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.