The reminder came from another flight attendant, Blondie, who blogs at My View From 30,000 Feet. She's also on Twitter. If you're cool enough to be there, too, she's worth the follow.
Alright, I cave. When flight attendants start whining about flight attendants not blogging it's time to do something about it.
Last night I layed over in Chicago, at our usual airport hotel. Have you ever been unfortunate enough to be stuck in a hotel that uses "sleep number" beds? They're glorified air mattresses. Seriously, who thought that one up?
Ok. Enough of my griping. Here's the point. We checked in late- like, really late. It was after midnight by the time we got to the hotel. I always worry about walking into hotel rooms that late because I've heard stories... the kind of stories that are great as long as they happen to someone else
This is one of those stories.
A 737 first officer told me this on the hotel shuttle in Portland a few months ago. I'll try to retell it in his words. Please forgive me for knowingly manufacturing these quotes.
"So it was one of those hellish days when we work 4 or 5 legs with short sits in between. By the third leg I really had to go... you know. Number 2." I think his actual words might have been a little more descriptive.
"I never use the airplane bathrooms. I mean, I'd rather go into the terminal and risk sitting next to Larry Craig than use one of our 37 lavs." I made up the Larry Craig part but I think it adds something. "But with our crazy schedule, I didn't even have time to do that. I had to either give in and use the plane toilet or hold it 'til we got to the hotel. I held it and I'm damn proud of it,
"But I gotta tell you. By the time I made it to my room, I was hurtin'. Like, serious lower intestinal pain. But I made it and that's what matters." To be fair, not all Pilots are this gross... or funny.
"Anyway, I bust in my room and pretty much just rip my pants off and hop onto the john. Wow. I don't know what I ate but it was coming out with gusto." ...no misquoting there. "Anyway, I was only sitting there for a couple of minutes when somebody started banging on my door,
"You know how frustrating it is to be disturbed in the middle of a good..." have I lost my squimish readers? "So, I get up and answer the door. It's a big, bald, angry looking hotel-security guy."
"'Can I help you?" I ask him."
"'Can I help you?" he asks back."
"When someone asks you a question like that you look around to see what you're missing, right? You do it sarcastically to show him how stupid he is. Unless you happen to see what it is that you were missing- like a man and a woman standing behind you and looking a little freaked out,
"Apparently, my room was already occupied. 'You'll have to come with me, sir,' the big bald guy said to me,
"'Alright,' I told him. 'Can I flush first?'"
That's the story that was running through my mind as I walked into my pitch black hotel room at 1 in the morning last night. Luckily, there was no one in my bed. Still, I always check before I use the bathroom.
Somethings just aren't worth rushing.
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