Memories of a Shitty Taxi Ride

Holiday greetings to everyone from Paris, Portland, Omaha, Atlanta as well as points in between. Undoubtedly this holiday season, you will find yourself crammed into a full airplane, car, bus, or other form of transportation. Family and strangers abound, luggage is stacked everywhere, and there is barely any room to breathe. You might begin to think that it can’t get any worse, and that at any moment the plane or car will burst at its seams. As I board flight after full flight, I am reminded of a traveling situation that pushed the limits on what I thought was possible and made me realize that even when you think the vehicle is full, well, think again. This memory gives me a bit of solace during the busy holiday travel season, and will hopefully put a smile on your face. Although it happened well before my airline days, when I was a Peace Corps volunteer in West Africa, it is just another example of the crazy shit that happens to me.

A Shitty Taxi Ride:

When we traveled between towns in Benin, we took bush taxis—old run-down Peugeots—that were loaded down with people, furniture, children, goats, chickens, food, and whatever else they could manage to fit in and on them. While I was in training in Lokossa, Benin, I had to make a day trip to the neighboring town of Dogbo to learn more about the Beninese healthcare system. A Peace Corps SUV dropped me off, but I was on my own on the way back and, I must say that the return trip was far less glamorous.

I positioned myself on the side of the road to wait for a passing taxi. The taxi that pulled up was creeping along slowly and was riding just a few inches off the ground, for inside it, was packed fourteen people. Now, this car was built for maybe five people with some minor trunk space—it was a hatchback. Well, the trunk space had been converted into more seats, so now its ‘full’ capacity was eight people. So, how did it happen that this vehicle was already packed with fourteen people? And why was the driver stopping to pick me up? Certainly there was no more room for me. When I looked through the window, the insides of the vehicle were like something from a Dr. Seuss book. On the back seat, there were five people packed like sardines on a seat built for two. On the middle seat, there were six more people. Sure some of these people were children, but there were also a number of Marché Mamas! (women with enormous hips and backsides that sell in the market and could easily fill up a row of seats in this car by themselves) When I looked in the front windows, there were only three people, and the compartment looked much roomier than the tangle of bodies and limbs that I saw in the backseats. The passenger door opened, and despite the little voice in my head that pleaded me to wait for another car, I climbed in and slammed the door shut. The car lurched and off we went.

Also riding on top of the car, was a band of four goats that were tied onto the car amongst the pyramid of sacks and bags, making the normal sized car about fifteen feet tall—thank goodness Benin doesn’t have overpasses. So, we’re driving along and, low and behold, a woman and her three small children flags us down. I remember thinking, hmm, they don’t look that big, but at the same time, we already had fifteen people smooshed into this car and couldn’t possibly fit anyone else, let alone four someone elses. The taxi driver seemed to think otherwise. He pulled over and before I knew it, bam!, our numbers swelled to nineteen! Nineteen people crammed into a vehicle built for eight! There were no seatbelts, and with the huge, gaping rust holes in the bottom of the vehicle, it probably wasn’t very safe. But man, was it an adventure!

So, we start on back down the road, leaning from side to side as the road curves but staying upright, so all is good. After about five minutes, we started up a long steady incline, and the vehicle’s speed began to slow as it slugged up the hill under its considerable weight. It was a very tiny hill, but that car just barely made it to the top, and I must say we all let out a collective sigh when that poor car crested the top of the hill. Pushing it would have been out of the question.

Now, you might say that this journey was sufficient ‘local flavor’ as is, but oh no, it got crazier. Throughout the drive, the taxi driver had been avoiding the copious potholes in the road, and during our descent from the hill, he had to swerve around a couple of big potholes that put our already top-heavy car in jeopardy of toppling over. At the same time, the car began to gain speed as we used gravity to power the vehicle down the hill—the driver actually turned off the car in order to save gas. Saved gas yes, but it also made turning more difficult. So, whilst we were trying to avoid one of the big potholes, the car actually bottomed out, which caused everyone in the car (and everything stacked on top of it) to shift a bit. Up above us, one of the goats lost its perch on the taxi and fell off the side of the car, my side to be exact. It was still tied to the taxi by its feet and was dangling at eye level. You might even say that Mr. Goat and I were practically kissing. I’m freaking out almost as much as the goat, and I’m extremely shocked that no one in the car seems even slightly bothered by this situation except me. When I pointed out the terrorized goat to the taxi driver, he grunted and told me to push the goat’s head out the window and that we would stop in a few minutes. Bad idea. I pushed the goat out of the way, and like a spinning piñata, he flipped around leaving his behind in my face. Goats, I discovered, are like human beings in that they tend to defecate when faced with sheer terror. So, now I have a screaming goat that is shooting forth a torrent of poopy pellets onto my lap, and we’re still driving down the road in an overcrowded taxi.

Now, you might read this and think that it was a horrible experience. I, on the other hand, prefer to look on the experience as unique and interesting, a real life adventure! This kind of thing only happens once in a lifetime, er, hopefully…

Happy Holidays and safe travels! I hope they are full of comfort and joy rather than crowds and poop.

The Baggage Situation

One of the largest problems with modern day air travel, and one which we all have observed with increasing anxiety, is the baggage situation. Gone are the days when we could check two pieces of luggage for free, and where your carry on consisted of a daypack to transport a book, magazine, or your favorite stuffed animal. Overhead bins were once cavernous compartments where you had to be careful how you placed your shoulder bag, placing it appropriately so that the contents wouldn’t spill out when the bag shifted on takeoff—often times it was the only bag in the entire compartment. There was never any question of a bag not fitting, simply because people didn’t carry on as much stuff. It was much easier to check your bulky suitcase and forget about it until you got to your destination. (God willing that it actually made it to your destination, that is…)

But those days are gone. Now, most airlines charge for baggage check—at first it was only the second bag, and passengers were still allotted one free checked bag. Soon, however, the airlines began charging for all checked bags. Granted, there are some deals with credit cards and membership rewards that grant one free checked bag, and the first checked bag is usually considerably less than the second bag, but the name of the game in the airline industry is: FEES. Lots of them. Fees for checked bags. Fees for reservations/cancellations. Fees for food and drink onboard the plane. Maybe soon we will have to pay to use the bathroom…heaven forbid what the passenger response to that will be. Depends? And yes, I do mean adult diapers. A simple explanation for these fees is this: airline fares have not increased enough to match inflation—a typical cross-country fare today is several hundred dollars less than what it should be given what that exact same route sold for in the early 1980s. Everything else has become more expensive—meals in restaurants, gas, hotel charges—just not airline fares, not enough anyway to match the rate of inflation. Also, with the rise of low-cost carriers, fare wars have erupted between the different airlines to keep those planes in the air, and to keep the airline in business. With rising fuel costs and a stalemate in fare augmentations, the solution became imminent: fees. And those fees are working. With them, airlines are better able to cover operating costs while still keeping their fares relatively low. Baggage fees alone are grossing air carriers millions of dollars every year. Therefore, long story short: airline fees are here to stay and can only get worse with time.

Because of the ever-increasing fees for checked baggage, the carry-on bag situation is becoming dire. Once empty overhead bins are now filled to the max, with closure latches straining against the load. Sometimes we cannot even get every carry on bag into the overhead bins and are forced to check those bags, albeit free of charge, much to the chagrin of frustrated passengers. Such frustration is justifiable; times are rough and money is tight. Nobody wants to pay fees if they don’t have to, and so the solution is a back breaking one: cram a trip’s worth of clothes, toiletries, etc. into a carry-on sized roll-a-board suitcase, limit one. Now there are ‘acceptable’ size dimensions for carry-ons, but it seems that the policing of such dimensions have disappeared entirely; those handy ‘Does it Fit?’ bag sizing boxes at the gate are seemingly just for show. To add insult to injury, most bags are designed with a handy zip out pouch, effectively increasing the depth of the suitcase by several inches. Unfortunately, when one does this, the bag is no longer an acceptable carry-on size and won’t fit into the overhead bins without some serious coercion. I’ve seen people all but hammer their bags into the overhead bin—never mind the fact that if they break the bin, the plane won’t be going anywhere until repairs are made, which could mean a cancelled flight. Plus, those bins have weight restrictions. I have never seen one collapse, but anything is possible and I would hate to be on a plane when an overhead bin implodes due to excessive overloading.

It may sound egotistical, but I must say that I have become somewhat of an expert on packing an overhead bin in an efficient manner. Passengers continually ignore flight attendants’ and agents’ pleas to place their bags wheels or handles towards the aisle to accommodate more bags or to place their second bag under the seat in front of them; but damn I’m good at making it work, nonetheless. It is a personal glory to pack that sucker well, and to prove to a skeptical passenger that I can, indeed, get their bag into that bin and make it close securely. It’s the little things, after all.

Boarding can be a fairly stressful thing for flight attendants and passengers alike, a kind of war for bag proximity. Everyone wants their bags in the bin near their seat, even claiming that someone ‘stole’ their overhead bin. I hate to tell you people, but you purchased, no, rented that seat for this flight and the overhead bin space is just an add-on. No one has specific ownership over any one overhead bin; it is literally a free-for-all, and typically the early arriving individuals (or the premium passengers) win out—survival of the fittest, in a way. I’ve seen people nearly take down another passenger, or yours truly, in an effort to win the best overhead real estate. Arguments arise, and people are ready to do battle. And of course they turn to me. Now, if I have learned one thing from this job, it’s that you really have to pick your battles. Sure, I could try to force every passenger who has placed more than one item in the overhead bin to share their space or to place smaller bags underneath their seat, but I have learned that an angry passenger (or an entire herd of them) is not a fun situation on a long flight, and makes everything that much harder. So when you assume that your flight attendants don’t care, think again…we do care, but we also value our lives and sanity.

Now, while it is true that passenger carry-on luggage has turned a bit excessive, they are not the only culprits. People in the airline industry, themselves, have begun to carry-on more and more. And I’m talking about flight attendants. Flight attendants, not all, but a surprisingly large number, believe that they have to pack for the possibility of a nuclear fall out during their trip. Sure, some might be packing for multiple trips in a row, and many have been stranded in places for days due to weather or mechanical cancellations, but most flight attendants don’t really need half the crap they cram into their suitcases. For example, I was flying a turnaround (one leg out and one leg back in the course of a day) and the flight attendant with me (also from Atlanta) had a huge roll-aboard filled to the brim, a ‘tote’ bag large enough to carry a pygmy elephant, a lunch bag the size of most tote bags, and her purse, again large enough to fit 3 years worth of makeup and other odds and ends. When I asked her why she wanted to carry around so much stuff, she replied that there was always the possibility of a reroute (we could be sent to another destination or have our trip extended) and she wanted to be prepared. When asked what was in her bag, she replied…”only the essentials: beach ware, winter ware, a parka, a nightclub outfit, food in case the airport suddenly went into famine, a variety of shoes to match any occasion, etc. etc. etc. Holy Crikey! All this for a one-day trip! And all of this crap went into the overhead bin, further limiting our available baggage space. Oh, and those bags were heavy—she could barley lift them, which is often the case with some of our more, ahem, senior flight attendants, and, of course, she wanted to know if I would lift them for her…uh, hell to the no lady!

So, as you can see the bag situation is getting bad…really bad. Baggage fees will probably continue to increase, and the overhead bins will continue to be jammed full. Every time I see a bag larger than me carried on to the plane, I cringe in empathy for those poor overhead bins, and pray that the sucker doesn’t give out mid-flight. I beg you please, reader, check the bag. Pay the fifteen bucks and give your back a rest.

Paris--ooh la la!

Paris. What a fabulous place. City of lights. City of love. City of baguettes, wine, and cheese. So many hyperboles decorate this magnificent city, a crossroads of central Europe and a magnet for culture and history buffs. With its wide-swept boulevards, quaint cafes, palatial museums, and characteristic neighborhoods, Paris is a city of contrasts. There is no lack of things to see and do, and culinary delights abound for every palate. Some may say that Paris is cliché, a tourist trap for traveling Americans or Europeans, and that savvy travelers should discover other hidden gems off the well-trodden path. I have had the opportunity to explore cities and countries all over the world, and while I have discovered some amazing places, I will always hold Paris dear to my heart. As sappy as it may sound, I fall in love with Paris each time I visit, when the city and sights welcome me back into their embrace.

Friends and family always ask me what it is about Paris that enthralls me so. I guess I would have to say that Paris’ mix of familiarity and mystery is what does it for me most. I know the grand boulevards and neighborhoods so well that it is like visiting an old friend. I can go away for years and still come back to the Louvre, to the Marais, to the Seine, and to the Eiffel Tower. Slight changes may occur throughout the city, however, these edifices are constants, as reliable as anything could be. Coupled with this, however, is the constantly changing charge of the city—it is as if a wind of change comes through the city and sweeps new energy and life through its streets. New festivals, new storefronts, new cafes, and new people keep the city vibrant and fresh amongst the fixed framework of the city’s buildings. This wind infects me and draws me along its course, and with it I discover new sections of Paris that I never knew existed—entire subcultures and neighborhoods that border the places that I thought I knew so well. It is the dichotomy of new and old that keeps Paris alive and keeps me coming back for more.

Paris has become a city of shopping and culture. High-end shops abound throughout the city, budding up to middle-range and low-end shops as well. There are neighborhoods that are more fashionable than others, but no specific lines are drawn to separate the rich from the poor, especially in a city where property is exceedingly pricey. You could be walking through a seemingly run-down area of town and happen upon a branch of Chanel or Louis Vuitton, or the upscale Paul boulangerie chain. Similarly, small stores and bodegas appear even in the more ritzy area of town, giving the city the feeling of a well-mixed batter, no room for lumps. Throughout the city you will find antique markets, farmers’ markets, and a slough of flea markets, including one of the largest in Europe at Saint-ouen. Here you will find unimaginable creativity and priceless treasures from throughout Europe and from around the world. For a slice of history, you can even take a gander at one of Paris’ hundreds of museums. From the romance and grandeur of the Louvre, to Picasso’s masterpieces, the sculptures of Rodin, or even a look at Paris’ historic past, there are so many diverse museums to uncover. There are even museums about Paris’ sexy and sometimes darkly erotic subculture at Pigalle and the not-so-sexy subterranean tour of an actual working sewer—yes, that is exactly what it looks like floating by in the underground stream below you! Or if the theatre or opera is more your style, there are hundreds of large and small performance venues throughout the city. Intimate lounge settings host an array of musicians, and grandiose concert halls resound with touring and local performances. The list of activities goes on and on, and new offerings are constantly being added.

No trip to Paris would ever be complete without a sortie into the culinary splendors that abound throughout the city. French cooking is truly exquisite, and every region of France has its own unique ways of concocting delectable delights. In Paris, the capital and cultural mecca of France, you can find restaurants that specialize in all of France’s great cuisines. Mussels and frites from Normandy, crepes from Brittany, and fabulous sausages from Alsace are just some of the foods to try. And no meal would be complete without a glass or two (or twenty) of France’s plethora of wine. Most every region of France produces wine, and new mélanges of different grapes are constantly being mixed. Finish it off with a plate of pungent French cheese or an exquisite chocolate mousse or crème brulee or any number of other desserts, and you will think you are in heaven. Plus, you can hang out at the restaurant until it closes, for the French would never dream of shooing someone from their table, interrupting the shear delight of the experience.

I have often heard it said that the only thing wrong with Paris and France is the French. The French are seen as rude and unwelcoming. Historically, they are viewed as dirty, smelly, cold, and haughty. I once even heard the results of a poll that claimed that amongst all the countries that hated the French, the French, themselves, disliked their own kind the most. Now this may be hard to believe, but after living with the French, I can attest, yes, they have some difficult and oftentimes annoying qualities. But who doesn’t. Every culture is bound to have its own shortcomings that may rub others the wrong way—it’s part of what keeps us unique. When I lived in France, I often found it difficult to make friends, as people in a bar were less likely to engage in conversation than they were in bars and other social situations in the USA. The French are, indeed, less ‘out there’ when it comes to self-expression and are much more reserved; one French psychologist even claimed that the French were, as a society, inherently self-conscious. This collective self-consciousness may explain why foreigners often deem the French as cold. I have typically learned that once the French lower their guard, they are very interesting and curious people, eager to learn about others and to share cultural insight and exchange.

For its shopping; culture; mystery; and people, Paris is a marvelous place, well worth discovering. I recommend it whole-heartedly. For those who have not visited Paris and for those who frequent it often, there are plenty of sites to discover—smells and tastes to entice and enchant you. I believe you cannot entirely know Paris, for new discoveries will arise amid the everyday fortifications of the city. Paris truly is a city of splendor and delight. But then again, that is just my opinion. Feel free to discover it on your own. When you do, I hope that you will share your adventures with me and with others so that we may all continue to learn things about my favorite city.

Lavatory Troubles

I find it incredibly fascinating how ignorant some people are when it comes to airplane lavatories. The lavatory never struck me as a complicated device, and yet many people seem to lack the 'know-how' to use them. I shudder to think how they even go about using their own bathrooms at home...or maybe some of these people are still using outhouses. I mean, it's a simple room with a door, a commode, and a sink, and yet people find all sorts of ways to screw it up. Let's start with the matter of the door. There are two main types of lavatory doors (and maybe this utilization of multiple types of doors confuses people, but seriously, it's not that complicated). There is the normal hinged swinging door and then there is the accordion type door. All doors have some sort of handle or access point, and many doors have instructions on how to operate the door (go figure). Usually on the accordion-type doors, there is a sign that says 'push' or 'pull'. Seems simple enough. And yet most people seem to do the exact opposite, just like that Far Side cartoon about the kid at the school for the gifted who is pushing on the door that says pull. Yeah, that's how I feel sometimes, on a plane with the 'gifted'. It's amazing how many times I have witnessed someone do the complete opposite of what the indicated action is, and then stand off to the side, thinking the lavatory must be occupied, when actually it is vacant. True, some people don't understand the printed English word that is written on the door (I'll give them that), but the majority of English speakers can't seem to figure it out either. So, what then? Hmm…On the other hand, when the door is of the swinging, hinged type (like a normal door in your house), the common scenario involves a passenger who can't seem to find the door handle. I'm serious, even though there is usually a handle or knob in plain sight, some people will try every other thing in sight to gain access to the bathroom. Wall-mounted ashtrays, garbage containers, you name it...and then when they turn around and look at me with a dumbfounded look, I bite my tongue in order to stop myself from saying what I really want to say, and say instead: "maybe try that little handle that looks like a door handle." Yes, people, it really is that simple... To make matters worse, it seems once they open the door and manage to maneuver themselves inside--which is no small task given the relative size of most airplane lavatories when compared to the size of most Americans--passengers often create other problems for themselves. Okay, on the inside of every lavatory door I have ever met is a simple sliding mechanism: the lock. It is a simple contraption that serves a very valuable purpose, which is to maintain privacy and also to avoid the embarrassing moment of someone accidentally walking in while you perform. Now, it seems that some people can’t figure out this contraption, even if you bluntly explain it to them (as most airplane lavatories have a sign that says 'please lock door'). Other door locks turn the light on, so if you forget to lock the door, the light doesn't come on and you're peeing in the dark, which you would think would be enough to indicate to somebody that, 'hmm, something's not quite right here.' One would think that would be a good indicator, but I can't tell you how many times I have accidentally walked in on someone peeing, pooping, or doing god knows what. I have see ladies' girdles, kid's mini dongs, and plenty of other unmentionables. Please, people, do us all a favor and learn how to lock the door. Okay, so besides the door, there are plenty of other things that befuddle passengers while using the lavatory. For example, there are cubby holes situated throughout the lavatory--dispensers doling out toilet paper and paper towels, garbage containers, air-sickness bag and maxi pad compartments, among others. For a first-timer, finding your toilet tissue or emergency maxi pad could seem a bit daunting. Fortunately, the airplane manufacturers realized they would be dealing with multi-lingual passengers and placed pictures next to each opening, describing the intended purpose of that compartment. What they didn't know, was that although the average person may have eyes and can see, they aren't always smart enough to figure out that a picture of garbage going into a bin is probably the place to put your garbage. As a working flight attendant (and even before as a passenger) I have found disposed garbage in the strangest of places--shoved into vertical paper towel dispensers, tucked away into drawers for maxi pads and even crammed into the space between the door handle and the door. I mean, come on...I know some cultures aren't used to disposing of their trash in trash bins, but if you made it all the way to the airport and on to the plane, I really think you should be able to figure out that your trash will need to go somewhere and, oh look! they designed a spot for it to go! How handy! Yes, finding discarded paper towels jammed into these compartments isn't really that awful, I'll give you that. But when you find a used diaper or a used tampon that has been lodged behind the toilet paper roll...need I say more... The surprising thing is the way that human nature pushes other people to follow suit and deposit their garbage in the same wrong location. I wouldn't be surprised to finish a flight with an empty garbage bin but with every other nook and cranny teeming with passenger rubbish. Another matter is the plumbing. So, because this washroom, bathroom, water-closet, toilet, lavatory, or whatever else you choose to call it is not located on solid ground, the sink and toilet have to be a bit different. There is no standing water in the toilet, for obvious reasons (here comes turbulence...slosh, slosh). Also, the toilet often sucks with the life force of god when you flush it; that's because of the vacuum effect between the cabin and the holding tank...so make sure all loose articles of clothing are accounted for before flushing and never, I repeat, never flush the commode whilst you are sitting upon it. I've never tried it, but I can image that it would be akin to hanging your bootie out in hurricane force winds. People have been known to lose things upon flushing--and as far as I'm concerned...oops, that's the breaks. Passengers don't always seem to agree, and if they really want to stick their hand down there and fish around, by all means. Don't think for a second, though, that I am going to stick my hand down there. No way! You might think it sounds a bit audacious that anyone would even suggest a thing, but you'd be surprised. One time a man dropped his class ring into the toilet and demanded that the flight attendant who was, at the time, serving meals, stop what she was doing and fish around for his beloved keepsake. I'm sure the other passengers would love to have a meal served by her after she did so....Chicken? Beef? E Coli? What's even more surprising is that an off-duty pilot stepped up to the challenge. He wrapped his arm in a plastic bag, shoved his forearm into the hole and, miracle of miracles, fished out the ring. The pilot didn't seem too fazed by the incident and even received a round of applause from nearby passengers, albeit with looks of revulsion upon their faces. The crowning moment was when the passenger, overjoyed about getting his ring back, forgot where it had just been lodged, and placed it back on his finger...without even rinsing it off. Eww. Excuse me sir? The sink is clogged... I don't know how many times I have heard this one, and sometimes even from the same person. Or I have entered a lavatory and found a pool of water sloshing in the sink and sometimes overflowing onto the ground. Nice. Okay, people, let's try this again. The sink is on a plane and because the water flows into a holding tank rather than into a normal household system of pipes and sewers, the sink typically has a stopper at the bottom. This stopper prevents that whooshing sound you hear when you flush the toilet, from happening all the time. To unstop the sink, hmm...let's see...what can I do? Oh wait, how do I get the sink at home to empty after I have filled it up--oh yeah, push down the little plunger on the back of the sink. Well, that is exactly how an airplane’s sink works as well. Push down and voila! Sink empties. It's really quite simple--yet based on the sheer quantity of times I come upon an overflowing sink or heard that the sink is stopped up, I guess it really isn't that simple. Go figure. Which actually creates another problem. Sometimes the sink does overflow and floods the bathroom floor. What could be a watery mess is compounded by the fact that a lot of passengers like to use the bathroom while in their socks, or worse, barefoot. Flight attendants continue to encourage the use of shoes while traipsing around the plane, but at the end of the day, passengers decide what to wear when attending to their bathroom needs. Water logged socks and toe jam isn't my idea of a good time--especially when you realize that some people don't have the best of aim while using the toilet (not to mention the negative effects of turbulence on a man that is standing to pee). Therefore, that substance, which is stuck to your feet or soaked into your socks, may not just be water. Again, eww. Perhaps everybody's favorite part about the lavatory is that it is the most obvious place to join the mile high club. Why is that? Because it is enclosed and private? I hate to tell you, but on most of the flights that I have been on, there is typically a line of impatient people waiting to use the bathroom. But, it is definitely enclosed—roughly about the same dimension as a lady's size 12 pump shoebox. How anyone could think it would be a nice place to have a sexual romp is beyond me. It is cramped, stuffy, and typically stinky. Beware of the blue fluid as well--that stuff could stain and would definitely indicate to everyone what you and your intended were intending to do. Plus, and I think I can honestly represent my fellow airline personnel on this one, no flight attendant or cabin service attendant would ever hope to find evidence of your high altitude rendezvous--we already have plenty of other nasty stuff to deal with.

Heard on an Airplane -- Stories of Airplane Stupidity

It is rather amazing the lengths some people will go through to amaze me about how stupid they are when then set foot on an airplane. It’s as if they lose all touch with reality the second they settle into their seats. They shed their shoes, their stresses, and apparently, their sense of reason. Now I know there are some people in this world that just weren’t meant to be quick, and for them, we have warnings galore, like the posting ‘Caution! Hot beverage!’ on a to-go cup of coffee. Um, yeah…it’s coffee. But there are some very intelligent people in this world who seem to check their brains curbside with their luggage when they travel. And some of these people, I’m afraid to say, travel quite a bit. You think they would get it after a while, but alas… So, here is a host of subjects that people prove their prowess at, er lack thereof when traveling. What do you have? Every flight attendant on every airline hates this question. It is the most common question asked on the plane, and without fail, every flight attendant hears it at least once (more like a good dozen times) during every beverage service. Now, it’s true that different airlines have different beverage options. Despite minor differences, however, most airlines serve at least Coke, Diet Coke, Sprite, Ginger Ale, an assortment of fruit juices, coffee, tea, and water. The brands may be different, but the flavor options are typically the same. Thus, if I were to get on an airline that was unfamiliar to me, even if I didn’t know exactly the beverage choices available, I could still fall in the ball park, and most likely if I were to say Coke, guess what!? There is a reason why ‘Coke’ is the most recognized word in any language people! But apparently not everyone is quick enough to grasp this concept. Even after being inundated with service PAs about the beverage choices available and where people can find a list of beverage options (most airlines include this helpful, if little used information in their in-flight magazine), without fail someone in row 16 will say, “What do you have?”. I know, perhaps this is a bit picky. But even after responding to the question ‘What do you have?’ and listing the beverage options available, I often have people who will ask for something that wasn’t in the list…say, Dr. Pepper or Grape soda. It’s as if they think maybe I forgot to list that one or that I’m playing a joke on them and suddenly I’m going to turn around and say ‘ha ha, just kidding, here’s your cherry pop little girl!’. Oh, and it gets worse. Many flights offer multiple beverage services. An hour or two after the first beverage service, the same flight attendants will push the same carts down the same aisles. And yet, some dimwit will ask the very same question they asked before… ‘Oh, what do you have?’ Poor fool… What’s that sound? Ever since the events of 9/11, airline passengers have been on high alert for strange situations and unusual smells/noises onboard airplanes. This heightened sense of awareness is seen as advantageous by the airlines for the safety of their planes, crews, and passengers. The government transportation security agency (and we all know this agency) praises this quality and encourages passengers to report circumstances that are out of the norm to flight crews and other personnel. It’s all in good measure. But seriously, some of the things people report are beyond my capacity to understand how their brain works. One time, I was in the middle of a beverage service, and this woman flagged me down to say that she felt a breeze. After noticing my blank stare, she pointed to the area above her head and said that there was wind blowing on her from above. I reached over and closed her air vent, to which she responded... “oh good, I thought maybe somebody left a window open.” Refraining from an outburst of raucous laughter at such a comment is difficult and keeping a straight face is nearly impossible. How do you respond to such a comment? Hmm… ‘well ma’am, no, the windows don’t actually open, because if they did, well, let’s just say that your weave wouldn’t be attached to your head anymore…’ Another time I was walking through the cabin on a transoceanic flight and a passenger frantically waved me over to feel the wall next to his seat, which he claimed was rather warm. He mentioned that the window shade was very hot and he was afraid maybe there was some sort of fire. Again, another incredulous stare from yours truly. As a matter of fact, the window shade was rather warm, because the blazing inferno which we call the sun was shining against that side of the plane, and well, I don’t really need to explain the physics of heat energy. The man nodded and then added insult to injury by saying ‘well, it didn’t happen on my flight over to Europe’ Hmm, yes, because that flight happened at night and well, the sun was not shining on the plane and that is why it was dark…moron! Of course I didn’t add said expletive, but it was definitely in the subtext of my plastic grin. When he asked me if there was any way of preventing the sun from shining against the window shade, I smiled, said no, and walked away…afraid of what my sarcastic wit might respond, given the chance. My all time favorite was reported by another flight attendant, and given my inability to control my reactions to examples of extreme stupidity, it’s probably for the best that it happened to someone else and not to me. During an overnight flight, a flight attendant was called over to a passenger who complained of a rather loud noise that she heard coming from near her seat. She explained it as a constant buzzing sound and said that it was disturbing her sleep. The flight attendant quickly realized that the sound the woman was referring to was, indeed, the whir of the engines. The flight attendant apologized and explained that the engines made a lot of noise. Most people would shake their head and accept it, but the woman showed her utmost disdain and exclaimed, “well, can you turn it off!?” I don’t know what I would have said in response to this but apparently the flight attendant concerned maintained her composure and said, ‘uh, no that would be bad. In fact, if you hear that noise stop, let me know immediately.’ Wow...

Baby Troubles...

I traveled for years as a normal passenger before they finally granted me my wings to fly professionally. Ever since I was a tiny baby, my parents have been hauling us children back and forth across the western part of the USA, to see family and to take various family trips. Even as a youngster, I knew there were specific behaviors that were wrong and right in a public setting (or, at least, I knew that there would be severe repercussions doled out by my parents if I failed to behave by preset standards). I thought this was pretty standard material amongst children. Boy was I wrong… We have all had the pleasure of babies screaming at 1:00 in the morning on a transoceanic flight, when all we want to do is watch the final moments of the film-of-the month or catch a few moments of sleep. Babies cry…that’s life. I can’t help chalking it up to the extreme payback for however badly we adults must have cried and whined as babies. The part that is unbearable, however, is the reactive behavior of parents, or, perhaps better put, the lack thereof. A fair amount of parents will spring into action when their children start screaming. They carry their children away from other people, in an attempt to appease the baby, or they haul out an arsenal of toys to pacify the screaming outburst. Still others are even more prepared with a bottle or boobie at the ready to plug up the noise-emitting hole, albeit creating other eventual OUTcomes later on. The concept of traveling with children is a norm for them, and they probably do it multiple times a year. Such parents have a tough job, but they are almost always ready at a moment’s notice. We’ll call this the battle-ready set. Other parents, however, are seemingly less prepared. They may have boarded the plane with a few toys and the notion that maybe their baby will cry, he might even poop, and maybe, just maybe might be hungry at some point in time during the flight. These are the parents who are stressed out when their babies start crying and screaming. They are often the parents who are traveling alone and sometimes with multiple children. This may be their first time traveling with children and depending upon how harrowing the experience, it may be the last time they travel with baby in tow. We’ll call this the battle-weary set. But, should these parents be blamed? No…afterall, life is about learning, and such parents will surely take the experience to heart and make changes so that the next experience will be better, for them and everyone else on the plane. With a little practice they may even join the ranks of the battle-ready. The parents that surprise me (and I know they shock the hell out of my colleagues and our passengers) are the parents that seem to have no connection or tie to that screaming beast sitting on their lap. It is as if they boarded the plane alone and suddenly a tiny manic leprechaun appeared on their lap. ‘How did it get there? I don’t know! Let me just ignore it and hopefully it will go away…’ The surprising thing is that parents of this subgroup, the battle-ignoramuses, really do manage to ignore the screaming and wailing that is driving the rest of us insane. Not only do such parents choose to ignore the ensuing din that their baby is causing, they seem entirely unequipped for any attempt at a counterattack. No toys, no games, no pacifiers, and no food. No food! No boobie, no bottle, nothing. ‘Um, I’m sorry, this is a 10 hour flight, and your baby can’t normally go more than two hours without a bottle, and yet, you didn’t bring any formula!? Hmm…yeah, makes sense. Oh, I see, you assumed that the airline would have that…yeah…good move!’ Or sometimes they do have some sort of baby food; but it has to be heated, in a microwave safe dish and in a microwave. One problem…we don’t have microwaves on airplanes. We never have. We have high-powered conventional ovens that will melt your plastic baby food container to a molten sludge. ‘What? You weren’t told that when you checked in?’ It’s true, airlines don’t publish this information or automatically supply it to baby owners when they purchase their tickets…at the same time, airlines also don’t tell passengers that the airplane will make a lot of noise or that they will have to sit in a specific colored seat. If a passenger wanted to know these things (perhaps they have an aversion to red or are severely affected by loud noises) they have simply to ask, and the airline is ready to provide such information. All it takes is a matter of personal responsibility, a quality many passengers (such parents included) seem to be lacking. Now I am not one to say what defines good and bad parenting. I, after all, have decided to take the barren route in life, for I am certain that I would be a terrible parent. I’m not good with children and I don’t really like them all that much. Therefore, early on, I decided that the idea of having or adopting children did not apply to me and was best left for others who were deemed: ‘responsible’. I have, however, been informed by countless parents that some of the prime examples of negligent parenting onboard flights are actually people who should probably not have reproduced in the first place. When compared with the battle-ready set, they do, indeed, seem to be ill prepared, and that doesn’t take a seasoned parent to realize. It may come as a shock to some of you, but most flight attendants really don’t like the task of babysitting your children during a flight. We may coo over your babies and smile widely at your precious bundles of joy, but that is usually where we draw the line. I, for one, don’t even like holding babies while moms or dads use the facilities. As was aforementioned, I would make a terrible parent, and I really have no parenting skills whatsoever; therefore, the fact that some parents are ready and willing to thrust their children at me, a total stranger, is not an amusing gesture or a particularly smart move. On other occasions, I have had parents direct their children to ‘go talk with the nice flight attendant.’ Hmm…no! Sometimes the move is more subtle; the parents walk their children to the back of the plane and seemingly ‘forget’ to take them back to their seats with them. Suddenly, little Jane and little Dickie have launched into a barrage of annoying questions about the plane and the flight, whilst you, the poor unassuming flight attendant, are wondering how this child came to be and where his or her owner has gotten off to. One time, I was working a flight from the Middle East, and I counted 53 children under the age of 13! 53! However, there didn’t appear to be a sufficient number of siring parents on the plane, and none of them stepped forward to claim their progeny until just before landing. The kids actually did laps around the aisles and terrorized our galleys for the entire 12 hours of the flight. I felt like an elementary school playground attendant or one of those birthday party clowns. It’s a good thing that the toilet paper roll in the bathroom is affixed to the wall; I might have become a modern version of the Egyptian mummies. Parents, please take note: I am a flight attendant, not a child attendant. It’s not in my repertoire. I am sure most passengers have had the unpleasant experience of finding gum sandwiched in the seat back pocket or a sticky, gooey mess lining their tray table. Perhaps you have even gotten the pleasure of wiping up some unmentionable residue in your seat with the backside of your pants. From the crumbs of spilled cheerios to the cheese sauce that has been ground into the carpet; the leftover evidence of children from previous flights is rather disgusting. Cabin cleaners do a preliminary once-over of the airplane’s cabin in the interim between arriving and departing flights, but this perfunctory cleaning is often not thorough enough to remove the nefarious remains from preceding passengers. More often than not, the real cleaning comes upon yours truly, often in very unpleasant circumstances. I have cleaned all manners of things out of seat back pockets and from atop tray tables. Spilled soda and juice, gum, dried-up-caked-on food particles, crayon markings, vomit, even fecal matter…eww! It’s true that children aren’t the only culprits; many adults are just as disgusting and messy, but children are often the guilty parties. Or are they? Perhaps, this goes back to the little matter of parental responsibility. I would like to think that if my child spilled something, I would have the decency to clean it up or at least tell someone. It seems that a good number of parents, however, prefer to ignore the unfortunate accident or better yet, pretend it didn’t even happen. Thus, the poor person who sits upon that seat or uses that tray table on the next flight gets to ‘discover’ their clever ruse. Lucky them! In order to avoid such an unfortunate inevitability, I often opt to avoid the tray table when possible, and I never stick anything in the seat pocket; after all, not all surprises are good! Okay, poopy diapers are inevitable when it comes to babies, and finding a spot to change those diapers on the plane is not always an easy task. Some planes are equipped with lavatories that have handy, fold down tables that make diaper changes easier. It would be wonderful if all planes came standard with this feature. It would also be nice if parents would utilize this commodity when it was available and not create interesting and innovative places to change their babies. Granted the tray table or on the empty seat next to you may seem like a good place to change them, but milk-fed babies don’t often make solid turds, and sometimes little remnants escape and…yeah. I, for one, don’t like the idea of eating off a tray table that has recently seen a poopy diaper or a baby’s bare ass. Even more disgusting is when a parent uses the galley counter as a changing table; we prepare food and drinks on these counters—your food, to be exact! There is also the notion that the surface upon which you are changing your baby may not exactly be the cleanest. That toilet seat, that tray table, and certainly that carpet-lined aisle are probably teeming with germs that you probably don’t want attached to your baby; after all, most of these planes are older than dirt and have not received a deep cleaning in, oh, about 200 years! I am happy to accommodate parents with a paper cart liner or a blanket to aid the diaper changing process, but no, I don’t want to change your baby for you. Oh believe me, people have tried! One flight attendant even informed me of a time when a passenger approached a male flight attendant with a poopy baby and instructed him to change the baby. Change it, he did. The passenger wasn’t too pleased when the flight attendant presented him with another baby—how’s that for changing the baby! Good thinking, I must say. Other flight attendants have experienced the pleasure of ‘discovering’ a left-behind poop-filled diaper. Oh yes, we often find them in unexpected places—bathroom counters, galley stowage spaces, seat pockets. One time, a kindly passenger even left me a poopy diaper in my jumpseat…wasn’t that a pleasant experience to encounter when sitting down for landing! I don’t know what makes people believe it is okay to hand a poop-filled diaper to a flight attendant—I don’t want to touch it! Plus, do you really want me to serve you a Coke after you have handed me your child’s poopy remains?! A plane-full of passengers was once denied a beverage service after a man placed a poop-filled diaper in the ice drawer of a flight attendant’s cart. I mean, really…yes, it has a liner in it like a garbage can, but why would we carry a poop dispensary on our beverage cart?! Coke, diet coke or chocolate milk anyone? Not all children on the plane are under the direct supervision of an accompanying adult. Often children are traveling by themselves—the infamous: unaccompanied minors. Despite the fact that these children are traveling solo and are not under the constant surveillance of a parent or guardian, most unaccompanied minors are among the best behaved individuals on the plane. They usually sit quietly, are respectful of others, clean up after themselves, and act as model citizens, or at least model airplane passengers. Take note traveling children: these are your model brethren. Behave like them and you may too get a second cookie or a chocolate bar from first class. Some unaccompanied minors or UMs, as we airline folk call them do, however, try to push the envelope a tad. Yes, you may look old for your age, but I am still not going to let you get off this plane by yourself, nor will you be drinking a martini…how about some apple juice? One UM on a flight even asked me for a sleeping pill so she could rest easily…yeah, sorry, kid, I wasn’t born yesterday. Even more surprising is when she mentioned that her mother lets her have them all the time. Need I say more?! I loved to travel by myself when I was younger, but some kids really should not be traveling alone. Left up to their own devices these kids are capable of anything. It doesn’t happen often, but there have been instances of UMs who have seemingly gone missing mid flight. Musical airplane seats or hide-a-go-seek in the lavatory is not a game we flight attendants like to play. I seem to remember a recent movie about UMs stuck in the airport and the ensuing mayhem they caused…I can believe it. So, to summarize, whereas everyone deserves the right to fly on an airplane, perhaps we need to establish and enforce guidelines for the carriage of children. Until then, parents take note: toys are cool, poopy diapers are not. Screaming children are okay (not all tantrums can be avoided) but make sure you have a plan to divide and conquer. And when the going gets rough, just remember: flight attendants are here to attend to your needs on the flight, not your children. Don’t even think about pushing that red call button!