eXtreme DISTURBULENCE

I would like to make this perfectly clear to the flying public... the aisle is mine.

I have 17 inches in which to sashay, shimmy, skip, stomp or moonwalk. It doesn't matter if the seat belt sign is on, if we're in some sort of climbing/descending attitude or if the plane is bucking like a bronco because of turbulence. The galleys and the aisle are my oyster, I can do what I want!

You, on the other hand, have rented your 18 inches of fire retardant real estate for the next hour or so and you need to stay within those confines. You did not pay for MY aisle. So get your feet, purse, elbows, linebacker-esque shoulders and fanned out newspaper out of it! You do not get to play scrabble across it, hold a business meeting or let your sugared up offspring run up and down it!
Am-SCRAY! I'm trying to work here. Do you see me coming into your cubicle and taking up space or impeding your progress in any way? That would be no.

So here is the deal.... I will say to you, with a smile on my face, to excuse me. What I'm really saying is excuse YOU. I will do this about 6 or 7 times (this varies for each flight attendant) after that, IT IS ON.

Underneath my perfectly coiffed hair, plastic smile and polished exterior rages a roller derby queen mentality and I fight dirty. You have now unleashed the Aisle Avenger and this has become your Flight of Fury! Next time you go to take a drink of that scalding hot cup o' joe, prepare to be hip-checked. OOPS, I'm sorry. Did I do that?

I will sidestep you no more, I am now your Kneecap Nemesis! We are no longer at cruising altitude... we are at bruising altitude. Go ahead, drop those magazine subscription postcards into the aisle and you will feel the Inflight Inflictor's wrath of PAAAAIIIINNNN!

I love my job!

If you ever have the opportunity to ask a flight attendant if they like their job, they ALWAYS emphatically answer yes! Then as if to convince you (and quite possibly themselves) they expound on all the areas they are in love with it.

For instance, the flexible work schedule, flight benefits, great pay, medical, dental, 401k, profit sharing, getting some peace and quiet away from your kids and/or husband to name a few. But wait a minute, that's not the job. Those are the benefits of working in this field true, but it's not the job.

How come no one ever says I really like reminding people fifteen times to turn off their cell phones or to be seated when the damn sign is on? Why don't I ever hear how much you just love to hand out snacks, pass out drinks or pick up trash? Or how much you like glancing at crotches to make sure their seat belts are fastened. Rearranging luggage in the overhead bin resulting in a smashed appendage is never on the list either. How come no one ever says using my first aid/emergency training in flight? What about equipment checks, briefings, manual revisions, turbulence, delays, intoxicated passengers and 14 hour duty days? No? Not your favorite part? Then what is?

Mad Libs - Stew Style

RING! RING! RING!

"h-h-hello?"
"Is this (your name)?"
"uh-huh."
"This is Earlene from scheduling. We are going to have to (verb) you."
You think to yourself Oh (expletive)! but say "Really?"
"Yes, in fact we need you at the airport in (number) minutes. You will be working flight 1982 to (city). There you will sit for (number) hours and then return so you can meet up with your original trip. Got that? Have a (adjective) day!"
"(verb) it up your (noun) Earlene, I mean yes."

Upon arriving at the aircraft, you realize you are working with the (adjective)(adjective) crew. You forget your (noun) at the hotel, your (noun) feels like (expletive) because of the (number) of (plural noun) the night before!

You slam the OHB on your (body part), your (noun) isn't working and a passenger just (verb) you in the (noun).

*SMILE*

The pilots show up. The captain is (adjective) with a (adjective)(noun). The first officer has a very (adjective) (noun). Strange you think, how does it fit in the cockpit?
(number) minutes into the flight, 17A starts (verb). Everyone around him starts (verb). You just stand there thinking of all the other jobs you could have done with your (adjective) (noun).

When you finally get to your room (number) hours later, your (body part) hurts, room service is (verb) and all you really want to do is (verb)!

Balance

A friend of mine just asked why I hadn't written in awhile.... Besides waiting for inspiration to strike, I've also been waiting for the Steven "see ya later, gator" Slater thing to blow over.

My profession is in the spotlight. Here are two examples of what I mean, completely opposite but not without their merit.

http://www.businessinsider.com/five-reasons-flight-attendants-should-shut-up-and-push-the-cart-2010-10

And this on Martha Stewardess' page Living at 34,000 feet: AUTHOR UNKNOWN

http://www.marthastewardess.com/?p=2853

In my humble opinion both are very well written. I'm not a Libra (Whew! for those who read White Knucklers 5/09 blog) but I can see both sides.

I love my job. No, I do not have a burning desire of a thousand suns to pass out drinks, smile on demand, clean up vomit and nag people to death about electronics. I love my job for the time off, pay, benefits and flexibility. Yes. In that order.

Would it makes things nicer for me if people were polite and looked me in the eye? Yes. Do I expect it? Sadly, no. Will it ruin my day or build up inside me until I'm yelling profanities and popping slides? Probably not but there are no guarantees. I grew up with a mom that could make sailors and truck drivers blush.

I think we just need to use a little common sense. Whether you are at the grocery store, airport or driving down the highway. We all have a job to do and we all have the capacity to be nice.

Van Talk

We get in the hotel van after a long day and the first officer starts talking sports. He is sitting right next to me, so to show my lack of enthusiasm for this particular subject, I pick up a magazine that was just sitting on the seat. Something to do with the Navy. This should be an indicator of how little I want to talk about sports.
He starts talking about the passengers on the plane, there were some Boise State fans and one lonely Seahawks fan. He starts laying in on how bad the Seahawks suck. After his diatribe, he turns to me and asks who my team is. I say I don't have a team. He says surely you do then asks me where I'm from. I now say he has already abused one team from the Emerald City, how many more would he like to pick apart? His mouth drops open.
Furthermore I tell him that I am responsible for raising three boys and molding their wee little minds and NONE of them are into team sports. Nary a one.
He is dumbfounded. He asks "Well what are they into then? What do they enjoy doing?"
This next part may be a bit offsides and I could have been channeling Tuesday Adam's here but I said "Torturing small animals".
Blink.
Blink.
Then I promptly put my headphones on.
And we're done.

Jumpseat Confessional

Two flight attendants share a 1’x2’ barely padded, retractable torture device we call a jumpseat for take offs, landings and the occasional burst of turbulence. When we start the trip, we are complete strangers but by the end of our 3 day trip I will know everything about you. More than your closest friend or even your spouse knows. Why is this you ask? Maybe in the very deep dark recesses of our mind we truly believe we could die any second, so we feel the need to confess. Thus the term "jumpseat confessional " or "jumpseat therapist".

I’ve had the privilege of flying with some really hysterical people, at these times I’m thankful for my shoulder harness or else I’m sure I would fall off the my seat in a fit of laughter! Service is delayed and everyone gets to hear me cackle, guffaw and sometimes wheeze. I’ve also had the dreadful misfortune of sitting next to someone I detest and have nothing in common save for this job. I have found that staring straight ahead in my brace position with no acknowledgement of the person sitting next to me gives them the proper signals to cease and desist all communication not related to the job. If that doesn’t do the trick, I’ve been known to say "please stop talking, you are sucking my will to live." C’est Voila! No more talkie talkie.

There are some subjects you should always stay away from... religion, politics and the best way to raise children. However, apparently what you did last night and with who is fine. Gory details of your latest operation,which gender you prefer, a list of the foods that give you gas, hemorrhoid flare ups, erectile disfunction, cross dressing, how heavy your menstrual flow is, the fact that your last child ripped you from here to there, you only sleep naked, oral sex is your specialty, that you haven’t had a BM in 3 days, you only have one testicle... blah blah yadda yadda blah.

It starts off innocently enough, with the easy questions... Do you commute? Where do you live? Are you married? Kids? If we just stuck to that stuff it would be great because now for the rest of my life, whenever I see this one specific f/a, all I can see is her in an ape suit getting a brazilian wax. Don’t ask.

There are of course other things we talk about... like you.

Day 5 of 5

Preboarding. A wonderful family gets on. An elderly gentleman, his wife and what appears to be their daughter. Great folks. He is a lucky man. They are attentive to his every need.
He boards in a wheelchair, sits in the first row, aisle side. The daughter stands in front of him during the whole boarding process to protect him from being hit by the other passengers because he bruises easily. Fine. Why isn't he sitting in the middle or window seat again?
Then she asks me if I could try not to bump into him during the flight so as to not hurt his spleen. Sure. Spleen? I don't even know where the spleen is in the body. But now that she had made me aware he has an issue, I'm am doomed to harm it in some way.
I'm not sure what the spleen's function is except I vaguely remember a silly movie with PeeWee Herman. It has something to do with a noxious bodily function. His super power was farting and they called him The Spleen.
Well, that was definitely this man's super power. Almost knocked out everyone in the first four rows!
Not only that but he then proceeds to throw up his breakfast. You may find this hard to believe, but after almost 16 years flying, I haven't had to clean up puke. I'm a vomit virgin. Sorry, WAS a vomit virgin until today. Not that people don't hurl on my plane, I've just always been lucky enough to work with people that rush to clean it up. I love those people.
It wasn't bad. Not as bad as my imagination had made it out to be. He must not have had much to eat. In fact, I suspect it may have been an apple fritter.

The flight attendant I'm working with has a wicked sense of humor. She's evil I'm sure. Every time she catches my eye, her fingers are on her carotid artery, she calls my section the ICU and every move my nice elderly gentleman makes (or doesn't) is a sign of death.

Now, if you haven't already guessed by my March blog, I'm a worst case scenario kind of gal. It's not an itch, I have shingles. It's not a headache but encephalitis. Bit by a mosquito? Surely it's West Nile Virus. I am working on a flying petri dish people. It's a wonder I don't do service wearing a disposable paper suit. I'm talking mask with a shield, gloves like they use birthing calves and full body armor. I would love to have one of those Silkweed spray rooms installed in my house. But instead I take every opportunity to build up my immune system by working on airplanes and sleeping in hotel rooms.

My coworker, or Satan as I like to call her, has informed me that flight attendants are number 7 on the top ten dirtiest things to come in contact with. Where she gets her information I'm not entirely sure but I think she's pretty close.
The airplane is disgusting hence we are disgusting. Handles, latches, overhead bins, luggage, seatbelts, trash, armrests, pilots etc. Every single thing we touch is a cesspool of disease and all things nasty.
Case in point, where I scooped up coagulated vomit not 2 hours before.... there's another man sitting there with his computer bag at his feet. No idea whatsoever what it is sitting in.