybe they don’t feel well, or have to take care of a mother or child, or can’t commute in as planned for one reason or another. Normally, I can pick up a sweet international trip the night before, and even quite often, the very day of.

As my window of opportunity to pick up a trip to make money was closing, I was getting more and more desperate. This trip popped up on the pick up board, and at first glance, I thought- NO. It was three legs the first and second day. At thirteen hours, it was a shorter layover than I normally enjoy. The duty day on day one was thirteen hours, much longer than I am used to. But then I saw day two- after laying over in San Antonio, I’d work back to Houston, then to Austin and back to Houston again. Each of those flights are short enough that we don’t do a service in the back. That was an easy day!

Next, I looked at the crew to make sure I wasn’t working with someone I dreaded working with. I didn’t recognize the names straight away, so that was a good sign. Finally, what lured me to pick the trip up was that all six legs were working on the Airbus, which is so much better than that crazy 737 we have, which some of us refer to as ‘the slave ship.’ As a bonus, it had a sit in Austin of over two hours, and I love the food at the airport in Austin.

So, here was my alarm going off and I got up without feeling too tired, which is sort of rare for me any time I am awake before 9am. I pulled up the paperwork for the trip and noticed that on day two, from San Antonio to Houston, we were scheduled to serve fresh food. Now why would we have fresh food scheduled on a half-hour flight? Wouldn’t you know, I got my SAN mixed up with my SAT. SAN was San Diego, not San Antonio. So there went my easy day two! Still, it’s not a bad day flying from San Diego to Houston, and I really like the women I’m working with, so it wasn’t so rough.

I’m so used to working those international flights, after doing so for about three months or more, now. One leg and two services each day- crew rest in flight allows for a two hour nap- nice, long layover of 35 hours- higher pay. I have no reason why international pays more than domestic. Working domestic is so much tougher than international.

I’m working with Mary, who is one of those step counters. She says we’ve walked over 15,000 steps today, which equates to over five miles. I never had any idea how many steps I was taking in a long day like this one. My feet agree, though. They are tired! Much more so than when I work international trips!

So here I am in San Diego, a city that always has me thinking of a classmate of mine who once worked here with me. In the morning after our layover, we met in the lobby. She’d never stayed here before. Dawn was a great lady from England, with a proper English accent, so I enjoyed hearing her tell stories, which she did often. She was telling me how she liked the room, finding it so nice to have a note from the cleaner, which read, “Thanks for visiting, Sandie Go. She thought that such an interesting name, Sandie Go. She asked me what sort of name that was. Was it American? Maybe African?

I thought for a moment, and realized that I, too, had a note in my room, but it read, “Thanks for visiting San Diego.” We laughed about that one all day. Now, I cannot come to this city and not think of Sandie Go.

I can’t wait to get to bed and enjoy eight hours of sleep, which means I need to say goodnight and get ready for bed. Thirteen hours sounds great, but when you factor time to and from the airport, getting ready for bed, getting ready for work, going through security, and then boarding the aircraft nearly an hour prior to takeoff, that means that of that thirteen hours, if I want to sleep for eight, I only have one hour free, of which I’ve spent twenty minutes writing to you. Nite nite!