7-Hub Run: An Aviation Geek’s Dream

I would like to say that one of the perks of being a flight attendant is that there isn’t such a thing as a typical day. That might not be entirely true. Sure, each day we generally fly with a new crew, most of whom we’ve not met, or maybe we flew together, but spend half the flight trying to remember where it was. If I don’t remember by the time we part ways once we land, it hits me at 3am.

While there can be a run of trips that are mundane—board the plane, serve a few drinks, pass out a few peanuts, laugh with passengers, talk about soup recipes with Sarah on the jumpseat, who commutes to Houston from Spokane and spends half the flight talking about her grand kids. The other half is spent talking about her cats. These sorts of trips can go from one to the next, to where you don’t recall, was that seat duplication with the blue-haired lady yesterday or today? There’s a receipt in my pocket from Chicago. When was I in Chicago? How long have I been on this aircraft? Where am I?

And then there are the times that really make for a day you’ll long remember. Like the time I served dinner to Shirley MacClaine, one of my favorite actresses. Or the flight the guy said he wanted to knee me in the nuts. Or the day they brought 2 service animals on an empty airplane for press photos in the cockpit with pilot’s hats. One time I even worked a flight to Hong Kong with a very light load only to deadhome home in first class, and because the hotel was oversold, they put us in a swank hotel at the airport in a suite with a hot tub, free breakfast, drinks at happy hour with tasty appetizers, and everything in the minibar was completely gratis. When I checked out, I don’t think there was a single item left. To make things better, it was on my company anniversary.

...Or today.

It was one of those days I thought would be fairly generic; an easy Denver turn, commenting on passenger shirts, asking if they’re going home or away, making old guys laugh when they tell me they are with the woman in front of them, prompting me to ask if SHE knows that. I don’t know why old guys like to tell us that, but it happened two times just today. 

The crew was briefing on board the plane when a supervisor boarded to let us know about a gaggle of special guests traveling with us. They were mostly our high-yield passengers flying together on what was called a Seven Hub Run: Newark, DC, Chicago, Houston, Denver, San Francisco, and LA. One was supposedly an “influencer.”

We had questions. Why? A whole day taking seven flights? Those seats in back are not exactly thrones—my butt hurt just thinking about it. Are they crazy? But, more importantly, will the influencer make us internet famous? We agreed that it sounds like fun, if you’ve got the time and money...why not? Maybe not the whole day, but I can I go with them to San Francisco?

It was a 3,900 mile trip starting at 6AM Eastern and ending at 1030PM Pacific...or 19 hours. Oh, but were they fun, with matching lanyards and racing bibs. Their enthusiasm was as if it was their first flight of the day. Service agents lined the jetbridge with signs and cheered them on. We made special announcements and received crew gift bags. A few wanted pictures in the cockpit with the pilots. As if planned, but not, the first officer was a dead ringer for late night comedian Conan O’Brien, complete with a swirl of red hair dangling across his forehead.

I was working first class, so enthusiastically informed that we’d take special care of them. My goal: this segment of their marathon would be the most memorable. One woman was celebrating a birthday, so I wrote a card for her. She said she had gotten cards from a few other crews. I replied that none were as caring as this one. Really, THIS card means something.

One of the things I like to do to make an impression in first class is presenting the hot towel service with a white coffee mug of dry ice in water, making a wave of smoke to drift across the tray and off the edge. Some passengers are mesmerized. Others hardly take note. But if I can do one little thing to really up the flying experience...it’s how I roll after nearly dying a few years ago. But catering messed up and not only did we not have hot towels, they boarded an economy bar cart that, instead of having bottles of red, white, and sparkling wine, had individual cans. And I really wanted to wow these guys with the best flight of their day. Drats.

At one point during the flight, a woman walked up from economy. She was a Global Services passenger,’ (our very top-tier passenger program, which is by invitation only). As a retiree of the airline, she had a few questions and was super friendly. Her husband is the head pilot for their union and has a seat on the board of directors, which gives him the high status. He soon came up as well and the three of us engaged in a very interesting conversation about how we love our aviation career.

There was another GS passenger in row two who stopped me with a pen and paper in hand to ask my name. “Are you the only Scott?” she asked. “I sure hope so,” I replied, making her laugh. She showered me with so many compliments I was searching for a towel to dry off. The best way to make our day is a letter to the airline of the good service you received.

The man in row five who was constantly smiling handed me a guitar pick. Larry Gowan is a member of the band Styx, and he’s got quite an impressive resume. My flying partners are too young and not familiar with the band. Larry and I had a fun conversation about my days working concert security in the late 80s and meeting bands from Stevie Nicks, Pink Floyd, and the Rolling Stones, to Henry Rollins, Adam Ant, The Ramones, and Bruce Hornsby. As I admired the signed guitar pick, I mentioned having a collection of them, including Jimmy Buffet’s and Mark Knopfler’s. But enough name dropping. 

I was having so much fun working first class while the purser was slaving in economy (all those high-yield passengers get free food and drinks, slowing down the service), and that’s why I prefer longer flights. When surrounded by so many wonderful people, I love the chance to mingle and chat.

We kept the aircraft returning to Houston, a real treat from having to change planes. Our load home was lighter as opposed to the one to Denver, which was 100% full. In first class was a woman in her 80s who started to get up with the aid of her 60-something son. The seatbelt sign was on and the ride was quite bumpy. I asked if she couldn’t wait a little bit because I was concerned for her welfare. She said she could with a smile.

When things smoothed out and the sign came off, I asked if she was ready to give it a try. But this time her son stayed in his seat, so it was all me holding onto her as she slow-stepped from row one to the lavatory, complaining of the pain in her right leg. I sympathized with the pain in my right hip from my auto accident last summer.

When we landed in Houston, there was another wheelchair passenger seated in row four. Her daughter assisted her as the purser helped with their bags. I let her take my arm; as we rounded the corner, and with nothing else to hold onto, I lent her my other arm. She was most appreciative, and I said, “Think nothing of it. It’s not every day I have two pretty ladies on my arm. Her daughter was bowled over and her mother laughed, telling me that she was one-hundred and two years old. “I’m SO happy I got to meet you today,” I said to her, as she reached for the aircraft door to take a seat in the wheelchair.

I was aglow as the four of us that worked the two flights walked to the employee bus together, chatting about how fun our day was. It could have been just another day, serving drinks and charming senior ladies at 36,000 feet. Even our worst days are better than most people’s best days. But the fun group of 7-hub marathoners was certainly a far cry from the norm.

No two days are alike when you’re a flight attendant. I knew it was going to be a great day when seeing a bag tag that read, “My second favorite F-word is Flying.” Fondue being the first, perhaps?

Here’s the exact 7-Hub Run itinerary:

6:00–7:19 a.m.: EWR-IAD, UA 1366
8:25–9:38 a.m.: IAD-ORD, UA 2440
10:35 a.m.–1:29 p.m.: ORD-IAH, UA 2483
2:50–4:40 p.m.: IAH-DEN, UA 241
5:59–7:45 p.m.: DEN-SFO, UA 1007
9:00–10:32 p.m.: SFO-LAX, UA 2409

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Grapes of a Lesser God

 

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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Being There: My Meeting with Shirley Maclaine

Penguin from seat 1A

I do love me some Vancouver layovers. It’s convenient that the hotel is walkable. The surrounding scenery is beautiful. The airport is modern and culturally relevant. The Canadian passengers are nice, almost like they’re from another, nicer country. Oh, wait…

With a seventeen-hour layover, I was able to get some writing done and sleep in. I left my room early enough to wander to the food court for a bite to eat before passing through customs and making my way down the terminal to the gate for my flight to Denver. This was day three of a four day trip, so I was a bit tired and sort of happy to be eating by myself. My flying partners met at the plane. They seemed rested and happy- chatty, as usual.

Boarding had begun and the overhead bins were getting quite full, even though there were a lot of empty seats. I was working up front, which would be full, so I closed a few of the overhead bins to save room for my first class passengers. Just as I returned to the forward galley, a man in uniform entered the plane carrying a large, bright red bag. It almost looked like a purse, with large handle straps and a zipper down the middle, but it was large enough that it actually had wheels on one end, and a telescoping handle, so one could pull it behind them with ease. Behind this man was an older woman with short hair and glasses. She smiled as she came on board and noticing the seat number on her boarding pass, moved into row one.

The man in the uniform looked at me for help with her bag. We don’t take bags and place them in overhead bins at Mother Airline, so I pointed to some of the bins I had just closed and he found space just behind the row of seats. In the meantime, the older woman looked at her ticket and saw that she had seat 1B and asked the man if she could move into the window seat instead. He again looked to me for guidance. He was simply the man lucky enough to be hired by the airport to assist certain passengers to the plane, and certainly had no authority to approve this request.

Before I could answer, my flying partner, Krysten, let the woman know that we could simply ask the person whose seat she was taking if they would switch with her. Normally, it’s not an issue, and I was quite fine with whatever situation made the most people happiest. The woman began to settle in and the uniformed man took his leave.

I leaned into Krysten, saying how much I thought the lady looked like Shirley Maclaine, but older. Krysten gave me a blank stare, not sure of who Shirley Maclaine was. “Wow,” I said, “you’re so young!”

“I’m not that young,” she replied, and gave me her age, which seemed older than I was expecting. Krysten seemed to figure the name out after I mentioned a few movies that have made her popular.

Returning to the cabin, I took pre-departure drink orders from a few passengers who had settled in, and the woman in 1A stopped to ask me where the movie screen was. “There used to be little screens,” she told me, “they would pop down and we could watch a movie. Where are they? Don’t you have entertainment?” As this was one of my pet peeves with Mother Airline, I almost felt like I was being baited.

The Vancouver Airport

After briefly going over Mother Airline’s decision to remove the screens in favor of passengers watching movies and shows streamed onto their own devices, I had to explain the process of how to download the Mother Airline app, so that once we were in the air, she could connect to the Wi-Fi and commence to be entertained for our two hour and twenty minute flight.

The problem is, I’m not tech savvy. I have a tech savvy friend in the Bay Area who used to help me with computer issues, often over the phone. He would endure my ignorance of computers and technology and spend what felt like hours upon hours assisting me. He would often lament, “That’s not possible! Your computer is doing things that should not be possible. How is that?” There would be a moment of silence from my end, followed by an, “Idontknow.” It’s the only answer I had to offer. He thought I must have some mystical powers to affect technical mischief. I half agreed.

So for this woman to be asking me to walk her through setting up her personal electronic device would be akin to asking the Pope for advice on positions in the Kama Sutra. Fortunately, the man behind her, in 2B, overheard and started giving pointers. I had a lot of things to do, since we were still boarding, so I excused myself. Krysten was still at the boarding door welcoming passengers, and after looking at the passenger manifest, informed me that the lady in 1A really WAS Shirley Maclaine. I could only roll my eyes and gasp, looking back to the actress peering through her glasses at her phone with the young man behind her trying to walk her through setting up the necessary app. But the smile on my face showed her how excited I was to be working in first class with such a talented actress as one of the passengers in my charge. Shirley freaking Maclaine! I’ve met a lot of people with name recognition, but for me, this was a thrill.

As luck would have it, the nice woman who was assigned to 1A took 1B without a word. And as luck would have it, she was tech savvy and was able to answer Ms. Maclaine’s questions. Ms. Maclaine realized that she had a larger tablet in her large, red bag, which might be more conducive to watching entertainment streamed from Mother Airline, and she looked up at me over her glasses. She was not demanding nor rude. She asked if I would be able to fetch her bag for her, so that she could retrieve her tablet, and pointed to where the man in uniform had stored it. I opened the bin and took her bag out, placing it near her feet. It was heavy and full, and felt like nice leather. She had a hard time reaching it, but Miss Benson helped out. Miss Benson helped out a lot during this flight. 

Miss Maclaine in her window seat

Ms. Maclaine got her app downloaded, asked for a water, ordered the chicken mac and cheese and then I asked what she’d like to drink. Her first reply was a Gimlet. I could see Miss Benson look at me, ready to gauge my reaction. When it was determined that no Gimlet would be served on board, her second choice was a Cosmo. Wrong again. Miss Benson seemed entertained and chuckled.

In thinking of a classy woman like Shirley Maclaine, who didn’t seem content with anything normal, it came to mind that we had Moscow Mule on board. I asked her about giving that a try. This seemed to please her, especially when I mentioned that no one ever asks for it. Sold! Moscow Mule it would be. Miss Benson thinking that sounded good, ordered one as well.

The time had come to close the aircraft door and soon we were hurtling across the skies of north America. In just over two hours we’d be in Denver, and Ms. Maclaine would catch another plane to her home in New Mexico. As I always do, I kept an eye on the passengers to anticipate any needs, and Ms. Maclaine often looked up at me. I guess I half expected her to just ignore me, as most passengers do. She appeared to be genuinely appreciative of my contribution to her travel experience. She would look up to regard me being attentive, smile and look back down at her device.

I was glad to see her actually watching a movie. It would have been exacerbating to find her reading a book or magazine after all the trouble we went through to set up her device. While checking on my flying partners in the aft galley, Krysten asked what she was watching, so when I returned to first class, I paused at row two so that I could find out. It was the 2017 version of Beauty and the Beast.

She thanked me with a smile when I served her Moscow Mule. She ate half of the nuts in the cocktail snack that I placed next to her. When dinner was served, she paused the movie, removed her headphones and engaged Miss Benson in conversation. How fortunate for Miss Benson, seated next to a legend, helping her with her tech issues and now having dinner with her. They even clinked glasses in giving cheers to one another with their drinks. One sip and Ms. Maclaine called me over to ask for a mini of vodka, saying it was too sweet. Miss Benson agreed, so I returned with 2 minis.

I added the mini and Ms. Maclaine winked. I replied, “Well, that’s just how I would drink it!” She raised her glass to me, still smiling. She was always smiling.

In flight entertainment

Mother Airline provided slices of turtle cheesecake on small white plates. I placed these on the silver lined tray to dispense to my passengers, but upon searching the galley, I could find no forks. I would have to pass dessert out right away, before picking up the trays, so people could use their dinner forks for dessert. Not the classy manner in which I would have chosen to present this service, but sometimes you have to work with what you have at thirty-six thousand feet. Ms. Maclaine was finished eating; she ate rather quickly. She asked if I could take her tray. I asked if she would like cheesecake, and she did. I suggested that she keep the fork, as I had no more to pass out. She took only a few bites, handing it back to me, apologizing that she had found it too sweet for her taste. I told her I’d not judge.

When Miss Benson was finished eating, Ms. Maclaine went back to her movie. She refused another drink, asking only for a glass of water with ice. I was humbled by how human Ms. Maclaine was. To have paused her movie to engage Miss Benson, her always smiling and constant acknowledgment of me and my efforts...she was nicer than most passengers, yet here she was, nearly a household name.

I badly wanted a photo with her, and had hoped she would drink more, knowing that when she got up to use the lavatory would be the perfect time to use my charm to compliment her talents and request a selfie. The opportunity would have to wait, however, until the captain turned on the seat belt sign for landing, which she took as her cue to get up and quickly tend to business. When she came out of the lav, I told her how much I appreciated her body of work, saying that I was a huge fan, and asked if I could take a selfie. She was most accommodating. She got back in her seat, seemingly quite conscious of the fact that the seat belt sign was on, and I invited Miss Benson to join in.

While kneeling down next to them I told Ms. Maclaine how I had met Matthew McConaughey only a few months prior, and the week before meeting him, I had watched the movie, “Bernie,” in which they had both starred. She exclaimed how much she loved making that movie, telling me how fun it had been to work with the locals. I gushed at how much I loved the movie and had found the performances by all the actors to have been so engaging.

The selfie with Miss Benson and Shirley Maclaine

For several minutes, I was able to chat with her about something other than my lack of technology sense, and in bringing up the Harvey Weinstein sex scandal, she had nothing positive to say about his character, which Miss Benson found intriguing. She thanked me again for assisting her so well during boarding and taking good care of her in flight. She told me that she was about to meet the director of the movie she had been watching, but had not seen it, and felt that it was important to do so before meeting with him. She said that the role of the teapot had been written with her in mind, and that they had hoped she would voice it and sing the songs, but she had to pass it up. She rolled her eyes as she said this. I complimented her in saying that she would make a great teapot! In response, she said, “You would make a great teapot!”

I took this at first as a compliment and Miss Benson laughed a bit. But I’m not sure. Was it?

If Shirley Maclaine thinks I could pull off portraying the teapot, I’m willing. Have your people call my people. I can fly to LA first thing and be in the studio tomorrow! (I’ve always wished I could do voice work, after all, I’ve already fulfilled my desire to be a professional actor. I’d love to do some acting again.)

We landed in Denver safe and sound. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve landed in Denver, I could buy a very nice teapot complete with matching cups and the tea to put in them. The passengers began to deplane and Ms. Maclaine was not yet ready. She was still gathering her belongings. She placed the Mother Airlines headphones she had used in the seat back pocket, telling me she had done so, as if I had to account for them. I joked with her that she could keep them as a souvenir. Miss Benson again assisted her and I noticed quite a few passengers craning their neck as they left to catch a glimpse of the actress in 1A. I guess they had noticed her, as I had done.

From the movie "Being There"

She thanked me again, taking my hand in hers as she did so. I moved her bag out of her way and placed in such a way as to make it easy for her to grab the handle. And with that, she was gone.

All five of us working the flight were excited to have her on our flight to Denver. I shared the photos I had taken with the pilots and we then ran into the nice young man from seat 2B, who had helped us before leaving Vancouver.

“I know I recognize her,” he said, “but what was her name?” He couldn’t believe he couldn’t think it when I told him. He was star struck and happy he had the chance to help her out. It was then that I had an a-ha moment, and I was so disappointed in myself for forgetting. One of my all time favorite movies is “Being There,” with Peter Sellers, and she starred in that movie. I wish I had remembered this, so I could let her know, but there are so many wonderful roles Shirley Maclaine has taken on. I was lucky to have met one of the best. (And she was lucky to have been served by one of the best!) Perhaps it was destiny. Perhaps we’d met in a previous life. Perhaps we’ll meet in the next!

 

 

 

Adventures in Flight: JumpSeat Therapy

Jump Seat Therapy by Penguin Scott 2-21-09



It’s so good to be back home. My two cats are purring and a storm is blowing in with lots of rain and wind. I would have beat the storm had I not had to stop at the store on the way home from the airport. I do love my milk, and since I’m off for the next four days, I needed a few other provisions as well.

I find it difficult to keep track of time with my job. Weeks have little meaning to me, since my schedule is always different and most of my weekends are 3 or 4 days long. But what’s worse is just keeping track of days. I only left yesterday morning, but it seems like it was 3 days ago. It’s hard to imagine I’ve only been gone 41 hours. After all, in that time I’ve been to Vancouver, Chicago (twice) and Buffalo, NY for 19 hours. It’s why I demand my watch have two time zones, one of which I always keep on local time, and also have the day and date. It’s a common affliction with flight attendants; having a hard time keeping up with time.

This was an easy trip; only two days, most flights had light loads, the layover was 19 hours. But yesterday was such a long day- a 12 hour duty day with nearly 8 hours of flight time. The hard part was that I woke up at 3:30 in the morning, when I wasn’t due up until 5:00. I never could get back to sleep. So by the time I arrived in my hotel room at the Hyatt in downtown Buffalo, I was spent. I even passed on the offer of drinks by our pilots, something I normally would not do.

Mostly, there were just the three of us on this trip; myself, my flying partner, Tea, and the purser, Michelle. We were all very close in seniority, my being most senior, which is quite rare! There was one segment of the trip when we were on a larger plane with two others joining us. But otherwise, it was just us three.

One fun aspect of my job is the camaraderie. There is a term commonly used in our industry: jump seat therapy. The jump seat is the fold down seat near each door on the plane where we are assigned to sit. Flight attendants tend to open up and tell their flying partners things most people wouldn’t tell complete strangers. And with over 15,000 flight attendants system-wide, most people we fly with are complete strangers. Well, they start out that way. After a 2-day or more trip with them, you get to know them really well. It’s easy to open up and very therapeutic, so before long one starts to hang all the laundry out.

Tea is a woman in her mid 40s. She lives in the northern part of the East Bay with her husband and two daughters. Well, actually, one daughter, as one just left for college. They are attractive girls, both with natural blond hair, but the one who just left for college had hers dyed red. I know this from Tea’s blackberry, which had a photo of her girls on the front screen. Each time we landed the first thing she would do is pull it out and turn it on. Looking over at it, I had a good view of the photo, so I asked if they were here girls.

This was Tea’s second trip back from a year off for a medical leave. She got an infection on her finger that was similar to a staff infection. She had to go the hospital daily for an I.V. She was a little rusty and full of questions. “What are the new rumors of a merger? How do you do the new liquor paperwork? Now that we staff 757s with four, how do we work the service? Do we still have the nice downtown layover in Chicago?” Just simple questions, normal for someone who’s been gone for a while, and I was happy to give the answers I could. She was not rusty on the beverage cart, though. She was quite prompt, in fact. But I have a tendency to say hi or strike up a small conversation with passengers when I’m delivering drinks, so there are times I seem slow in my service. So many flight attendants just fling the drink at you and move on. And all of our flights had plenty of time, so I was even more encouraged to be polite.

Tea liked to name drop. On her time away from flying, she had volunteered for the Obama campaign. She was even invited to attend a speech in Phoenix where she got to stand right behind him as he gave his address. She got to meet him as well, and his wife. Later, she would plop down next to me with her lap top to show me photos. They were much like any photo I’ve ever seen of Barack or of Michelle, although I have yet to see a photo of the silver shoes Mrs. Obama wears. “My daughter asked me to take a picture of her shoes,” she told me when I chuckled at the shot.

Her friend just lost a dog, who was more a child to her. She took 2 weeks from work to grieve. When she heard that a famous actor had just lost his dog, this friend of hers, who makes jewelry, designed a necklace for him with a photo of his dog in it. She found the name of the actor’s agent and got in touch with them to see if he would be interested in having her send it to him. They asked if she could do so within two days, before he left for the Oscars. He was so excited to receive the necklace, he called her to thank her and wants to meet with her for dinner.

There were other names dropped. But as usual, as I sat on the jump seat, my interest was more in line with seeing what I could out of the small windows we have to see out of. With my airplane disease (obsession with planes), I like to see the airport, the runways and the planes taxiing. I like the views as we ascend or descend and of the clouds. I’m often deep in thought and tuning out most of what the women sitting next to me are spewing out, trying only to catch the important parts so that later I can regurgitate some of it so they think I was listening.

It’s different sitting next to another guy. We can sit in silence for 10 or 15 minutes and not be afraid that we don’t like one another. And if the guy next to me has little in common with me, it’s not uncommon to remain silent for nearly the entire trip. And that’s just fine with guys. There are always the standard questions, whether flying with a man or a woman, which are: what is your seniority, where do you live, if they commute, where do you commute to, where did you grow up and what did you do before becoming a flight attendant? Most flight attendants cover these basics at some time or another in the trip, whether you are with them for one flight or six. And talk of union and work issues is almost always guaranteed to carry us through the down times of the flight.

Whereas Tea liked to drop names, Michelle really liked to talk. I didn’t really notice that she was so addicted to speaking as she is until we got in the van to drive to our hotel last night in Buffalo. Michelle worked up front and I was in back with Tea. Tea set up the galley on each leg, which meant I greeted passengers up at door one, right next to Michelle. She did have a habit of interrupting me when I was speaking. She did have a lot to say. But when we got in the van (after twelve hours of working, eight hours of flying, we were tired, it was dark and the ride took us about 20 minutes) she talked. I was in the beginning of what would eventually become the worst migraine headache I’d had in years…many, many years. Out of the airport, she talked; along the freeway, she talked; through downtown, she talked more. When the headache again woke me this morning at 3am, I couldn’t help but wonder if wasn’t from all the talking.

Michelle was a little younger than Tea, and me; I’d guess she was in her late 30s. She just celebrated her ninth wedding anniversary the night before our trip. They had gone out to dinner, and while she wasn’t up too late, she was tired. A few years ago she bought her first new car, all others had been bought used. It was a 4runner, which is what I drive, but I wasn’t able to relay that information to her. It was stolen when it had 8,000 miles on it, which for some reason made it difficult to sell, which she had to do because the payments got to be too high. She was able to sell it and buy another car and pay it off 2 years sooner than she would have done with the 4runner. Now her only payment is her mortgage.

Michelle lives with her husband in Walnut Creek and mostly takes BART to the airport. I’m not sure how the car thing came up. I’m not sure why she started to talk about her sister and her brother in law and their house. Then I’m not sure what else she spoke of as I was doing all I could to phase her out and take in the sights of Buffalo.

At one point I was yelling at her in my head, “Shut up! You have not stopped talking for more than five seconds. I need some silence! Oh my god!” It was sort of funny, actually. It’s for times like these I wished I didn’t keep my MP3 player packed in my bag, which was stored in the back of the van, where I couldn’t reach it. My kingdom for some earplugs!

When we got out of the van, the captain made a comment to me about her chatter, “Sheesh, I make one comment about a car payment and it propelled her through the rest of the trip.” “I know,” I told him, “thank goodness this is only a 2-day trip. But I’m used to it as this is quite common with a lot of flight attendants.”

Back on the plane today, there would be times I went to the front of the plane to tell her something. She’d start in on a story and I’d wait patiently to for her to finish in order to get out that which I had to say. I’d finally have to give up on waiting, find a moment when she was taking a breath, and blurt it out only hoping she wouldn’t interrupt me. She did end up buying me an order of Buffalo wings at the airport in New York. She was very nice and treated passengers well. She was simply addicted to speech. And where I normally wouldn’t feel comfortable with someone buying me dinner, in this case I took it as compensation.

People were all nice on this 2-day trip. Our flight up to Vancouver was light and the last row of seats were left empty. We blocked them off so passengers wouldn’t take them. We call this our ‘lounge’. I’d been up so early and was already tired. After we finished the service, I took a seat in the lounge and looked out the window. Below was a large city along side a river and on the other side were some hills. I studied the downtown closer, lots of buildings, it was a good-sized city. I forgot where we were going for a moment, thinking maybe we were going to Chicago, and wondered if it was St. Louis. I found the major airport, and it wasn’t where the airport in St. Louis would be, and I couldn’t see the arch. I kept trying to think of what this city might be, thinking in my head of all the cities between San Francisco and Chicago. Then I realized that we were going north along the West Coast and the city was Portland. Ah, Portland; I have good friends down there. I jumped to the other side for a view of the snow-topped mountains. It was gorgeous. As well as having a hard time keeping track of days, we often forget to where it is that we are going.

We were only in Vancouver for an hour or so before setting off for Chicago, where we had just over two hours before our third flight to Buffalo. I spent my time on the computer working trip trades for the following month.

As we boarded our flight to Buffalo, a young boy of about 7 or 8 walked on the plane. I said hello to him and he looked up at me and said, “I love god.” I was a bit shocked to hear this. It’s not every day I hear this from a small child. “That’s, um, great!” I replied. His mother was just behind him and smiled to us as she informed us he had just received a new cross on his necklace and was referring to that.

After he passed, Michelle asked if she heard him correctly. This brought up a discourse on how religion on children is nothing more than brainwashing. “I mean, they believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny just as much as whatever religion their parents are shoving down their throat.” I was brought up with different views, Jewish, Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic, Shaman and Paganism. I agreed that perhaps it was best to treat religion like a subject in school and allow a young adult to find the path of their own choosing. I couldn’t disagree.

But then there was the girl on my flight home tonight from Chicago in seat 34G. She sat next to her mother who, on both of their tray tables, had spread out a virtual buffet of food; a feast for the two of them. I made a comment about this and the girl informed me of her loose tooth, thinking it might even come out during flight. I smiled back to her and said, well, at least if that happens up here, you’ll be closer to the Tooth Fairy! She smiled a toothy grin and looked over at her mom in excitement. She hadn’t thought of that! Funny how we let go of certain myths and hold dearly to others.

We were late arriving, which put a bind on Michelle’s schedule. She had a train to catch home or she’d have to end up spending the night in the airport. She left quickly so Tea and I walked to the bus together, then to the elevator in the garage. She got off on the 5th floor and we said farewell. Another trip was over. It was an easy week, but I’m ready for my 4-day weekend. I don’t know when I’ll see Tea or Michelle again. But I always carry extra aspirin; and I’m always ready for my next session of jump seat therapy.

Adventures in Flight: Pamper Me

Story and photo at Osaka airport by Penguin Scott

A week off. I can fly for free. I’ve been working very hard. I needed to be pampered and wanted to go somewhere. My trip to Israel was postponed, so I started to think about places to go. I’m a flight attendant, but my wanderlust was out of control.

Vietnam? Needs a visa, no time to get one.

Moscow? I’d rather go in spring. Oh, and we haven’t started flying there, yet.

Frankfurt? Not bad, light loads. But I’ve been there.

South America. Fun, but I didn’t really feel like having to sit in IAD for a few hours.

Seoul; to see BadKitty? She sort of nixed the idea. Not much time off and her little space would have been difficult. I sort of agreed.

New Zealand to see Annika? A bit far to go for such a short amount of time.

Japan? I’ve not been there in so long, I love it there. Flight’s not too long. OK, Japan. I love Narita, best noodle shop in the world, caters to all the airlines that stay there. The airport there has more 747s than any other airport in the world. I love me some 747s. I once spent a layover hanging out at the airport there. How many flight attendants on layover go back to hang out at the airport? I’m funny that way.

But oh, no, we only fly the 777 to NRT and I want to fly in the new OC. Our new 747OC has been reconfigured for international travel. The seats in business lie flat. The suites in first are upgraded with better audio-visual and even games. It’s really sweet.

Osaka flights are on the OC. So I was listed to KIX. I checked the paperwork. OC to KIX for 3 hours. Then, due to budget constraints, right back on the same plane. I’d be in KIX for only three hours. I had some writing projects to work on. I had some reading I could do. There would be movies on board to enjoy. I was not all worried about spending 19 hours on a plane.

At a party the night before I was to leave, a good friend mentioned how she hates planes and airports. I love planes. I love being on them, taking off, landing; and in first class…what’s not to love? And as I just stated, I love hanging out at airports. One person’s ceiling is another’s floor. One’s junk is another’s treasure.

I got to the airport and went to the gate. I took my seat and waited for my name. I thought they might call it early since the loads were so light; 4 in first, 20 in business and 119 in coach. But they waited until the plane was mostly boarded. As I waited, I heard an announcement for some names, stating there were some seat changes made due to the change in aircraft. Panic struck when I turned to see that the nose number of the jumbo sitting just out the window was different. They had changed the plane to an OB, not the newly configured OC. I thought briefly about ditching the trip and just going home. But I was already there, ready to go, so I might as well just enjoy the meals and pampering.

My seat was 2J. Stowed my things, settled in, drank a cup of champagne and sat in my seat like it was my throne. Oh, I can do first class. I even hid any baggage identifiers that would give me away as being crew. As far as any other passengers knew, I was a full-paying passenger, just as they were. (They were probably standby’s as well, though!)

Take off happened and soon I was reclined with a file of work out. The purser took my meal order, brought me warm nuts and another glass of champagne. It was a Henriot Cuvee des Enchanteleurs 1999. I’m not picky on champagne. I enjoy $3 bottles as much as the $80 bottles. And let me tell you, this was a good bottle.

I continued to work on one of my future novels while eating the warm nuts. I save the cashews for last, since they are my favorites. There were also almonds, pecans and macadamias. I started eating the pecans and realized that I normally pick around them. I sort of felt obligated to eat them, being from Texas and with the pecan tree being the official state tree. I love them in recipes and pies. But normally, I just go for my favorites, the cashews and macadamias.

My work was cut short when the hot towel was delivered, meaning my meal was about to start. I put it aside to be worked on later.

First out was a shrimp, bacon and corn cake with jalapeño shallot crème fraiche. The bacon was a wonderful touch and the sprigs of cilantro really made this dish for me. A bread basket was brought out and I selected the pretzel roll, warmed to perfection and complete with a wonderful pretzel coating.

Next was the soup, artichoke chicken Florentine with wonderful full flavor, great body and quite thick with great chunks of chicken. I could have made a meal out of it, but there was more to come. As I finished the soup, the salad was brought out on the queen cart. Fresh season greens with red bell peppers, yellow teardrop tomatoes and seasoned croutons. I selected the classic Caesar dressing, thank you, and don’t forget the fresh ground pepper.

For the main course I enjoyed rosemary lemon Mediterranean sea bass with tomato and olive ragout. It was sided with a creamy vegetable risotto and green and yellow haricots verts. The fish had a slight fish taste that was not overbearing. I enjoyed my entrée with a glass of white wine. I always have a hard time leaving the champagne, but the Jolivet Shateau du Nozay 2006 Sauvignon blanc made it easy to do. In fact, later in the flight, instead of more champagne, I had more white wine. It was light and fruity without being too sweet.

Finally the plates were removed and the queen cart came by with dessert: a choice of seasonal fruits and cheeses and ice cream sundaes. I had a sundae, chocolate sauce and cookie, hold the whipped cream. It was a bowl of two scoops, one vanilla, the other chocolate. I round it off with a glass of Sandeman’s porto.

I don’t often order chocolate ice cream. It’s not on my list of favorites. But when I do indulge, it reminds me of my grandmother. I spent my summers at her house and she often pulled out ice cream at night for dessert. I think my grandfather was a fan. He always made coke floats with vanilla. But I guess chocolate was a favorite of hers, so when I have it now, I always think of her.

With the meal over, I continued to work on my novel. It’s one that’s been mulling around in my head for about 13 years now. I’m finally working out the details. I worked on the timeline of the main character’s parents, their ages, where they lived, how they met, etc. I had a file folder full of ideas that I’d been putting in there for all these years. It was great to finally be fleshing out some of the details for this book. But with so many projects on deck right now, I doubt I’ll actually start writing it just yet. It’s just nice to have some of this figured out.

After a nap and more wine, we were soon to land in Osaka. Before doing so, there was another meal service. I mean it had been six hours since the last one. This service was much less formal. It came out on one tray, no queen cart. This time it was a beef pastrami sandwich with baby Swiss on rye with oven roasted fingerling potatoes and fresh fruit. It was warmed so the cheese was all gooey and melted. I really liked this and don’t recall ever having served it.

Soon we were touching down and the wonderful service was but a memory; the hot towels, the clean linens, the cold flatware, the butter in shapes of flower petals, fresh ground pepper and attentive flight attendants.

We landed around 4pm local time. I had taken off around 1130. Basically, the sun had only moved the equivalent of about 4 hours. Since I had taken off, the plane barely moved, as more as the earth had moved under me. It made me think, there must be a place on the globe and a speed to fly in which the sun would remain in the same place all the time. The plane would never move, only the earth under it. How fascinating.

Off the plane, through security, back to the gate and back on the same plane home. On board I found that one of the flight attendants serving me would be a woman I had worked with not too long ago. It was good to see her, but now my cover was blown. The previous crew had known I was crew, it’s on the passenger manifest. But soon the word was spread that I was a crew member and that I had just brought this plane in. The purser came to check on me and wondered why I’d be doing such a flight. “I wanted to be pampered and to fly the OC.” She felt badly about the plane change. She did well for the rest of my flight to ensure that I was taken care of.

Going home, I enjoyed more champagne, of course, and more warm nuts. I refused seconds on the nuts, but the champagne flowed freely. The appetizer was a shrimp, scallop and cilantro potsticker with roasted red pepper sauce, creamy curry apple soup, and fresh seasonal greens, this time with blue cheese dressing. Again, I selected a sea bass, this time it was wrapped in rice paper and pan-seared with lemon butter soy sauce with pak choy, carrots and cauliflower. After my meal I watched Ghost Town, which was funny, then fell asleep. I slept for about 5 hours, waking just before the breakfast service. I selected the fruit and yogurt, since the omelette was listed as an onion omelette. Ew.

In all, I was gone for about 25 hours. I was on the ground in Japan for 3 hours. I had 2 really nice meals, nearly 2 bottles of champagne, 4 glasses of white wine, 2 glasses of red, 2 servings of port wine, worked on 2 books and watched a movie. It was nice. And it only cost me the gas to get from my home in Pacifica to the parking garage at work. I do love my job.

Morristown, NJ

Photo by Penguin Scott

May 28 2008

Long Newark layovers have always been an enjoyable trip, excepting for the 6am departures to go back home. A 0430 pickup means waking up at 0330. That’s 1:30am to me, being that I live in San Francisco. And I’m a night owl, so I’m usually going to bed about the time of our pickup, unless I have to be up for work, of course.

Since hotels in New York are so expensive, we stay about 20 minutes away in a little sleepy town in NJ. Morristown is very historic as well. There are markers for locations where Hamilton met with spies and with French diplomats. There is a cemetery with markers from the 1700’s. George Washington directed troops in the Continental Army here. He was headquartered here, slept here, etc. The fact he slept there, always a big deal it seems, anywhere Washington slept, makes me wonder about the other suppositions that go along with it. Washington must also have pissed in the woods, among other things!

I enjoy finding new things to do on my layovers here in Morristown. I once walked to the Ford mansion, where Washington was based. Once I walked up to Speedwell Lake, a small lake about a mile away with a nice little trail to follow amongst the tall trees and lots swans, ducks and water rings formed from the fish poking their noses into the surface of the lake.

I wanted to see something new for this trip so I got on line and poked around and found out that a few blocks away was a fort on top of a hill. It was called Fort Nonsense. It got its name from the troops who were sent there to build a fort and encampment for about 30 men. Raised above the small town, it was to serve as a lookout for the British and a signal fire, or beacon was to be built to signal troops in the region to gather at preselected meeting points to react to the emergency. The troops thought the work was nonsense, prepared to keep them busy. But Gen. Washington always garnished having the high ground in any situation.

After getting some sleep to recover from my red eye trip, I awoke to beautiful, cloudless day. It was about 70 degrees with a light breeze. I had heard one can see Manhattan from the top of Ft. Nonsense, so I was lucky to have such a nice day to make my viewing of it.

It was quite close, a nice, steep walk up the road to the top. I was alone, save for an ambulance and its crew of 3 who were talking to a guy on a motorcycle. I found a picnic table at which to sit and ponder some things going on in my life for a bit, watching a cute little chipmunk make its way near me; then after finding out I had nothing to offer, scampered off in another direction.

After my break, I walked around, reading the various informational signs that littered the park. They outlined the fort’s history, gave info on the foundaries of the area, informed of troop activities and named Washington’s temporary home nearby.

There were not many good vantage points to get a view, considering that I on top of a hill that I estimate as being about as high as a 20-story building, due to the numerous and high trees. I gathered from the drawings on the plaques that these trees had mostly been chopped down in the late 1700s.

As I approached the one decent opening of trees I passed the 4 other people at the fort, nodding a greeting as the walked from the view back towards the ambulance. However, one guy came up towards me. He smiled at me and asked if I was a history buff. I told not so much, but was just enjoying another thing to do in Morristown, explaining my business here. I told him I’d heard there was a view of Manhattan, but was disappointed in not seeing it. So he walked me down into the grass a bit and started showing me the layout.

To the east is a ridge of mountains, about 600 feet high. This mostly blocks the view, but you can see a few things. He showed me where the Empire State Building was, the spires of the George Washington Bridge, and where the Trade Center Towers used to stand. I was amazed at how far apart it seemed to be, then realized that I was only seeing the top 15 or so floors of the ES building. Were to be on that ridge, closer to town, I would be shown a wondrous view of the city, he told me.

Next he pointed out a few other points of interest; a nearby collage, a water tower-200 feet from which, is where he lived- the hospital he was based in. The hospital is known for it’s heart work. They don’t do transplants there, but soon will be. I told him I hope to never have to find out how well they are!

It was very nice of him to show me these things. I introduced myself and found out his name is Brian. He and his crew do specials, meaning the only transport patients from one hospital to the next, they don’t respond to emergencies. They had a rare occurrence of some downtime and came to the park to relax.

It’s one thing to be able to visit a town and read up on some of its history. It’s another to be able to meet a local get a behind the scenes sort of look and knowledge I would never get on my own. Like Morristown being the seat of the 2nd wealthiest county in the country; the base of many corporations, and the stopping place for some of the elite. The Vanderbilt’s once lived “over there”, Whitney Houston lives in the area, as well some high named Wall St. investors.

The time for our visit came to an end. I walked back down the hill to find many of the workers getting off from work and filling the sidewalks to make their way to their cars and homes.

Like Washington in 1777, I now prepare to rest for the night in the same town he once did. Unlike our founding father, I have a Hyatt bed and soft pillows. I’m also not afraid of the British invading at any given time.