Switzerland. A Bathroom Rant

I don’t have the time to write the lengthy posts I used to.  That’s probably because I’m back to flying a full schedule. 

That’s good and bad.  Good for bank account.  Bad for writing.  See.  I don’t even have the time to write complete sentences anymore.

What I do have time for is a short rant.

 

I like Switzerland.  I really do.  It’s populated with unusually friendly, helpful, and attractive people.  I only have one question. 

Why can’t the Swiss put doors on their showers?

 There’s a little slab of glass.  It’s about two feet wide.  What’s that going to do? The back end is completely open.  The floor slopes slightly towards the drain under the shower head but what about the water that bounces off my head (trust me, my hair isn’t soaking it up) and ends up on the floor?  What about that water?  You don’t care about that water?

 It makes you wonder… if the showers are this poorly constructed, do the Swiss even use them?  Maybe the altitude has affected their brains.  Maybe they just saw a shower on TV once and said, “Yeah, I think that would look nice in a bathroom.”

I use the showers.  I need to use the showers.  The last thing I need is one of our premier passengers writing me up for smelling.  I can only imagine that letter.

I paid $10,000 for a first class seat from Zurich to Washington and I couldn’t get any sleep because your flight attendant smelled too bad.  It was like he’d only seen a shower on TV once and never actually used one.  Please fire him immediately. 

Sincerely,

A guy with a lot of miles who is probably a friend of the CEO

If you think that letter is a stretch, I have some first class passengers you need to meet. 

I’m going to describe my shower experience for you in a second.  I just want to warn you, it involves nudity.  Please blur out all parts you find offensive. 

Hey, stop that!  My face is not offensive.  It’s the other parts I was referring too.  Oh jeeze, now you can’t stop can you? 

Lets just get this over with…

The towels are hanging in the shower.  This always irritates me.  I can’t properly dry off with a towel if it’s already soaked from being in the shower.  I’m not aiming the showerhead at it, but splashes do occur.  It’s a side effect of pressurized water. 

Between two bath towels there’s a hand towel.  Wait.  That’s not a hand towel… I think it’s supposed to be a bath mat.  It’s definitely bigger than a wash cloth.  It’s slightly larger than the hand towels by the sink.  The real give-away is the grainy feeling that proves it was never meant to come in contact with a human face. 

I lay it on the floor.  I’m glad my feet aren’t sweaty- the towel looks like it could only absorb one or two drops of liquid.

Either way, I get in and turn on the shower.  I jump back as the cold water hits me.  Well, at least it’s easy to get out of the shower.  Is that the idea?  No door allows you to expeditiously exit the shower when the water is too cold? 

I let it warm up for a second then jumped back in. 

Water splashed.  I don’t blame the water.  It’s just what water does.  I blame the Swiss. 

Build me a door next time.

I showered as quickly as I could.  I didn’t want the water level to reach the bed in the room outside.

I was also afraid the any passing children might be caught in the undertow and drowned. 

What? No!  I wasn't expecting any children while I was in the shower.  I was just saying, if any were passing... lets just keep the focus on the Swiss here.

I step out of the shower and onto the lame excuse for a bathmat.  As I predicted, it was already soaked.

Then I made a mistake.  As I was reaching for my toothbrush on the sink, I stepped off the bathmat and my foot lost traction on the wet tile.  I spun around, hand desperately grasping for a shower door that wasn’t there. 

As I fell backwards, almost in slow motion, my life in the bathroom flashed before my eyes.  I saw every shower door I had ever ignored… I wished I could go back and ask their forgiveness for my ignorance.    

Then I landed squarely on the toilet.

“Huh,” I thought. “While I’m here…”

Merry Christmas

Working Christmas Eve and Christmas day has to be a little different than the rest of the year. So I wore a Santa hat and a Mickey Mouse Christmas tie (which I'm pretty sure used to belong to my dad). 

The best part was the live safety demo we did.  The purser knew the guy that wrote this and she does it every yet.  So now, for your reading and safety pleasure- the Windsor Barlow Christmas Safety Demo.

‘Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the plane,

All the passengers stirred

And the stews were insane.

They stand in the aisles

Holding cards for your safety,

And beg for attention,

Not much given lately…

 

For passengers seated

In our exit rows

You may be required

To assist us, you know

If you find you’re reluctant

To help us when needed

Please let us know now

And we’ll get you reseated.

 

Now please check to see

That your seatbelts are tight

They’re easy to fasten

So please get it right

Just insert the fitting to fasten it well

And pull up on the flap

To release it, we tell

When fastened the belt should be snug on your lap,

So give an extra pull

To the end of the strap

 

Our plane has 4 exit doors

Two on each side,

Well-packed and equipped

With inflatable slides

And with four window exits

Just over the wings

There are ten total ways,

To escape everything.

 

Each exit is marked with a sign up above,

Your two nearest exits

Please take notice of.

And directional lighting

Will guide you to find

The exit you might

Need quickly sometime

 

This airplane has life vests

Stored under your seat,

Unless there’s a footrest

Then it’s next to your feet.

 

When pulled from the pouch,

The vest looks like this

Don’t take it out now-

Only if you’re at risk

 

Just slip it on over

Your head and then take

The straps from the back

To the front- Piece of cake!

 

When attached to the ring

Pull the straps till they’re stung.

(the feeling should be

like a bug in a rug)

 

To fill it with air,

Once you’ve left the plane

Pull one of the tabs

Like the end of a chain

 

And if it’s still needed

Pull the other one, too

You’ll stay above water

We promise; it’s true.

 

The vest can also be filled easily

By blowing in tubes on each side, as you see

 

Emergency oxygen

Is stored overhead

If needed it surely

Will plop on your head

Just pull the mask firmly

To start oxygen flow.

And place the mask over,

Your mouth and your nose.

 

When traveling with children

First don your own mask

Then put on your child’s

And don’t wait to ask

A uniformed crewmember

Will let you know when

To take off the masks

And breathe normal again

 

Seatbacks and tray tables

Must be upright and locked

As soon we’ll be leaving

(we’re frequently clocked)

And headrests and footrests

And video screens

For takeoff and landing

Must never be seen

Your carryon luggage

Should be under your seat

Leaving areas clear

By your legs and your feet.

 

Now last but not least

In your seat pocket you’ll find

Our own magazine of an unusual kind

It’s our gift to you, this holiday bright

Merry Christmas to all

And to all a good flight

 

 

Windsor Barlow -Copyright 1984, 1996, 1999

How I Went to the Middle East and Became Canadian

So I was up in First Class on the plane back from Kuwait, talking to John… you know John don’t you? John Kerry? The Senator from Massachusetts?

“John!” I say to him. “Why, I haven’t seen you since college! Remember Pittsburgh? 2004?”

“Of course I remember,” John Kerry says to me. “That was a lot of fun.”

“You better watch out John,” Brian says.

Oh wait. You know Brian don’t you? Brian Mulroney? The former Prime Minister of Canada.

“We’re stealing your best citizens,” Brian says. “I’ve just made Henry here an Honorary Citizen of Canada.”

“It’s true,” I say. “I just hope it doesn't cause any problems in customs.”

And, oh, how we all laughed.

Then I cleaned up their dirty dishes and brought them more water.

So there. I now challenge you to a name dropping contest.

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly of the Holiday Travel Season

I got back last night from a two day trip, which I may have complained about in the past but right now I'm glad to be working.

Relax- Introducing  No Stress Travel

There's temporary good news for flight attendants and travelers.  We're in the middle of what is the busiest traveling season of the year.  Traditionally, people are full of that holiday cheer and fly all over the country to remind themselves why they only visit certain relatives once a year.

Those visits are going to be a lot friendlier this year for two reasons.

The first (and most sentimental) reason: when people are tight on money they start to remember the important things in life.  Even if your family has a few annoying habits and Cousin Bob eats all the cookies every year, they still love you.  Love is always better than money.  People are starting to remember that.

The second reason those visits are a little better this year: Travel is stress-free.  That's not just because the flight attendants are so nice and accommodating (even though we are), it's because there's no hassle in the airports anymore.  

Flying is cheaper because the airlines are trying to attract customers and airports and airplanes are empty.  No one is getting stuck between two large passengers so they can spread out.  On the other side, the larger passengers don't have to endure the nasty looks or embarrassing comments of people next to them.  The airplanes are only half full.

I flew 6 legs in the past two days, each on an Airbus 319 with a capacity of 120 people.  The passenger load on each leg was- 62, 54, 45, 40, 42, and 70%.   

Even better than that, there are less planes in the air right now which I'm told makes routing easier and more direct for the pilots (pilots, correct me if I'm wrong about that.  That's what I was told by a gate agent and they aren't known for their aviation knowledge).  

My trip was 4 legs yesterday.  Houston to Chicago to Minneapolis to Chicago and home to Washington National.  It was snowing in both Chicago and Minneapolis.  

Based on my experience, when I saw the weather report I was sure that at least one of those flights was going to cancel.  The weather in Chicago has been known to screw up flights all over the country.  

But nothing cancelled.  At least, none of my flight did.  One earlier flight to Washington did cancel- more about that in a second.  All of our flights went out without a hitch.  We took minor delays for de-icing, but everything arrived within 20 minutes of the scheduled time.  

It was great for passengers.  There was no complaining, no missed connections, no harassed airline employees.  

I mentioned that an earlier flight to Washington National had cancelled.  

It did.  But our airline offers almost hourly flights from Chicago to Washington and since most people arrive at the airport early anyway, most were able to get on the earlier flight.  Those that didn't make the earlier flight, made the next flight.  Every passenger that was booked on the cancelled Washington flight got to D.C., most of them before they expected to.  

Our passenger load actually went down because even with people being rebooked on the flight before ours, there was still space for anyone who was already at the airport to catch it.  It still left with empty seats.  

The overselling problems of the past have all but dissapeared.

That sounds great!

Trust me, it isn't- not for either of us. 

People have started to think of airlines as expensive cabs.  It's easy to catch a cab.  Just wave it down.  If the cabby passes you, you swear at his tail lights and flag the next one.  

What happens when there's only one cab a day?  

Besides leaving thousands of cabbies out of work, the passengers have to find another way to get where they're going.

When airplanes don't make money over a long enough period of time they get parked.  The airlines are going to resort to this if they have to.  

If they can't fill two airplanes, they're going to park one of them and charge double for the one that still flies.  If you don't get on the one that flies that day, try again tomorrow- and good luck because it's sold out.  

Ticket prices are going to go up.  The number of flights are going to continue to go down.  And the people who are cheerily enjoying their family visits this year, will be sitting around in their living rooms next year, talking to their sisters and cousins on Skype. 

What's the Ugly?

Oh that...

When I showed up for work at Washington National Airport early on Monday morning, I was greeted by a surprise.

Actually, I almost slipped on a surprise.

After passing through security (which is surprisingly painless at National) I caught a whiff of a smell.  Not an aroma, not a pleasant scent- a foul "I hope that's not what I think it is," smell.

Someone had defecated in the hallway.  

A very disgusted janitor was in the process of cleaning it up as I walked by, giving it a wide berth. 

There was a tall black man in an expensive suit walking next to me.  

Sniff  "What's that smell?" he asked.  "It smells like... shit."

"Uhh.  I think that's what it is," I said pointing to the brown, liquid puddle.  It was under a yellow caution sign with a picture of someone slipping.  Now there's something you don't want to slip in for reasons other than hurting your back.   

A final tidbit of news that's important to this blog

For those of you who don't like to see, or don't care at all about the occasional posts about writing, they're promptly going to stop.  

Well- they're going to stop being posted here.  

This blog is now fully dedicated to flying.  My other website, The Creative Writer's Desk is in the process of a major overhaul and it's getting a whole lot bloggier.  It's the only place I'm going to post about writing.  

The Writing in the Sky is now going to be 100% about my travels and travel concerns.  

If you want to subscribe to the Creative Writer's Desk, and keep getting those posts, you can do so here.

 

Narita III: Homeward Bound

Qualified pursers go through a couple weeks of training that teaches them everything from how to take first class meal orders to how to deal with unruly passengers.  This qualifies them in the company’s eyes to fly the purser, or head flight attendant position.

            After the class is over, they quickly forget everything they were taught and develop their own style.  This actually makes for smoother flights as long as the flight attendants are willing to be flexible on a trip-by-trip basis.  Years of real experience is better than the lesson plans provided by a group of “experts” who spent a few weeks thinking about theoretical situations. 

            But just because a flight attendant gets purser qualified doesn’t mean he or she has to fly the purser position. 

            On the Narita flight we had 4 FAs with purser qualification.  This wasn’t a problem on the flight to Japan.  Everyone agreed on how things should run.

            However, on the way back, we had two less working flight attendants (they were Narita based and had been stuck in DC from earlier operational problems) so the staffing of the airplane needed to be changed.

            On a full Boeing 777 the normal staffing with 11 flight attendants would be 2 in first class, 4 in Business, and 4 in Economy with the Purser working in First or Business as needed (quick side-bar: Flight attendants love to whine about this.  10 years ago the 777 would be minimum staffed at 15 flight attendants with 7 in Economy, 5 in Business, and 3 in First.  We would have gotten an extra $5 an hour in understaffing pay for each flight attendant under that which would mean they would make an extra $540 for a flight staffed with 11 flight attendants.  The company recently decided to change the staffing levels effectively eliminating understaffing pay.)  In our briefing, that’s the way the purser assigned positions. 

            The problem came when we found out that a few dozen people weren’t going to make the flight.  This meant that there were only 3 people in First class, 20 in Business, and 175 in Economy.  You don’t need 4 flight attendants and a purser in Business class with only 20 people to serve. 

            What do you do in this situation?  The rational person might approach the purser and say something like, “Given the changes in the passenger load, do you think we could have another person helping us in Economy?”  Or maybe, “I know you didn’t expect this but with the load changes I think we could use a little more help in the back.”

            Non-confrontational.  Effective.  Doesn’t ruffle any feathers.  

            The bitter flight attendant, however, would stand in the back galley and start complaining loudly to everyone who will listen about how bad we were getting screwed and how stupid the purser is being and repeatedly say, “it’s just not fair.  I’m gonna tell her, too.”

            It took a bit of will power to just nod my head and walk away instead of saying, “Life isn’t fair.  Get over it.”

            I feel like I’m a rational person and I don’t like whining, but I didn’t volunteer to be the one to talk to the purser.  I just put up with the complaints.  One of the other ladies in the back (an area code FA who wasn’t whining), walked up to the front without telling us what she was doing and came back a few minutes later to find the other two complaining to me about the staffing unfairness. 

            A few minutes after that, I saw the purser walking up the aisle towards the back galley where we were setting up.

            “She’s coming,” I warned them.  I didn’t want to be found guilty by association if she overheard my flying partners talking behind her back. 

            “Hey guys,” she said when she reached the back.  “It’s been brought to my attention that the loads have changed a bit so I’m going to send someone back from business to help you out.”

            I appreciated the shocked looks on my two co-workers faces more than the purser, I think. 

            “I’m glad you decided to air this out with me instead of talking behind my back.   Thanks for the good communication.”

            She smiled earnestly and gratefully.  I almost choked on my drink.

           

 

            The first thing we do after take off is hand out the customs documentation.  Supposedly this is the best time to do it, although I have my doubts. The idea is that people will be able to take their time and fill them out correctly. 

However, I’ve found that no matter how much time someone has, they try to do everything as quickly as possible.  That means they scarf their food, gulp their drinks, and scribble through their paperwork (oddly enough, they still seem to savor their time in the lavatories.  I guess some things just can’t be rushed). 

            I follow the rules and hand out documents to the right side of Economy while John covers the left side.  We then keep extras on the first beverage cart, the meal cart, and the final beverage cart. 

            It typically takes about 2 to 3 hours to do the first service (consisting of a first beverage and snack service, trash pick up, main course and beverage combined, trash pick up, final beverage, then final- as if it ever ended- trash pickup).  That’s 2 to 3 hours where we don’t care if you screw up or lose your paperwork because we have more ready for you. 

            Naturally, no one asks for more right then.  Nor do they ask for more during the deathly slow hours where none of us have anything to do.  They ask for more paperwork, or tell us that they never got any during our final decent where we have the most to do in the shortest amount of time. 

            At about 20,000 feet, that’s well into final decent, the call buttons start ringing like the carol of the bells. 

Hark how the bells
Sweet service bells
All seem to say
“I threw my docs away”

Oh how they pound
Raising the sound
Passengers wail
Telling their tale

“I need a pen!”
“We’re landing when?”
“Fill this out how?”
“Do I declare my cow?” 

“I’ve lost, I’ve lost, I’ve lost, I’ve lost my papers.”
“I’ve lost, I’ve lost, I’ve lost, I’ve lost my papers.”
On, on they send
On, without end.
Ding, dong, ding, dong

     Too much?  Alright, I’ll wrap it up with one more short cautionary tale. 

There was a younger man sitting toward the back of the airplane and like so many young men, he had a few beers with dinner.  Then he had a few more after dinner.  Never enough to make us worry about him. 

In the final two hours of the flight, he started making frequent trips to the rear lavatory.  He was pale and sweaty and the first time he came back I thought he might be sick. 

By the fourth time, I was sure he was sick. 

When he came out of the bathroom the last time I had to ask. 

“Are you alright?”  An obvious ‘no’ but I don’t want to accuse someone of being sick that isn’t.

“Yeah,” he said.  “I think it’s all out now.” 

“Can I get you a cup of water?  Ginger Ale?”

“No.  I’m ok.  I’m not sure what was wrong but I feel better.”

“Well you had a few beers,” I pointed out.

“Not that many.”

“Did you take any medications?”

“Yeah, I took a Percocet so I would sleep.”

First of all, I’m pretty sure that percocet is not a sleeping pill, it’s a pain killer.  Second, I’m pretty sure it’s one of those pills that comes with a warning, “Do not take with Alcohol.”  It should add, “If you do, you may vomit 4 times." 

I didn't feel bad for him.  Unlike Mr. T, I don't pity the fool.

  

Narita II: The Temple

I woke up at 7:30 with plenty of time to get some cultural value out of my short visit.  Our pickup time was 2:30 that afternoon which left the whole morning to explore.

            Lois and I had both been to Narita before but neither of us had visited the temple, Naritasan.  The hotel manager told us at dinner the night before that the monks have a procession and a ritual a 9 o’clock every morning so we jumped on the 8:25 bus into town. 

            The concierge drew us a crude map that was supposed to serve as our directions to the temple.  He was not good with proportions.

            “You will cross over the train station and go right.  You will see the temple on your left.”

            He was an older Japanese gentleman but he spoke very clear, by the book English.  I thought the directions sounded easy enough and in retrospect, they were technically correct.  However, if I were giving directions I’d probably have mentioned how to get though the train station and I might have told you that the road bends and you shouldn’t be fooled by the broad alley which goes straight and that you’ll be walking for a little over a half a mile before you see the temple on your left.  But he didn’t and we figured it out.  Eventually. 

            After the 10-minute bus ride from the hotel it took us 30 minutes of walking in the right, then the wrong, then the right direction again before we found the Temple.  We missed the procession of the monks but we got to see the ritual. 

            It’s called the Goma rite and the only information we had about it was from the pamphlet we grabbed from a visitors station.  It says, “The Goma rite is a mysterious temple service in which we pray to Fudo Myoo [spelled with horizontal accent-lines over all the “o’s”], the main deity of Naritasan Temple, for the fulfillment of our wishes.”  Not a lot to go on. 

We had to take our shoes off to enter the Great Main Hall and place them in blue bags provided outside the door.  We sat in the back and watched.

            It’s very hard to understand the ceremony but I have trouble understanding Catholic rituals too so perhaps it’s just me.  They chant, bang on a huge drum, chant some more, light a big fire and wave things through it to be blessed, chant some more, and read from a scroll.

            Women were brining their purses to a monk who would run to the fire, hand them to the monk in fancier robes to be blessed in the fire.  I later learned that this is because the women are traditionally in charge of the money in Japanese families.  They were Goma-blessing their money. 

            People do a lot of strange things in a recession. 

            When I think of Buddhist monks, I think bald Asians with orange robes that meditate all day.  Probably because I usually only see them in Kung Fu movies set in the 1600’s.  None of the monks were wearing orange robes.  They had an assortment of colors from black, to blue, to gold.

It was also amusing to see the modern sound system with its blinking green lights in the corner of the Great Main Hall. 

After the rite was over we left the great hall with its big drums and sound system.  There’s a giant urn directly in front of the Hall that burns incense.  Locals were waving the smoke around their bodies, under their legs, and behind their neck (none of them got behind their ears) for good luck.

A lot of the Buddhist rituals seem to be for good luck.

We walked around for a while after that, me snapping photos like the mildly intrusive tourist I am.  I try not to be but I love old stuff.  Especially old stuff with historical significance. 

Who doesn’t?

The history of the Temple dates back to 939 A.D.  although the oldest structure standing was erected as recently as 1701 (they didn’t put a sound system in that one). 

There are two Pagodas on the property.  I grew up in Reading, PA- a little city that has it’s own Pagoda.  It sits on top of the mountain and has red lights around each layer that are lit at night. 

Seeing the two pagodas in Naritasan after growing up with Reading’s pagoda was like hopping in a Porsche when all I’d ever driven was a go-cart.  Sure, go-carts are still fun but now I know what the real thing feels like.  Go-carts make you grin; Porsches make you smile. 

The larger of the two pagodas is called the Peace Pagoda, which is a deceiving name. 

First, the pictures on the ground floor are mostly pretty violent.  One in particular stands out in my memory.  It depicts a dark, wild looking man (I can still see his crazy eyes) sticking a sword down the throat of a young Japanese boy.  Maybe he was pulling it out- it would have the same net effect.

Second, the deity Fudo Myoo who is housed inside is not a peaceful guy.  Besides being 10 feet tall and bright blue, he sits in front of a flaming background with sword and a rope. 

Since all the plaques were in Japanese, we had to ask what his deal was. 

We got two answers.

He’s either holding a sword to slash away material connections and a rope to bind evil doers or he’s holding the sword to slay evil doers and the rope to draw people away from material connections. 

Maybe he’s just mad because he doesn’t know which he’s supposed to be doing.

On the third and fourth floors of the pagoda are thousands of tiny, hand-carved Fudo Myoos with different Japanese words beneath them.  We didn’t ask about them but Lois guessed that they were probably names that families paid to have blessed- it could be good luck to have your name on a Fudo Myoo.  I thought it was a valid assumption.

When we left the temple we walked through the garden.  It wasn’t a garden as much as a wooded area but I’m not going to argue semantics with monks.  It served the same purpose as a garden.  It was quiet, peaceful, and picturesque.  Lois and I were the only people there and the quiet trickle of the stream muted any stray noises which might have wandered in. 

There was also a natural waterfall and who doesn’t love a good waterfall?

 It was two hours since we’d gotten of the bus and we both wanted to get packed and showered.  We covered the half-mile back to the bus stop pretty quickly and arrived just as the Hotel bus was pulling up.

Narita I: The Flight Over

It was a long trip and it was broken into three fairly distinct parts so I've decided to post them separately for your benefit.  It's not really fair to come to a blog expecting a post and have me force feed you a book. 

This is the first part.  The flight over.  

The crews going to Narita are typically old…excuse me, I mean senior.  Among flight attendants, they’re known as “area code flights” because in a company with over 15,000 FAs, their seniority numbers are only three digits.  While I have to bid for 20+ schedules and consider myself lucky if I get one of them, they only have to bid for 2 or 3 and it’s unusual if they don’t get their first choice.

Keeping that in mind, I had a pretty junior crew with only 2 area codes. Most of my flying partners only had about 20 years and had picked up the trip out of open flying (Open flying requests are trips posted by flight attendants who have them in their line but don't want to work them for one reason or another).  

            Still, the most junior person, other than myself had 14 years which means I got to sit in the undesirable economy jumpseat that faces the passengers.  It’s not too bad when the people sitting in the seats in front of me are friendly, not so nice when they don’t speak English and take off their shoes to wiggle their smelly toes.  On the way to Narita, I got the toe wigglers.

            The flight wasn’t full.  There were about 30 open seats in the back of the plane and a few open seats in First and Business.  Since Narita serves connections all over Asia, the plane is usually oversold with tons of stand-bys.  However, since Bangkok has been a little unsettled recently, and by unsettled I mean in complete turmoil that had protesters barricading the airport, we lost a few passengers (today they finally reopened the airport so we’ll be enormously oversold for the next few weeks in that market).

            There was a man in the first row of economy who either has a screw loose or knows something I don’t because he still thought he was connecting to Bangkok.  The customer service agent came on and tried to convince him that the airport was closed.  We tried to tell him.  The people sitting around him tried to tell him.  He just smiled, nodded his head and said, “That’s alright.”

            “But sir,” the very frustrated customer service agent said.  “The airport is closed.  Closed.  No flights in or out.”

            He smiles. “That’s alright.”

            He paid for the ticket so we can’t pull him off the plane but don’t say we didn’t warn him.

           

            14 hours is a long time to be on an airplane and there isn’t much to do between services.  Fortunately, flight attendants are masters of the art of small talk.  We can chat with the best of them.   But chatting only lasts so long, even for seasoned pros. Eventually it turns into one of two things: earnest conversation or jumpseat legends.

            I prefer the jumpseat legends.

            Flight attendants have a lot in common with fisherman.  We work really hard in short bursts then stand around for long intervals, thinking up ways we can exaggerate our stories.

            I started with one of my favorite stories. 

There was a man on my flight returning from Kuwait.  He claimed to be a contractor which could be Blackwater or one of the construction companies.  He didn’t specify.  Either way, he apparently enjoyed his Jim Beam.  Kuwait is a dry country, like Iraq and a few other middle-eastern States so he hadn’t been enjoying his Jim Beam for a few months.  We have lots of Jim Beam.  Well, we had lots of Jim Beam before he got on board.  

If you’ve ever been on a flight and felt ignored by a flight attendant, it might not have just been paranoia.  Drunk passengers are no fun to deal with and can pose a safety risk so sometimes we pretend we can’t hear you when you’re asking for your third drink in 20 minutes.  We’re not lazy (most of the time), we’re trying to keep you relatively sober.

Some people are persistent.  There’s a pretty constant stream of flight attendants through the business section of the airplane so eventually the passengers see all 13 of our smiling faces.  For the smart drinkers, that can be 13 drinks without anyone but the person next to you knowing about all of them. 

            It was half way through the flight and I had served him about 5 drinks.  But he must have been mooching off of other flight attendants as well.  He was a big guy.  Five drinks in 6 hours isn’t really anything to worry about but 18 might be.  I thought he was fine.  He thought he was fine too, until he got up to use the lavatory. 

            He stood up and stumbled and probably would have ended up face down if he didn’t find the galley wall first.  He looked surprised but he straightened himself up, gave me a guilty smile, and started pulling on the lav door, just above the sign that said push.  When he finally switched to push, he pushed too hard and the door flew open and he fell inside, locking the door quickly behind him as if that would make it look like he meant to jump in the bathroom. 

            He wasn’t done yet.  After taking a little longer than normal in the bathroom, he opened the door.  I was standing in the galley and I stopped to watch him.  He raised his hand and waved to me, doing his best impression of sobriety, and then took a step forward out of the bathroom.  Only he didn’t.  It seems that he forgot the order of walking.  Lift the foot then move it forward.  He got the move it forward part but forgot the lift.  He stumbled out of the bathroom and there was no galley wall to stop him from falling.  I made a half-hearted attempt to catch him- something like "oh no, you're falling.  Let me catch you... oops.  Too late."  He ended up on the galley floor.  I helped him up, being the nice guy that I am and walked him back to his seat and made sure that he buckled in. 

            “Thanks,” he said.  “Can I ask you a favor?”

            “Yes sir,” I said.  “What can I do for you?”

            “Can you get me a Miller Lite?” 

            “Not a chance.”

            He’s the only person I ever cut off. 

 

            I like telling that story to flight attendants.  I get appreciative chuckles and knowledgeable nods.  Positive reinforcement.  My mother would say, "simple pleasures are the best."

 From there the conversation jumped to in-flight emergencies.  I knew I’d lose this one in a contest of oneupsmanship.  The worst thing that’s ever happened while I was on board, besides the drunk contractor, is a few people passing out, some cuts and bruises, and children projectile vomiting.  

            But I didn’t know how terrifically I’d loose. 

            I hadn’t considered how many flights you can work in 40 years.  At an average of 5 flights a week (a low estimate) multiplied by 52 weeks a year multiplied by 40 years, you get 10,400 flights.  Try multiplying that by an average of 150 passengers per flight (another low estimate) and you get over a million and a half chances for someone to get seriously ill, injured, or incapacitated.

            One of my flying partners was the purser on a flight 20 years ago that had a bomb threat called in.  The flight crew had to search the entire plane for a bomb at 30,000 feet.  That included digging through trash, overhead bins, and under everyone’s seat.  Try explaining that to the passengers.  Do you just get on the PA and say, “Pardon us ladies and gentleman.  We’re going to be tearing the plane apart looking for a bomb?” 

            Not if you’re Cheryl.  You keep the passengers calm and actually impress them with your devotion to customer service by telling them someone lost their diamond engagement ring and you’re trying to find it.  Smart and effective.

            My other flying partners had people die, people almost die, people break bones, smack their head on something and pass out from blood loss, lose control of their bowels, and other equally uncomfortable or dangerous situations.  There was even a woman who was on a flight with a retired race horse in the cargo hold that died in-flight.

            I’m glad I got to tell my story first because there's no use trying to beat a dead horse.  

 

       After 14 hours in the air, we landed safely in Narita and made it to the hotel.  On most layovers, everybody pitches in a dollar and tips the driver.  But tips insult the Japanese.  I mention it because it’s fascinating to me that a culture can be insulted by money.  It’s a strange concept for an American.  Also because it another one of those simple pleasure.

            It’s winter so it gets dark at about 5 in Narita, which is the same time we get to the hotel.  Nothing to do but eat dinner, have a beer from the automatic beer machine, and get some well-earned rest.  

Narita Pictures

Hopefully I'll be done typing up the story about my trip to Narita and I'll be able to post it tomorrow. Since it's apparent that I won't finish it today, I thought I'd at least post some of the pictures. I took these at the Buddhist Temple, Naritasan.