After the last dinner tray was set down in first class, the purser left me alone to finish up while he went to help the two flight attendants with the service in back. It’s rough for them back there, serving 130 people a hot meal and drinks, with many wanting complimentary wine as well as a soda or water. And with more seats than spaces for trays, some of the trays are double stacked, meaning we have to separate the two trays and then divvy up the dinner components from the top tray to the bottom one before handing them to starving passengers.
As the last person in row four got their dinner, Andrew joined the cart in economy, which was near the exit rows, not quite halfway to the back of the plane. I began picking up trays from the first couple of rows, every now and then walking to row four to see if anyone needed another drink or was finished eating. After a few minutes, I had collected most of the trays from my first class passengers when I heard the familiar chime of the call bell. I peered around the corner from the galley to see who had pressed this offending button. I jest. I’m glad to help make someone’s day, but the way most flight attendants feel about call lights, it has the rap of being offending. The guys in back were about a dozen rows from being done; the call light was illuminated over row 7ABC.
When I passed through the sheer curtain that does little in keeping economy passengers from coming forward to use the first class lavatory, and I reached row seven, which is the first row of economy, a nice man in his sixties smiled at me, raising a mostly empty cup. “Would it be possible to get more wine?” he asked. “Sure,” I said, asking, “Red or white?” His eyes rounded, I’d like red,” and he looked to the woman seated at the window next to him, “Would you like some more white, Dear?” She responded positively, and in a friendly manner I obliged, promising to be right back.
In the galley, I obtained 2 plastic cups. I was amused thinking about the way the man smiled at me knowingly. He seemed aware of the crew’s proximity in the rows behind him, as if assuredly the guy from first class would answer his call light for more wine, and not the ones now serving passengers in the back. We have a much higher caliber of wine in first over what we serve in economy. Smart guy—innocently asking for the good stuff. I liked him. It’s something I would do if having fly in cattle class.
I poured one white and one red, my standard heavy pour...I’m such an enabler. I placed them on my silver lined serving tray and delivered them with a smile, asking the man in the aisle seat if I could get him anything. He was still eating his dinner and denied wanting anything. I smiled at the man and his wife as they toasted one another with their wine and returned to the fancy side of the curtain.
It’s all in the approach. Had he pressed the call light and demanded a glass of wine, I would have walked to the beverage cart in economy and filled a cup with wine from lesser grapes. But he was kind, smiled, and asked ever so nicely for a refill—my kind of people. I was happy to make his day. Hopefully, the good Karma will come back my way.
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