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On a flight back from San Diego this afternoon a frazzled mom brought her crying two year old to the back galley. I asked if she needed anything, but the poor girl was just tired. After being on vacation for 10 days and facing a connecting flight to get all the way to Milwaukee, you can't blame the poor girl.
"Do you have any tips?" the mom asked me with a look that was half desperation and half exasperation.
I was hesitant to suggest it, but, "Some people give them a tiny dose of Benadryl." When she didn't blanch I was emboldened to continue, "Or if you have a favorite blanket, sometimes that's comforting."
Apparently she didn't have any kiddie drugs in her arsenal, and as much as I'm tempted to, I am definitely not allowed to dispense anything of that sort. She did go back to her seat and pull out a stuffed lamb and fuzzy pink blanket and sure enough, within a few minutes her daughter was sound asleep, reclined in her lap.
"Huh, who knew?" I thought. As a jet-set, childless, 20-something, I had just proffered sage advice. It's not often I am the recipient of such looks of glowing gratitude from a passenger, but it certainly does a lot to brighten the day.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Madame Booger
Working a flight back from Milwaukee last week I had the pleasure to chat with a lady who ran her own day care. (Why she immediately offered this information is beyond me.) It was her lucky day. We weren't completely full so she was able to move into the bulkhead row and enjoy the luxurious foot room all to herself.
She proceeded to explain that on her last flight, she was stuck in a row behind someone who pushed his seat all the way back leaving her trapped and feeling extremely claustrophobic. "I just kept coughing on him."
"That should teach him a lesson," I said. "Get him sick as punishment for causing your discomfort."
"I know," she continued. "I have a day care and I've seen at least seen different kinds of boogers. There's orange ones, and yellow-greenish runny ones..."
At this point I was thanking the flying lady gods that she trailed off before she managed to run down her entire list of booger characteristics. Ironically enough, for someone so sensitive to the physical properties and powers of boogers, she was continuously blowing her nose and placing the used tissue, ever so daintily, into the pocket that holds the safety card and entertainment guide.
Another request to all airline patrons...Please do not place your "used service items" in these pockets. They are not trash receptacles! Someone, whose snot is not on those tissues, inevitably will have to reach their hand blindly into that pocket to retrieve all the nastiness that people leave behind. No matter what your boogers look like, they all belong in the same place...the trash bin.
Thank you. I'll get off my booger-free soap box.
She proceeded to explain that on her last flight, she was stuck in a row behind someone who pushed his seat all the way back leaving her trapped and feeling extremely claustrophobic. "I just kept coughing on him."
"That should teach him a lesson," I said. "Get him sick as punishment for causing your discomfort."
"I know," she continued. "I have a day care and I've seen at least seen different kinds of boogers. There's orange ones, and yellow-greenish runny ones..."
At this point I was thanking the flying lady gods that she trailed off before she managed to run down her entire list of booger characteristics. Ironically enough, for someone so sensitive to the physical properties and powers of boogers, she was continuously blowing her nose and placing the used tissue, ever so daintily, into the pocket that holds the safety card and entertainment guide.
Another request to all airline patrons...Please do not place your "used service items" in these pockets. They are not trash receptacles! Someone, whose snot is not on those tissues, inevitably will have to reach their hand blindly into that pocket to retrieve all the nastiness that people leave behind. No matter what your boogers look like, they all belong in the same place...the trash bin.
Thank you. I'll get off my booger-free soap box.
Monday, March 17, 2008
The Rest of the Story
I remember listening to NPR with my mom in the car on the weekends and always looking forward to Paul Harvey's The Rest of the Story. On a recent trip back from Seattle, it was taking forever to close the cockpit door. Once we were finally under way and the other flight attendant came to the back to help with the drink service she told me the reason we were delayed was because we had to wait for a baby Orca Whale to be loaded underneath and have its oxygen system installed.
"Really? Where is it going?" Logically, anyone with an ounce of curiosity would have asked.
"Oh, I don't know. The captain didn't say." Was the only response I got. This is a perfect example of why it's nice to have someone filling you in on The Rest of the Story.
"Really? Where is it going?" Logically, anyone with an ounce of curiosity would have asked.
"Oh, I don't know. The captain didn't say." Was the only response I got. This is a perfect example of why it's nice to have someone filling you in on The Rest of the Story.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Vestiges of a Full Moon
As seems to be the pattern, I began this month with a high hour, multiple day trip that included layovers in Washington, D.C. and Seattle. While I had a great layover in D.C., walking up and down the mall in sunny, 60 degree weather, it was the passengers that left their mark this time.
From D.C. to Denver there was a very pregnant mother and her four year old daughter traveling with us. From the beginning, they were high maintenance, to put a diplomatic spin on things. "I want a blanket and a pillow." "I want this whole row for my daughter and myself. I'm pregnant and have to keep my feet up." "I need two ginger ales and a tea with three sugars." All of these directives were squeezed in between the timeouts she took from yelling at her daughter who didn't seem to be doing anything but sitting in her seat, watching TV, and making the occasional comment about the cartoon she was watching. While I'll admit it may have been a tiny bit unprofessional, we took to calling this mother our princess.
Ironically, our princess and her daughter were also on the flight from Denver to Seattle. Talk about a long travel day. Most OB/GYN's will recommend against women flying past their 36th week of pregnancy. Our princess' midsection was so distended, I was worried we might be celebrating a new life at 38,000 feet. Thankfully, this did not happen on either leg of our trip, but her pronouncements and demands did not die down either. We all breathed a sigh of relief when she fell asleep for most of the descent into Seattle.
On our flight from Los Angeles to Denver we had a very tall passenger who made his impression through his vestments. We took to calling him our Dr. Seuss passenger. He boarded wearing a brown velour track suit with a coordinating felt Cat and the Hat style hat. Rather than the traditional red and white stripes, however, this hat had leopard spots. The passenger unassumingly sported this accessory throughout the flight, in spite of the fact that between the length of his torso and the high profile of his hat, it nearly scraped the ceiling of the cabin, making a slightly slouchy posture necessary when seated.
Maybe it was the full moon, or the leap day thrown in, but this trip seemed to have no shortage of interesting characters. Pet names are one way to cope, but at the end of the flight, or even those rare chances when we have the back galley to ourselves, all we can do is chuckle about phenomena so strange all that can be done is blame them on the lunar cycle.
From D.C. to Denver there was a very pregnant mother and her four year old daughter traveling with us. From the beginning, they were high maintenance, to put a diplomatic spin on things. "I want a blanket and a pillow." "I want this whole row for my daughter and myself. I'm pregnant and have to keep my feet up." "I need two ginger ales and a tea with three sugars." All of these directives were squeezed in between the timeouts she took from yelling at her daughter who didn't seem to be doing anything but sitting in her seat, watching TV, and making the occasional comment about the cartoon she was watching. While I'll admit it may have been a tiny bit unprofessional, we took to calling this mother our princess.
Ironically, our princess and her daughter were also on the flight from Denver to Seattle. Talk about a long travel day. Most OB/GYN's will recommend against women flying past their 36th week of pregnancy. Our princess' midsection was so distended, I was worried we might be celebrating a new life at 38,000 feet. Thankfully, this did not happen on either leg of our trip, but her pronouncements and demands did not die down either. We all breathed a sigh of relief when she fell asleep for most of the descent into Seattle.
On our flight from Los Angeles to Denver we had a very tall passenger who made his impression through his vestments. We took to calling him our Dr. Seuss passenger. He boarded wearing a brown velour track suit with a coordinating felt Cat and the Hat style hat. Rather than the traditional red and white stripes, however, this hat had leopard spots. The passenger unassumingly sported this accessory throughout the flight, in spite of the fact that between the length of his torso and the high profile of his hat, it nearly scraped the ceiling of the cabin, making a slightly slouchy posture necessary when seated.
Maybe it was the full moon, or the leap day thrown in, but this trip seemed to have no shortage of interesting characters. Pet names are one way to cope, but at the end of the flight, or even those rare chances when we have the back galley to ourselves, all we can do is chuckle about phenomena so strange all that can be done is blame them on the lunar cycle.
Friday, February 1, 2008
First Officers' Club
Flying has begun to slow down again after the holidays, which is a nice respite but does not provide much fodder for travel tales. Over the last few trips I've been on though, it has seemed like the first officers were the ones providing the most material for interesting character sketches.
Two weeks after New Years, for example, I was on a trip to D.C. with a first officer called Dusty. He's the type that is so cute you'd want to make a Ken doll out of him, but one sideways look told you he could do some serious damage to your face with one hand tied behind his back given the right motivation. The best part about him was instead of bolting out the cockpit door in an attempt to beat the passengers out of the airport, he would thank each passenger as they exited and then...wait for it...he would walk to the back of the plane and pull down each of the flight attendants' bags for them. Anytime a pilot walks past, oh say, the emergency exit row of the cabin, my little "this is unusual" hairs go up on the back of my neck. Now I purposely pack light to save my limbs and back the strain of lugging my suitcase so I'm more than capable of hefting it in and out of the storage bins, but thank you Dusty. That simple act earned you a spot on my all time favorite to fly with list.
Next comes the female first officer who started out as a flight attendant and happened to be four months pregnant during our trip to Las Vegas. I managed to ask Donna the right lead-in question and she told me her whole history from college through today in about three minutes. Her dad is a retired United pilot and her sister is a current United pilot. Donna started as a flight attendant for United, but soon realized that she was getting much too impatient with the passengers and much too interested in what was going on in the flight deck to stay on that side of the cockpit door. So, thanks to her private tutors, she made it through flight school and is in her current position today. I feel like this is something that almost never happens, which is too bad. If the pilots had to experience our job duties and interactions with the passenger first hand, I think they would have a greater appreciation for flight attendants as a whole, as well as a greater appreciation for their own career where they are allowed to sit behind a locked door and not interact with the passengers if they don't want to.
And last, but not least, is first officer Travis. You might remember him from an earlier post. We flew to Portland together a couple of months ago and he usually referred to himself as "the fat kid." When I was flying the couch at the airport last Monday, the other reserves and I were watching Knocked Up on a TV in the corner of the crew lounge (their cinematic choice, not mine). Travis was sitting on a couch behind us and would titter at all the inappropriate or unnecessarily graphic parts, but otherwise not acknowledge or engage us. As a self-described redneck hillbilly from the South, this behavior painted such a classic picture you'd have to be there to fully appreciate it.
I'll be flying the couch again tomorrow, which will make it nearly two weeks since I've been at cruising altitude. Disappointing, but airports are such great venues for people watching, you never know what you'll witness.
Two weeks after New Years, for example, I was on a trip to D.C. with a first officer called Dusty. He's the type that is so cute you'd want to make a Ken doll out of him, but one sideways look told you he could do some serious damage to your face with one hand tied behind his back given the right motivation. The best part about him was instead of bolting out the cockpit door in an attempt to beat the passengers out of the airport, he would thank each passenger as they exited and then...wait for it...he would walk to the back of the plane and pull down each of the flight attendants' bags for them. Anytime a pilot walks past, oh say, the emergency exit row of the cabin, my little "this is unusual" hairs go up on the back of my neck. Now I purposely pack light to save my limbs and back the strain of lugging my suitcase so I'm more than capable of hefting it in and out of the storage bins, but thank you Dusty. That simple act earned you a spot on my all time favorite to fly with list.
Next comes the female first officer who started out as a flight attendant and happened to be four months pregnant during our trip to Las Vegas. I managed to ask Donna the right lead-in question and she told me her whole history from college through today in about three minutes. Her dad is a retired United pilot and her sister is a current United pilot. Donna started as a flight attendant for United, but soon realized that she was getting much too impatient with the passengers and much too interested in what was going on in the flight deck to stay on that side of the cockpit door. So, thanks to her private tutors, she made it through flight school and is in her current position today. I feel like this is something that almost never happens, which is too bad. If the pilots had to experience our job duties and interactions with the passenger first hand, I think they would have a greater appreciation for flight attendants as a whole, as well as a greater appreciation for their own career where they are allowed to sit behind a locked door and not interact with the passengers if they don't want to.
And last, but not least, is first officer Travis. You might remember him from an earlier post. We flew to Portland together a couple of months ago and he usually referred to himself as "the fat kid." When I was flying the couch at the airport last Monday, the other reserves and I were watching Knocked Up on a TV in the corner of the crew lounge (their cinematic choice, not mine). Travis was sitting on a couch behind us and would titter at all the inappropriate or unnecessarily graphic parts, but otherwise not acknowledge or engage us. As a self-described redneck hillbilly from the South, this behavior painted such a classic picture you'd have to be there to fully appreciate it.
I'll be flying the couch again tomorrow, which will make it nearly two weeks since I've been at cruising altitude. Disappointing, but airports are such great venues for people watching, you never know what you'll witness.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Prisoners, FAMs, and an Early Release, Oh My!
This last trip, although just a short overnight came with some excitement.
First of all, I was working the back of the plane with the bar cart, so I got to use my new kindergarten scissors I got in my Christmas stocking to cut open the bags of ice...Whoppee!
On the trip out, we had a prisoner aboard. It was interesting -- the first time I had seen a prisoner and his escort on the plane, as a civilian or a flight attendant. I did learn one useful trick through. Since prisoners travel in a stylish leather belt that is attached to their handcuffs in front, carrying a blanket around seems to do a sufficient job covering up your state-issued bracelets.
On the trip back, we had some Federal Air Marshals aboard -- also a first for me. It's a running joke that they're pretty easy to pick out because they're usually big, hulking meatheads that board the plane first with all the screaming babies and decrepit pensioners. However, one of them approached us in the gate area while we were waiting to go down the jetway and I would have never pegged him. I figured he wanted to make sure he had a seat assignment. Instead, he flipped open his badge.
On top of these exciting firsts, I got in at about quarter to eight this morning and was released to ten hours of rest! I was fully prepared to be sent out on a three day trip as soon as I checked in, but I'm off until at least eight o'clock tonight, hence the blogging update.
First of all, I was working the back of the plane with the bar cart, so I got to use my new kindergarten scissors I got in my Christmas stocking to cut open the bags of ice...Whoppee!
On the trip out, we had a prisoner aboard. It was interesting -- the first time I had seen a prisoner and his escort on the plane, as a civilian or a flight attendant. I did learn one useful trick through. Since prisoners travel in a stylish leather belt that is attached to their handcuffs in front, carrying a blanket around seems to do a sufficient job covering up your state-issued bracelets.
On the trip back, we had some Federal Air Marshals aboard -- also a first for me. It's a running joke that they're pretty easy to pick out because they're usually big, hulking meatheads that board the plane first with all the screaming babies and decrepit pensioners. However, one of them approached us in the gate area while we were waiting to go down the jetway and I would have never pegged him. I figured he wanted to make sure he had a seat assignment. Instead, he flipped open his badge.
On top of these exciting firsts, I got in at about quarter to eight this morning and was released to ten hours of rest! I was fully prepared to be sent out on a three day trip as soon as I checked in, but I'm off until at least eight o'clock tonight, hence the blogging update.
An American Idol Flies South
"We have a celebrity on the list." The gate agent alerted me. I was in charge of the paperwork for this trip, so I got to see her name, right there on the manifest...Kelly Clarkson.
"It's a common enough name, it's probably not THE Kelly Clarkson," I said to the agent after scanning the crowd for any conspicuously incognito passengers.
Sure enough though, towards the end of the boarding process, two ladies asked me if they could sit in the emergency exit row. I looked up to see THE Kelly Clarkson and a friend waiting in the aisle.
"We were the last ones down."
"Sure, no problem then."
Kelly wasn't wearing any make up and was clad in those velvety track suit bottoms and a vintage tee. From Nashville to Cancun, I don't think any of the other passengers realized she was on the plane with us. It's a good thing too...I think the U14 Nashville Gymnastics team would have done back flips down the aisle to get to Kelly if they had realized she was on the plane.
Kelly and her companion were cordial and down to earth. They traveled like normal people, so they were treated like normal people. As soon as they put their bags away and got settled into their seats, Kelly and her friend pulled out a travel Scrabble game and started playing. If nothing else, it's nice to have proof that Kelly can spell all the lyrics to her songs.
As tempted as I was, I didn't bother Kelly or her friend, even when I had Kelly alone in the back on her way to the bathroom. I constantly kept coming back to the thought that while she may have only spent about $400 on airfare to Cancun, her hotel room could very well be costing ten times that every night. Ah, the price of normalcy.
"It's a common enough name, it's probably not THE Kelly Clarkson," I said to the agent after scanning the crowd for any conspicuously incognito passengers.
Sure enough though, towards the end of the boarding process, two ladies asked me if they could sit in the emergency exit row. I looked up to see THE Kelly Clarkson and a friend waiting in the aisle.
"We were the last ones down."
"Sure, no problem then."
Kelly wasn't wearing any make up and was clad in those velvety track suit bottoms and a vintage tee. From Nashville to Cancun, I don't think any of the other passengers realized she was on the plane with us. It's a good thing too...I think the U14 Nashville Gymnastics team would have done back flips down the aisle to get to Kelly if they had realized she was on the plane.
Kelly and her companion were cordial and down to earth. They traveled like normal people, so they were treated like normal people. As soon as they put their bags away and got settled into their seats, Kelly and her friend pulled out a travel Scrabble game and started playing. If nothing else, it's nice to have proof that Kelly can spell all the lyrics to her songs.
As tempted as I was, I didn't bother Kelly or her friend, even when I had Kelly alone in the back on her way to the bathroom. I constantly kept coming back to the thought that while she may have only spent about $400 on airfare to Cancun, her hotel room could very well be costing ten times that every night. Ah, the price of normalcy.
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