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!