A Quick Overview

Just because it's been over a month since my last post doesn't mean I've run out of material. Here's the last month rolled into a few observations...

Three weeks ago -- Something's not right if you're opening your bottle of Two Buck Chuck (1.99 from the Orange County Trader Joe's for the record) with a cork screw that cost 5.99.

Two weeks ago -- Something's not right if you look like Larry the Cable Guy, except you're sporting a rocking mullet instead of a shiny pate, you're thirty years old, traveling with your older brother, and he's outfitted as your identical twin. Perhaps, coming from Las Vegas, you were out there for a bad plaid convention.

One week ago -- Something's not right when someone who is constantly being followed by a dark cloud of doom is able to attract a partner and procreate with them. Perhaps it's the weather in Detroit, but there was no need to complain about the state of the lavatory sink after you had already cleaned it or snap in my face, "I hope I don't miss my connection," as you were exiting the plane even though we had arrived ten minutes early.

This morning (if you can call this side of the sunrise morning) -- Something's not right if you roll over to see that the digital readout says 3:45 and think, "Sweet! I still have fifteen minutes to sleep!"

Bottle Warmers and Athletes Foot

Yes, believe it or not, on the same flight. Granted, the destination was L.A. so take that for what it's worth.

I am always shocked when people are willing to remove their footwear and stroll around the airplane barefoot, no socks, no stocking, no anything. I was beyond words when a fairly put together woman removed her shoes to reveal bare feet and proceed to walk towards the back lavatory. The worst part was not that she was willing to expose naked skin to God only knows what forms of nastiness are spawning on the lav floor, but that she herself was spawning some form of fungus between her toes...evidenced by the chalky white dusting covering on and around her pretty pink toenails. Frankly, there is no hue of polish that will cover up, disguise, or otherwise distract the eyes away from the anti fungal dust.

To top it off, while fungus foot lady is in the bathroom, a lovely, young dad walks back, bottle in hand. I know what's coming, I've done it a dozen times before. I prepared the ever so snazzy "hot water bath" to warm the baby's bottle. (Don't be fooled, this consists of pouring hot water into a plastic drinking cup and dunking the bottle in it until it reaches the desired temperature). The funny part is that as I'm submerging baby's bottle into its bath, Dad looks at me quizzically and asks in a befuddled voice, "You mean you don't have a bottle warmer on the plane?" Now I don't know what airline he's racked up his frequent flier miles on, but I'd sure like to try them out if they come with everything...including a bottle warmer. Except the bottles I prefer require an ice bucket, but I'm sure they'd have that too.

Hold the Bucket!

A slight departure from air travel, but a daily travel nonetheless. Yesterday was my first driving range experience. My dear husband and I split a large bucket of golf balls at Buffalo Run Golf Course. I got the privilege of pushing the token into the machine to release the practice balls. Lesson number 1: Hold the ball bucket when collecting the balls from the machine. No One wants to have to dodge those tiny terrors before even making it to the practice pitch. I've heard of water hazards, but these tripping hazards add a whole other element to the game.

Luckily, thanks to my catlike reflexes, I saved the bucket just before it tipped over. The whole experience did highlight why the ball machine is located off the beaten path -- away from all turf -- practice or otherwise.

Blankets and Better Living Through Chemistry

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.

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.

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.

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.