Planes vs. Trains - A Flight Attendant's perspective on train travel...

            I typically fly most places that I go—I need to take advantage of that free travel after all.  I also like the speed that air travel affords me.  While I do appreciate the journey itself, sometimes I want to get there sooner than later, and a 4-hour airplane flight is much more time effective than a 2-4 day journey across the country on a train or by car.  That said, traveling via plane on a standby basis is full of challenges—long waits at the airport for an empty seat or the possibility of getting stuck halfway en route is rather daunting.  Alternative travel plans, especially in the summer, are often necessary; which brings me to a recent jaunt I made to visit a friend.  After looking at available flights, I surmised that I might spend a couple of days trying to get where I wanted to go via airplane.  I didn’t want to drive, so I checked into another option: the train, more precisely Amtrak.  I used to love traveling via train, the whimsical journey through small towns, forests, and mountains.  I used to travel throughout Europe via train; it really can be quite wonderful.  Although I wouldn’t choose to trek cross-country via train, the 3-hour journey from my home to my friend’s city seemed pretty doable.  So, I made my reservation, packed my bag, and headed to the train station. 

            Train stations vary greatly in size and décor.  Some are huge like NYC’s Grand Central with multiple tracks and shops galore.  Others are tiny, mere stopping off points between major cities or out in the countryside.  My local train station is a remnant from another era—a marble lobby with high, ornate ceilings and wooden benches.  A newsagent dispenses magazines and coffee in the corner.  No frills, just simple elegance.  After spending so much time in airports with heightened security, gobs and gobs of shops, endless concourses and hordes of people everywhere—the local train station was a welcome change.  I often forget how crazy airports and airport security has become.  In Europe, it’s not uncommon to stroll through an airport with military troopers wielding AK-47’s and vicious man-eating dogs in tow.  Metal detectors and x-ray machines are standard and we are now desensitized to the possibility of being stripped down for ‘random’ searches.  At the train station, the mood is completely different.  No security, no metal detectors, no dogs, no guns—not even a mall-style rent-a-cop in sight.  I felt like a real person; it was civilized and easy.  An agent issued me my ticket, smiled at me (a real smile verses a tacky, drawn-on smile), wished me a pleasant journey, and I was off.  Wow. I could get used to this. 

            I boarded the train and settled down into my ‘gee-my-hips-are-accounted-for’ cushy seat, pushed back the curtain at the window and settled in to enjoy the journey.  The train was rather empty, and as such, I had an open seat next to me.  I was able to enjoy both armrests—a rare feat on the airplane—and I didn’t have to move for someone to use the bathroom.  What luxury!  The train lurched forward, and at that very moment the whimsical, luxurious nature of my journey came grinding to a halt. 

            To tell you the truth, trains are bumpy, noisy, and full of crazy people.  I mean crazy.  Although the train cruises along smooth rails, it’s velocity and the winding path that it has to take can make even the most trepid stomach feel a wee bit woozy.  I maniacally gripped onto the armrests (thank god they were there) as we were flung along our course.  My computer nearly flew off the tray table in front of me and I had to think twice about making my way to the dining car for a beverage.  After all, it was about 40 cars away from my seat…and I was having difficulty imagining making it across even one car without falling on some innocent old lady.  I had decided on a Coke, but it quickly became apparent to me that an adult beverage was necessary to assuage my jittered nerves.  I braced myself against the seats on both sides of the train and then began my march down the aisle.  On my way to the bar car, I almost lost my balance several times; it was like a severely drunk person walking along the street—I was teetering dangerously up the aisle.  As a flight attendant, I am used to walking on wobbly surfaces, but most turbulence I encounter does not compare with my precarious pace walking through a moving train.   Surprisingly, however, the people around me were extremely calm.  This is expected and normal.  On an airplane, people are often rattled by bumpy rides.  I can tell you this, however, as a seasoned flight attendant, I feel much less comfortable walking down the bumpy aisle of a speeding train than I do riding the bunking bronco of plane. 

            Sitting in my seat on the train, I also noticed that the presence of safety warnings is significantly less than on an airplane.  No visible warnings to buckle up are present; there aren’t even seat belts.  I guess I’m not supposed to worry as much about my safety on the train as compared to the airplane—but if we were to hit something I imagine I would be more apt to injury here than ‘hitting’ something on the airplane.  Plus, on an airplane, the pilots can steer around weather or even go over it, while the train’s conductor is forced to ride the rails and power a train on its given course, sometimes right through a serious storm or, say, a herd of cattle that has wandered onto the tracks.  Yeah, so very safe. 

            Oh, and forget trying to pee like a boy on the train…I had to sit down and pee like a girl or risk ruining my shoes and the front of my pants or even go careening into the wall headfirst.  Plus, the bathroom on a plane has a button to push if you get into a precarious situation—on the train, you’re on your own, which I learned by mistake when the handle of the bathroom door broke off and I got stuck in the bathroom for half an hour and had to call for help…no joke!  Although I would have been embarrassed to call for help on the plane, I still would have done it.  On the train, with no call light in sight and people ignoring my helpless banging on the bathroom door, I had visions of being discovered several days later in an empty train yard, asphyxiated from the smell off human excrement and covered in slosh from the toilet.  It was enough to make me just a little frantic when, after a half hour, no help was in sight and my desired train stop was rapidly approaching.  Fortunately, I managed to dislodge the handle on the other side of the door, opening a peephole in the door through which I could shout.  A passerby came to my rescue, and I was out.  The situation was never truly dire—but why do such things always happen to me. 

            Oh, and the people…While I do encounter my share of cray cray on the airplane, traveling short distances between cities by plane is still very expensive and, therefore, not the primary means of transport for the average Dick and Jane.  Amtrak is not quite Greyhound, but it’s not much different either.  I was fortunate enough to have my own row, but all manner of strange paraded by my seat, including but not limited to: a man dressed entirely in blue and black striped spandex, a woman wielding a sock-puppet, and a gaggle of people that appeared homeless—complete with raggedy clothing and a total of about 12 teeth among the 4 of them.  Also, the guy across the aisle spent the vast majority of the train ride staring my way with a look that bordered on psychotic.  He alternated between angry scowls and exaggerated smiles.  I never felt unsafe, but it was definitely enough to make one feel a bit uncomfortable.

            So, although the journey was 'pretty' and 'something different', the bumpy ride and rather…well…shitty conundrum with the bathroom door made the whole experience less than desirable.  Plus it took me longer than driving and the ticket’s cost was twice as much as what I would have paid in gas had I driven myself.  Next time, I think I’ll stick to the craziness of airplane travel.  Although I’m not guaranteed a seat, at least I’ll be in my own element.  And I can pee standing up.   

Dog Days...

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                It was a gorgeous day today in Seattle…I mean, gorgeous! Sunny, 80 degrees, and not a cloud in the sky.  I decided to make a jaunt to the park to read a bit and to soak up some vitamin D.  The park was swarming with dog owners—mostly singles who shamelessly use their dogs to pick up other singles, but then again whatever works.  Anyway, I started thinking about how fun it would be to own a dog, so that I too could socialize at the park and meet some new, dog-loving pals.  Of course, I’d need a martini in hand to make it truly worthwhile.  I was musing about this same idea several years ago (the dog-owning, not the martini), when a friend enquired why I didn’t just go ahead and get a dog.  After making sure said friend realized I was a flight attendant and traveled away from home for a living, sometimes for several days, I guffawed like a crazed lunatic.  Regaining my composure, I expressed that owning a dog when one leaves on a regular basis is probably considered animal abuse and might get me reported to the SPCA.  I mean, it’s not like I could leave food for the dog and expect him/her to understand that it should be consumed in doses to last the multiple days that I would be gone rather than gobbling it up all at once.  This would be an American dog after all, and we all know how good Americans are at moderation in eating, but that’s another story.  I was simply shocked that my friend could believe that the idea of a single flight attendant getting a dog would be a good idea.   I have enough trouble keeping a houseplant alive while I am gone—though I do have a variety of molds and fungi growing on forgotten foods in my refrigerator; that, I am very good at.  So, I will leave the dog owning to capable and non-traveling people.  Until Fido can come with me (and carry my luggage and clean up after himself), I can only sit in the park and admire other people’s dogs—and wonder what it would be like to join in among the social throng of dog owner’s. 

The Trouble with Cell Phones...

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            Can you hear me? Can you hear me now? Yes, we can all hear you dumbass; after all, we are wedged like sardines in a metal tube.  Your voice is ricocheting off every surface, so…thanks for sharing the way too personal details of your personal life.  It’s really amazing the modern-day craze to be connected all the time.  If you look around a restaurant, shopping mall, doctor’s office waiting room, and pretty much everywhere else, people are hunched over their telephones—texting, talking, uploading pictures, tweeting, hash-tagging, playing games; in short, immersing themselves 100% in the digital world.  As a society, we have a huge problem with disconnecting.  Why is that? We all seem to love the idea of ‘me’ time and have created destination resorts to cater to just that: the unwinding of our too tightly wound society.  And yet, when people arrive at such places they can’t seem to part from their cell phones, laptops, and iPads.  How many times have I overhead people bitch and moan that the worst part of their ‘holiday’ was the lack of Wi-Fi or the crap cell reception.  Shutting off someone’s cell phone is almost like taking a two year old’s security blanket.  In fact, it may be worse.  Fortunately, most environments allow people to keep their cell phones running, albeit in a non-intrusive, silenced mode. 

           

            The one big exception to this rule: the airplane—where federal law requires individuals to silence and shut off their beloved best friend.  And trust me, most don’t do so willingly—the typical cell phone user would rather be committed behind bars than relinquish control of his electronic lifeline.  Or so it would seem to me and to countless other flight attendants.  The FAA is very strict about cell phone usage on planes—or rather, any device that can transmit and receive signals.  In response, most cell manufacturers have created this handy little feature called ‘Airplane Mode’.  In short, Airplane Mode turns off the cellular capabilities of a phone; one can still connect to Wi-Fi and also the use phone to play games, update appointments, play with apps, etc.—everything sans network connection.  Unfortunately, Airplane Mode is incredibly misleading.  In fact, when the flight attendants follow FAA guidelines and announce that passengers will need to turn their electronic devices off, it actually means that everyone needs to turn their phones completely off.  Zero power. Zilch. Yes, that means no angry birds, no iPod, and no apps. 

            But see, most people don’t know that.  And trying to explain it to them is an extremely challenging task.  Typically, when forced to do so, I encounter a barrage of reactions ranging from: ‘uh…you want me to do what?’ to ‘but it’s called airplane mode, and here I am on an airplane am I not?…so, uh…you figure out’.  Some people like to hide the phone or iPad from us as we walk by, thinking that they outsmarted us by covering up their electronic friend. ‘Teehee, I showed her!’ Yeah…  I used to try this little stunt with my parents; it never worked.  Like your mother, us flight attendants aren’t stupid.  We see the same stunt every single day, and we’ve lost all patience for it.  I often wish that I could confiscate a passenger’s cell phone until the end of the flight—or at least put him or her on time out…  It’s really quite amazing what lengths people will go through to defy the flight attendants and try to get a few last seconds of airtime.  Bad passenger…  Unfortunately, the really guilty phone-time filchers are the flight attendants themselves.  I have see flight attendants duck into a bathroom for a last-minute text message or phone call.  Some flight attendants have disconnection fever so bad that they can be seen composing text messages at lightning speed as the airplane is climbing, hoping beyond hope they will finish it before losing that last little bar of connectivity—yeah, that’s pretty bad.

            And then there is the moment everyone has been waiting for: landing.  The flight’s duration may have been 17 minutes or 17 hours, but no matter what, everyone rushes to power up and reconnect.  As the wheels screech across the tarmac, a hundred cell signals begin to worm their way across the cabin as the phones power up.  For the most part, this moment is rather benign; most passengers are doing silent phone work—the texters, the emailers, the weather and stock checkers, the facebookers and so on.  The real menaces are the people who feel it is appropriate to make or receive a phone call and always do so in a booming echo.  Now, I don’t know why people feel it is okay to broadcast their personal business throughout the plane—to tell their business partners and spouses the what for, but I really just don’t want to hear it.  Neither does anyone else.  Things that people would never say in public are shouted across the cabin.  I’ve heard people talk about an upcoming roll in the hay with their lover (be it wife or mistress, who knows…), order a stripper, cuss out their husband, profess their undying love in an ooey-gooey manner, even fire someone’s ass—all with seemingly no realization that 100 other people just witnessed it.  It’s as if they forget that they are jammed into the likes of a super crowded elevator, instead acting as if they are in a sound-chamber at home, where no one else will hear them.  It’s rather disgusting human behavior, and for the sake of decency, I wish it would stop.  Unfortunately, that is the reality of the situation, and most likely it is just going to get worse.  Ding ding….oh look, the boarding door is now closed and we are set for departure, so now it's time to sit down, buckle your seat belts, and… SHUT THE DAMN THING OFF!!!....please. <Smile broadly and walk away>.

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Unreal Expectations

        It has been quite some time since I have updated my blog; the truth is that I have felt completely unmotivated to write anything about my travel experience.  Everything has been relatively normal and non-irritating…until now.  I just finished a three-day trip overseas and was blown away repeatedly by the level of expectations that people had about what should be offered on the flight.  I know that a great deal of service has been cut in order to reduce operating costs and to keep fares low for the traveling public.  Most of these cuts affect the domestic traveling population—checked baggage fees and no free meals among the most obvious.  For the international flyer, however, very little has changed.  If anything, there have been more and more advances—individual entertainment systems and improved interiors.  Despite what people say, the relative legroom on most international planes hasn’t decreased very much, if at all.  Typically, I think it’s that the passengers are becoming, well, bigger… but that’s another story.   So, in terms of cuts in service and products offered, the international passenger really has it pretty good.  And yet, there are quite a few who choose to complain about the slightest details, and I must say it’s really quite annoying. 

            On my trip this weekend, there were four main scenarios that made me stop and say to myself…’really!?’  The first of such was a man who decided to make it know that he was upset with the quality of his coach-class meal.  He said that it was little better than what you would serve to prisoners or servants (I guess he has experience with that) and was disgraceful for restaurant quality food.  Firstly, this is an airplane; it does not claim to be a restaurant, and my friend that price you’re paying isn’t for the food, it ‘s for the gas the plane is eating.  Secondly, he added that the food on the way to the USA from his country of origin (which may or may not be famous for its gastronomy and its large phallic-resembling tower that rhymes with Trifle) was infinitely better, which makes sense because it was made by his country men rather than an (humph!) American!  I smiled and nodded as best as I could, while screaming profanities inside.  I wonder how he did during his visit to our country, where more than likely, an American made each meal he ate.  Just a thought.

            Later, on that same flight I was delivering coffee to a woman seated in Business class, when she stuck her extremely high in the air at our cream and dismissed me with a wave of her hand.  Her complaint was that the cream wasn’t chilled to the optimal temperature that she preferred.  I explained that the cream was appropriately chilled for sanitary food-handling purposes and that weren’t able to provide each passenger with cream chilled or heated to their individual and exact specifications because, again, we are on an airplane and the chiller only has ‘off’ and ‘on’, not temperature specifications.  She said it was unacceptable and then waved me away.  Never mind the fact that the woman was traveling as a non-revenue passenger and was, therefore, not paying for her seat.  Now whose behavior is unacceptable?! I did tell her the cream was high quality, and extra rich…but decided to withhold my expletive. (Hint: it rhymes with the quality of the cream).  On a similar note, an elderly woman in coach decided to stick it to me for our lack of champagne.  She reminisced about the golden years of flying with endless splits of champagne.  She went on to compare flying without champagne (here it comes…) to being stuck in a second-class orphanage, where the passengers were like children without rights, shuttled from one point to the next against their will.  Okay, wow….I hate to say it (and thank god I didn’t) but you bought this ticket and decided to get on this plane.  That’s called exercising free will.  Furthermore, I would hardy compare flying somewhere foreign and exotic with unlimited video entertainment to living in an orphanage.  I have never lived in an orphanage myself, but I have seen the movie Annie, and  honey, this ain’t no hard knock life.  I should have said: ‘yes, you’re right and if you don’t clean the bathrooms pronto, you won’t get your second helping of slop,’ but fortunately discretion told me to move on.

            I realize that certain age groups can be more difficult than others, and I must say that the preceding three incidents all involved people of a certain age.  But that doesn’t mean that we don’t get young(er) people who are completely out of touch with reality either.  Yesterday, on my flight back to the USA, I had a 20-something girl who called me over and asked me for an eyeshade so that she could sleep during the flight.  I apologized and explained that the airline no longer provided eyeshades to its passengers but that passengers were at liberty to use bring their own eyeshades or neck pillows.  She listened to my explanation and then pointed a finger at me and indicated (rather abruptly, I must say) that the lack of customer service (by not having free eyeshades or mentioning what services we did not offer) was unbearable and unacceptable.  How ever would she be able to sleep without one, and if she arrived feeling less than refreshed, it would be my fault, personally.  Then she added…’and how do you feel about that!?’ Again, I was rather impressed with my ability to withhold how I really felt about it.  Secondly, I prevented myself from telling her the slew of services the airline would not provide her during her flight—though I was curious what services she was expecting me to provide her…Heavens to Betsy! 

            So, for those of you who ask me how often I get to deal with ‘interesting’ or ‘difficult’ people, these four incidents all happened on one trip.  Plus, there were probably other similar events that I am forgetting.  So in summary: this is an airplane and you are on it to get from point A to point B.  This isn’t a luxury restaurant nor is it your personalized dairy.  This isn’t a bar and no we don’t have free champagne in coach.  We offer a traveling service, not a personal luxury service.  If you choose to fly, great…come along and join us.  One word of advice; don’t expect the world and you might be pleasantly surprised that it’s really not that bad.  Again, just a thought. 

Boozin'...Why me!?

         Why do people insist on drinking copious amounts of alcohol on a plane?  I mean, many passengers are often difficult enough as it is when sober.  Try dealing with an angry passenger who has just become drunk and belligerent.  Some flight attendants believe that passengers become nicer and more pliable when they get sauced, and for some people that may be true.  Unfortunately, I tend to get the people who let the crazy out when they drink, and then I’m left dealing with the mess. 

            Coach travelers often drink less than people in first class—when you’re paying a mess of money for each mini you order, it’s easier to control yourself.  In first class, where drinks are free, identifying a reasonable stopping point is apparently difficult for many people.   Also, despite what people may think, drinking lots of alcohol (a major diuretic) in an extremely dry, high altitude environment isn’t exactly condoned by the surgeon general.  If anything, more moderation should be shown.  The problem is that some individuals really can drink like a fish on the ground, but the body can often behave differently at altitude.  Combine that with fatigue, turbulence, and less-than-healthy-full-of-salt snacks, the 5^th, 6^th, or 12^th shot of vodka might hit you a bit differently than at your local saloon.  Unfortunately, I always get the people (read: men) who are trying to outdo their seatmate in a contest of wits and who want to turn the flight into an all out drunken fest. 

            For example, last night on my flight from City A to City B (one must protect the far from innocent), I had two guys who were drinking vodka and sprite.  On the ground they each had one drink.  Then during the three-hour long flight, they proceeded to empty my liquor drawer of all remaining vodkas and then move on to rum when the vodka supply was depleted.  Now, I’m used to this game, so after a while, I’m pouring their drinks half strong, and then quarter strong, and then just putting a couple of dabs of alcohol in their glasses.  Usually by the fourth drink, they can’t taste the alcohol anyway, and so in order to avoid a scene, most flight attendants will adjust the liquor content in successive drinks.  You might see this as cheating; we tend to see it as damage control.  Trust me, it is well worth it.  So, I’m pouring their drinks and spacing it out with water and snacks.  Well, the guy at the window is starting to get a little rowdy…talking louder, spilling his drink all over himself, and acting quite the fool.  After a bit, he decides it is time to use the bathroom.  Unfortunately, when he arrives at the lav, it’s occupied; so what does he do? No, not that! He decides he doesn’t want to stand, so he sits down, on the floor and starts singing.  I’m not sure what he was singing (the words were a bit muddled) but it sounded a lot like Mary Had a Little Lamb and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star combined in a cacophonous harmony.  Now this should be very entertaining, but I’m beginning to think…’oh crap! How am I going to get this big lug of the ground, into the bathroom, and then back to his seat!?!?’  Fortunately, he managed to do all that by himself (how? I’m still not certain).  When he did emerge from the bathroom though, he asked and then demanded that I give him another drink.  Reasoning with a drunken person is pretty futile, but fortunately I’m pretty stubborn when it comes to cutting a person off.  Plus, I knew that if he tried something, it wasn’t gonna end well for him.  Fortunately, he gathered his wits, and headed back to his seat.  After leering at the woman across the aisle, he scaled the guy sitting on the aisle and collapsed into his seat.  Oh brother.  The rest of the flight was pretty uneventful.  He did manage to scowl at me on the way off the plane and mumble how much of a let down I, the seemingly cool ‘stewardess’ was.  Then, just as he was about to step off the plane, he careened headfirst into the fuselage.  Awesome.  Thankfully his sober friend was driving. 

            So, please, dear passengers, if a flight attendant cuts you off for drinking.  Don’t take offense.  We’re not questioning your manhood (or womanhood).  Honestly, we could care less how tough you are.  We just don’t want a situation on our hands.  Alcohol poisoning on a plane would not be a fun experience for you or for me.  Think of it as damage control: for your image.  Nobody wants to be remembered as ‘that drunk guy’.  Have a good time, enjoy a couple of drinks, but know that enough is enough.  And please don’t sit on the floor and sing…that’s beyond embarrassing. 

Toeing the Line...Nonrev Travel

          Most of my friends and family are quick to conclude that my life of free travel is pretty awesome.  I must admit, it is.  Or rather it can be.  If everything goes smoothly, my number one job benefit can definitely be the best thing ever.  To be able to decide last minute to go somewhere far away and then to do so at little or no cost for air travel is pretty amazing.  I have tried to partake of this benefit as much as possible, and I have made it to such far-flung places as Australia, Paris, Tokyo, and Prague.  I have even made a number of shorter trips—Denver and Oregon to see family, New York to see a couple of shows, San Diego to have lunch with a friend.  There are not many careers that afford the time and the free travel to just go, with little or no forethought.  I am extremely lucky.  Many times, however, the fates have been against me and I’ve found myself stranded. 

            Yes, stranded.  You see, my free travel is a perk but not a guarantee.  It all depends on available seats.   I fly standby, and standby can be very difficult.  People who are not in the airline industry are often befuddled by the word ‘standby,’ so let me explain how it works.  The airlines aim to sell every seat on their planes—the cost of flying planes is enormous, and without paying passengers, the airlines would have to cancel flights and routes.  Sometimes, a flight does have some empty seats: the nonrevenue (or standby) traveler’s golden ticket.  If there is an available seat, a standby traveler like me who has been waiting at the gate for this rare bit of real estate can board the flight and be on his way—awesome!  Unfortunately, due to the rising cost of fuel, airlines have dramatically cut their routes and schedules, trimming the fat and eliminating flights that undersell.  As a result, flights are fuller and empty seats are harder to come by.  This can leave standby travelers like me fumbling for a way home or stranded in far off places for hours or days at a time. 

            So, how does one manage it?  It can certainly be a challenge.  I would say the secret to nonrevenue travel is planning backups for yourself and using creative problem solving.  Never plan on the last flight home without a backup—I’ve seen friends forced to ‘sick out’ from work due to missing a flight home.  I imagine it looks a little conspicuous to your airline employer when you fail to show up for an assignment after you missed your standby flight.  Not a good plan by any means.  Plan for backups—other airlines who operate the same route are definitely a good backup.  The seasoned ‘nonrev’ (airline lingo for nonrevenue or standby traveler) is creative when it comes to getting home; it may not be the most direct route, but if it allows you to get there, so be it.  I have flown east to go west, like flying to Atlanta from Texas in order to get to California.  It is extremely counterintuitive to fly in the wrong direction to get where you are going, but it can often mean the difference between reaching your destination and doing airport appreciation time for hours or days on end.  Some cities are more difficult to get out of than others—Seattle for one, can be almost impossible, which I have discovered in the recent past, much to my chagrin.

            In fact, this weekend I had an almost perfect example of this mishap.  I decided to take a mini-break and fly to Amsterdam for some fall weather by the canals.  I checked flights—they looked great—booked a hotel, and flew off to mingle with the Dutch.  It was a great 24-hour visit—I wandered the streets, drank some Heineken, and ate some amazing Dutch food (including those caramel-filled waffle cookies which are so very tantalizing).  As per usual, I marveled over the truly guttural Dutch language, which despite having some similarity to English, sounds remarkably like one is trying to clear his or her throat of excess phlegm.  It was a perfect escape, a great mini-adventure.  Unfortunately, the expedition turned a bit grisly when the wide-open flight home to Seattle filled up due to striking air traffic controllers in France—damn them!  It could have been bad, but I am a seasoned nonrev traveler, and I quickly began looking at the alternative options—including travel through other cities and returning a day later than I originally.  Fortunately, being a flight attendant, I also have the ability to book jump seats on flights operated by my airline, and thus after some last minute scrounging, I was able to obtain a seat back to the USA.  All of this cost me a bit of extra time and planning and a bit of extraneous stress.  Fortunately, I made it back, so the rest is just a bad memory.  It could have been bad, really bad.  This time, I escaped the worst, but next time I may not be so lucky. 

            Don’t worry; I’m not complaining about my job perk—it is the best part about my job, hands down.  Nonrev travel, however, is not for the weak of heart or for the easily stressed and overwhelmed individual.  It can be a headache at times, and is best to avoid attempting it during peak travel seasons, like around the holidays.  I recommend planning ahead, keeping the options open, and planning alternatives.  Sometimes the eventual outcome cannot be avoided, but I tend to like the extra challenge.  So, while the perk continues, I’m (sigh) up for the game.  Now, who wants to join me?

             

Ode to the Middle Seat...

Ode to the Middle Seat…

            We’ve all been stuck in that awful middle seat—it’s the most dreaded seat on the plane and we do everything to try to get out of it.  People make seat reservations early so that they can avoid that seat, but sometimes there is nothing you can do to avoid it.  When you travel non-revenue, aka standby, as I most often do, it is nearly impossible to avoid the middle seat.  Sometimes you get lucky and score a window or aisle.  Nowadays, however, with full planes and less flights, where empty seats are hard to come by, the non-rev traveler often finds himself stuck in a middle seat.  Believe me, I’d rather have a middle seat than be stranded at the airport, so I’m not complaining.  Well, not exactly anyway.  I really don’t have anything wrong with the middle seat; however, I must have pissed of the gods of fate at one point in time or another, because I seem to always get stuck in the worst middle seat on the plane—the one that has some unknown but sticky substance stuck to it, the one that doesn’t recline, or the one between two ‘interesting’ (read: crazy) people.  Thus I’ve decided to pay homage to the middle seat in today’s blog entry. 

            I have seen people do some crazy assed things to get out of the middle seat.  I have seen them bribe other passengers to exchange seats—yes, with money! How much, I do not know, but apparently some people can be bought because it sometimes works.  I’ve seen more wily passengers concoct some story or other about why they have to sit on the aisle and guilt their seatmate into giving up their prime real estate in exchange for their crap seat.  Surprisingly, that one has worked as well.  Often times, a family will use their children as evidence of why they need to swap seats—and if it were me who had to sit next to a 4-year old devil-in-disguise, I would change seats as well.  My favorites are the people who scope out an empty seat and then nab it when the boarding door closes.  It’s a total competition, where the most daring and steadfast passenger wins.  Some people get so competitive, and I’ve witnessed near brawls when someone steals the seat that another passenger mentally staked out previously.  One particular incident involved two Haitians that started yelling at each other in Creole and gesticulating like they were about to have a takedown brawl.  While they were preoccupied, a woman and her young child happily took claim to their prize and neither man won.  Dumbfounded and grumbling, they both returned to their seats.  Awesome.   

            One of the big problems with the middle seat is the subject of the armrest.  You have one on each side of you, and yet the people seated at the window and aisle, invariably, seem to believe it belongs to them.  Now, I’m sorry but they have access to the aisle or to the window and their very own armrest on the periphery.  Already they are leaps and bounds ahead of me in terms of benefits.  So, why do they think they can claim the center armrests as well?  I mean, I’m already screwed…do you really have to take away my access to the armrests as well?  I’m okay with sharing—I went to kindergarten twice, so I’m very good at sharing (and nap time, but that’s beside the point).  Typically, however, my row-mates aren’t so good at sharing.  What’s more, I think I tend to get stuck with people who were ‘only child’s—you know, the people who are used to getting everything they want and have never had to share anything in their whole lives.  Shameful!

            My other big problem with the middle seat is that I, invariably, get sandwiched in between two rather large individuals.  I’m not a big person, but I do take up the requisite butt and body room of an adult male, and I feel that I deserve access to enough space to make that happen.  I’ve learned the best way to prevent your larger than life seatmate from hedging part of your seat is to pin the armrest down and keep it there—otherwise, when you get up to go to the bathroom, it is very possible that the already little space you have will be swallowed up by someone else’s gluteus Maximus. 

            Recently, I have been unfortunate enough to be assigned the middle seat while sitting next to someone who is downright crazy.  They either mutter to themselves the whole flight, try to talk my ear off about god knows what, or behave in a way that makes you wonder what the voices inside are telling them.  My most favorite recent experience involved a man who was seated at the window seat and, I believe, thought his seat entitled him to maintain full control of the window and its shade.  During the 5-hour flight across the country, the man raised and lowered his window shade to peak outside at the flat expanse of Middle America a good 2 to 300 times.  Not only was that effing annoying, but every time I tried to capture a glance out the window, he would slam down the shade or block off the window opening with his body while throwing me a look that said: ‘this is my seat and my view and I’ll be damned if you’re going to take it away from me’.  It was laughable at first but got old really quickly. 

            So, for you window and aisle seaters out there, I’m sorry that I’m there, I’m sorry that eventually I will have to use the bathroom, and I’m sorry that I might want something from the cart on the aisle or a quick glance out the window.  I’m not sorry at all that I need some space for my toosh or access to the armrest.  Be kind, share and stop muttering.  It’s bad enough as it is…