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…

           

Summer Travelers...

           Oh summer…time for pools, time for BBQs, time for the crazies who never travel to venture out of their shells and take to the skies.  Why me?  That’s what I ask myself each and every single time that I board a flight in the summer.  It’s as is if I shunned the powers that be at one point in time and my punishment is an outpouring of crazy assed people boarding my flight.  Yes, my fellow flight attendants: I’m sorry, but this is definitely my fault.  I don’t know what I did exactly, but I must have done it with gusto, because the floodgates of crazy land have been opened and here they come.

            I may be a bit premature in writing this entry—after all, summer doesn’t officially start for another three weeks.  However, I’ve already taken note of many summer travelers who apparently felt like getting a head start on the summer travel season. 

            Let’s start with apparel.  Who would have thought that it would ever be culturally appropriate to wear a halter-top, booty baring cutoffs, and plastic flip-flops in public? Well, not only are they being worn in public; but they are also sauntering through airports and onto my plane.  I realize that modern day security practically demands that one strip down to their skivvies, and that perhaps wearing less clothing to start out with seems like a practical undertaking.  Well, it’s not.  Nor will it ever be.  Sorry.  Somebody may want to see your low hanging cheeks (and I’m not talking about your face), but I certainly do not.  Without fail, these girls (and guys…yep, it happens) will saunter on the plane, throw their overflowing bags in the overhead bin, and then ask for a blanket because they are ‘freezing’.  ‘Well, hello!  That’s what happens when you walk around naked sweetheart!’

           

            I really have seen an endless array of summer fashion faux pas—guys traveling in bathing suits, girls with see-through cover ups over their bikinis, tube tops, sandals with socks (do they think they are more dressed up that way?), and a jilting array of pastel colors that makes me want to crawl into a hole and die.  So, what do I do?  I do what every gay man does.  I judge—internally, of course. Outwardly, I’m all smiles and such, but inside…girl, I’m judging you like you’s the newest Kardashian.

            It’s not just that people come on the plane wearing inappropriate stuff; they get all crazy as well.  Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen.  Many a time during the summer months, I have had someone get on the plane and wander around in a daze like they are in a museum of some sort—amazed with the scenery and confused that they actually have to sit down and buckle up.  I’m sure the invisible thought balloons for these individuals would be something like: ‘what is this strange place and how did I get here?’  I can imagine their shock when the strange beast they boarded jumps off the ground and flies through the sky. Oooh. Ahhh.  Trippy.

            People in the summer months also like to drink—a lot.  As a flight attendant, I like to judge your alcohol consumption on this one little rule…shall we give you less to make you act normal, or shall we give you more to help you sleep and stop acting, in what we perceive, is normal for you?  I’m always amazed that people don’t seem to understand that the airplane is a flying vessel—just one step above a bus—and not a full service bar and restaurant.  No we actually don’t serve fifty flavors of vodka nor can we mix up frozen daiquiris—our galleys are not nearly that advanced.  And, if you are lucky enough to get a meal, it was cooked in an industrial oven after being made en masse in a remote kitchen several hours before the flight.  Simply put, we don’t do substitutions.  Sorry, it’s just really not possible for us to whip up something else in our cubbyhole galley.  One guy actually asked me if we could stop to pick something up.  I’m not kidding—I think maybe he thought we would swing by a KFC or Burger King en route.  Although it’s crazy, I can’t help imagining what that would look like—a 747 pulling up at the drive thru and requesting 250 drumsticks and a side of beans.  

            Oh, and the questions.  Where do these people come up with such off the wall questions?  I guess they don’t understand the basic principles of physics or realize just how stupid they make themselves out to be by opening their mouths.  Some of my favorites include (but are definitely not limited to): ‘What keeps this plane in the air…does gravity not exist up here?’ ‘Is it possible to see the Mason-Dixon line from here?’ ‘Oh look, is that the Atlantic Ocean?’ (when landing in Chicago after flying over Lake Michigan) ‘Why is it so cold outside the plane…I mean, we are closer to the sun right?’ No joke—these are actual questions.  I have to tell you that it’s incredibly difficult to keep a straight face when dealing with such extreme stupidity.  Again, some extreme internal judgment going on here. 

            Such is the way of summer flying—the newbies (and not so newbies who still haven’t gotten it yet) decide to venture out into the great ‘unknown’.  Daring for sure for someone who has been seemingly housebound or isolated to small town living.  Super annoying as well.  But such is the way of summer flying and even though we have to drudge through it each and every year, gosh darn it, at least it’s entertaining!

Girl's got some baggage...

         Some people over pack—it’s just the way it is. My mother is one of those people; she would probably take her entire wardrobe if she could, but fortunately my father has gotten quite good at making her reduce her baggage quantity and size, knowing full well that if she is left unchecked, he will be forced to schlep all her stuff around. Multiple, large bags can be cumbersome; but in this day and age, it is also expensive, as most airlines slap hefty fees on checked bags. The more bags you have, the higher the prices. As a result, more and more people carry their bags on the plane—jamming them into cramped and limited overhead stowage space. These regulations and tariffs are having a positive effect as well (in my book); they are pushing people to become more efficient packers. Excess baggage is dwindling, as passengers try to escape incidental fees. There is one category of traveler, however, that has seemed to miss the boat on consolidation. I’m talking about my cohorts, the flight attendants.

         Most passengers see flight attendants rolling through the airports, but I wonder how many really pay attention to the sheer quantity of baggage these men and women are hauling around. Many airlines allow working flight attendants 3-4 carry-on bags of various sizes; yes twice as much as everyone else. Everything from a roll-a-board suitcase to a garment bag, computer bag, purse/briefcase, lunch bag, grocery sack, or body bag (no, just kidding about that last one, although I feel that some women’s purses are akin to a body bag, and I am almost certain I could fit an entire village into them). Granted, some flight attendants work multi-day trips—ranging from a few days to 8 or more days. Some Asian carriers even make round-the-world journeys and can be gone for weeks at a time. Plus, some flight attendants back up their trips and may commute to their assignments from a remote city, therefore necessitating more undies, hence more bags. Most trolley dollies, however, work trips that range from 1 to 4 days and take several days off between trips. So, why do these flight attendants need enough match luggage to outfit a safari, a jaunt to the beach, a nightclub outing, dinner with the pope, a cocktail dress for Vegas, skiing in the Pyrenees, scuba diving at the Great Barrier Reef, and a trip to the moon if they are only going to be gone for a couple of days? I’m pretty certain you don’t need any of that stuff to visit Wichita.

           Seriously, the amount of flight attendants that over pack is astonishing. I have asked a number of such flight attendants why they need to bring so much stuff, and the answer is usually the same: ‘you never know where they might reroute us…and I want to be prepared.’ And prepared they are…for any and all destinations. Seemingly even for a nuclear holocaust! To be fair, this desire for preparation at all costs stems from events like September 11th and the Icelandic volcano, when aircrews and passengers from around the world found themselves stranded in unfamiliar locales for days at a time. It’s smart to think like a boy scout and be prepared. But, I do think some of the ‘preparatory measures’ many of these flight attendants take are just a bit extreme. The relative chance of needing half the crap in their bags is pretty minimal. I have even worked turnarounds (one leg out and one leg back) with stewards and stewardesses with a flotilla of luggage. When I inquired on one such occasion if the woman commuted from somewhere, she replied that she was a local. And then she asked me to help lift her bevy of bulging bags into the overhead bin because they were too heavy for her. Yeah, I don’t think so, sister… Its’ really not uncommon to see a storage closet (normally reserved for coats) brimming to the max with flight attendant bags that were too heavy or large to fit in the overhead bin. I’ve also known many a flight attendant to do some light (or heavy) shopping on a layover and swell their already large bags to breaking point. And ladies, just because I’m a chivalrous guy doesn’t mean I want to hoist your bags into the bin or help you retrieve them after you’ve wedged them in there.

            Flight attendants also like to pack what can be equated to the contents of an industrial sized refrigerator for their trips. Airport food is unhealthy and expensive, and the obvious option is to bring your own food. Thrifty and wise, for sure. But does one really need to bring an entire Thanksgiving dinner with enough sustenance to feed the gang from The Last Supper? I can’t imagine how much food is actually thrown away or goes bad, as refrigeration is often shoddy at best in hotels and on airplanes. Bring some snacks, bring a couple of easy meals—but leave the Chinette at home.

            Long story short, we’re all culprits when it comes to hoarding our stuff on the road with us, but one would think seasoned road warriors would be better at limiting themselves and packing more efficiently. Personally, I like to take as little as possible and hope for the best. And if it comes to the worst: hey, at least it’s an excuse to buy some new stuff. But for now, it seems that I’m among the minority. I’ll save my back and save the heavy lifting for someone else.

Hot Mess

           Why do people travel?  Do they do so because they are unhappy with their current situation and desire to change their perspective?  Are they seeking out adventure or a certain high that can only be achieved by stepping outside their comfortable norm?  Or do they simply do so because that is what people do—some sort of cultural norm that pushes them to go, the hip factor, as it were?  I imagine there are people in this world that fit into every one of these categories; there are a multitude of reasons that pull people out of their boxes and set them on the open road.  I’m not going to embark upon a philosophical journey, as it were, of the multitude of reasons for people hitting the road (even though this piece looks very much like one of those works).  In truth, I don’t really care, nor should you.  It’s personal, right?  But, I’m sorry—there are some people who really shouldn’t leave their houses and certainly shouldn’t be getting into a car, heading to the airport, and getting on my plane.  But they always do!

            I must have uncanny luck—though I suspect that my fellow trolley dollies encounter the same sort of individuals on a daily basis as well.  Without fail, each and every flight, someone crazy manages to maneuver him or herself on the plane, and I’m almost certain they have no clue how they got there or where they are going.  This may seem a bit harsh, or perhaps a bit extreme, but trust me.  Yesterday, for example, we had this passenger seated in first class who clearly did not belong there, and yet his ticket said he did.  I’m still in shock.  He was wearing these weird capris pants, long white socks with orange stripes, Birkenstocks, and a wife beater.  It was like Tupac meets Al Bundy meets Shaggy (from Scooby Doo).  Once we got over the fact that he was actually standing in front of us and was, indeed, going to be riding with us, we took his drink order.  Okay, so this is an airplane and we have limited stuff but still, we have a good variety.  He gave us a toothy grin and said ‘what kinda rubbin’ alcohol you gets’?  The gal I was working with just stood there and gawked; I actually had to come to her aid and steer her back into the galley.  We settled on a vodka cranberry for our strange fella.   Simple, good.  He seemed to enjoy it; of course, when compared with rubbing alcohol, I’m sure it tasted fabulous. After the safety demo, I was checking on the passengers and found the guy marveling over the seat belt—clearly confused at what it was for or how it worked.  I tried to show him with a spare seatbelt but to no avail.  Finally, I actually reached over and put it on him, myself.  The reaction on his face was akin to one I imagined he might give me after affixing some sort of weird sex paraphernalia about him, which made me physically shudder.

            Later on during the flight, the guy asked my cohort what she did for a living…uhhh…this.  He seemed shocked with her reply and then smiled and took another snip of his drink.  Just keep drinking, sir.  It’ll all get better.  But seriously…where did this guy come from and why on earth wasn’t he staying there.  Everything about him screamed: “I’ve never been let out on my own before”, and I don’t think he should have been let out this time.  Granted he was rather benign when compared with some other passengers (and working crew members) out there, but not once did the thought ‘what the….’ leave my head.  It was anyone’s guess—and believe me, we tried many options—as to why this guy was on our plane and where he was going.  I don’t think I’m allowed to share some of the better stories we envisioned, but you can imagine—I do have a very active imagination, after all.  I only hope that he had someone meeting him at the airport, because this poor guy didn’t have a clue.

            So, moral of this story is simple.  Any time that you’re feeling like a hot mess on an airplane (and traveling with take it out of you), look around you, because there is probably someone else who is even worse off than you are.  And you know I’ll be looking too! 

Hotel Happenings

When I first started this job, I knew that it would involve a lot of time on the road and a lot of time in hotel rooms. Now my airline like most airlines has contracts with a variety of hotels, some nice and some…well…rather terrible. Where we stay really depends upon the cost of the room; after all, airlines are hurting for money and looking to cut costs wherever and whenever they can. The basic rule among the airlines is this: find a room and make it cheap! The relative cost of the room often depends on the location of the hotel—big, touristy cities usually have more demand and, therefore, costlier rooms. Usually there are a greater variety of hotel chains, and so what you get often varies. Podunk towns, on the other hand, often have cheaper rooms. They also might have less hotels or older, more decrepit rooms.

Even in my short time as a flight attendant, I have learned that some hotels are absolute gems and many others should be avoided at all costs. The more luxurious hotels—the Westins, Hiltons, Intercontinentals, Hyatts etc. of the world are classy and elegant. They can vary depending on the location, but at least you know what you’re going to get. When a flight attendant sees one of these on their schedule, they feel good about life, and know that they will sleep well, eat well, and be pampered with nice amenities. The one downside is that extra services at these hotels, i.e. Internet, room service, and parking often carry a supplemental charge (sometimes eclipsing the benefit of the service). Business class hotels (my favorite) are often nicely appointed and comfortable but not ultra luxurious. Many are owned or franchised by the big name brands. This category includes Hyatt Place, Hilton Garden Inn, and Aloft. Sometimes the rooms are branded as mini suites with a separate sitting area and desk and a massive television that can be seen from the bedroom and the sitting room. As an added bonus, many of these hotels even often a cold or hot breakfast in the morning—a great benefit for a life of the road. Business class hotels are perfect for business travelers and a nice, comfortable place for Flight Attendants to snuggle in for the night. Now, the hotels that most flight attendants dread are the low rent types—the Days Inn, the Holiday Inn, and the no-name places that somehow end up on our schedules and which may even drive you to give up a really good trip. These are the hotels with those nasty floral print comforters that, by no means, should ever touch any part of your body. Rumors of bed bugs and other creepy crawlies abound at such places. Bathroom amenities and lighting are often dismal at best and leave one wishing for home.

For those of you who aren’t as hotel savvy as yours truly, I’ve compiled a list of some dos and don’ts to keep in mind when you stay in a hotel. This can be applied to any room (but it is especially helpful in those dingy and ‘questionable’ hotel types). You are entering a space that is not your own but which you and your stuff are going to occupy for X number of hours. You want to be comfortable, but remember that many other people have graced this room with their presence before you. And some have left things behind—socks that have fallen under the bed or unknown ‘substances’ that may be less visible but twice as menacing. Firstly, make sure there is no one in your room when you enter it. I’m not necessarily talking about psychos hiding in the shower or under the bed—I’m also talking about hotels making the mistake that the room is available. Believe it or not, I have walked in on a variety of situations that I really didn’t need to see just because the room was thought to be available and in actuality wasn’t. So, open the door with a bit of caution. Then scout out a place to put your luggage. If there is an adjoining room, I recommend that you place your luggage in front of that door (and on the stand provided—don’t ever place your bag on the floor, and in fact try to let as few things touch the carpet as possible. Why you may ask? Because that carpet sees a lot of traffic but may have never witnessed a vacuum cleaner in action. It may actually get plenty of action…and we can stop right there). I recommend wearing slippers or at least socks in your room—would you walk barefoot in a public bathroom? Practically the same thing. Also, never ever place your luggage on the bed—if that bed were to have bed bugs, you have now just invited them into your suitcase and into your life—they will tag along and invade your house. Don’t do it. So, short of hauling the desk to block off the adjoining room door, your luggage blockading it is a good alternative. Now most rooms will have drawers available to you, but seriously, don’t put your clothes in there. You may be in the room for a week, but you can and will live out of your suitcase…do you really want to discover a curly little hair on your underwear that is clearly not your own?…seriously, don’t do it! Now for the most important step, and even if you bypass all the other tips I’m providing you don’t forgo this one. See that ugly comforter on the bed? Your goal is to get rid of it—fling it across the room and well away from your stuff. The reason is this: how often do you wash your comforter at home? Probably not very often. Well, that comforter may be dirty but at least it’s your dirt. You know where it’s been and who’s had contact with it. Now think of that hotel room comforter and the countless number of people who it’s been in contact with or what they were doing in or around that bed. “Oh, but it’s been washed” you might say. Sorry people, but the truth is that they wash and change the sheets, but very rarely do they change the comforter. Eww. I recommend a flick of the wrist—grab it by a corner and flick the damn thing away. And then wash and disinfect your hands. In reality, the less stuff you touch in the room, the better. For example, I almost never turn the TV on or fiddle with the clock/radio or even the in-room telephone. If you choose to, however, you should put on gloves or maybe even a sandwich baggie. Some flight attendants recommend placing the remote control inside a baggie so they never have to touch the remote. Remember, most hotels show porn on demand, and what do people do when they watch porn….? Again, eww. Before you settle in for the night, make sure you lock and bolt your door shut. I am not a paranoid person, but I have had a couple of experiences on the road where someone has mistaken my room for theirs and tried to invite themself in. One particular instance of this was during spring break week in Daytona Beach, FL. At 3am, three redneck frat boys started hammering on the door thinking their buddy was inside and that this was indeed their room. I thank god that that door lock was engaged and fully functional—if those guys had made it in my room, I never would have been able to get them out, and who wants three crazed men in their room in the middle of the night…hmm….on second thought.

Okay, so I have one more bone to pick before I stop rambling on. I recently stayed at a hotel in Paris, which claims to be a luxury/business class hotel. So, I’m thinking a business hotel should have amenities in the room that would enable a modern-day business traveler to complete their business. I didn’t have a computer or a need to plug a bunch of things in; however, I did want to charge my phone. The problem is that there was not one available outlet in the room. Not even one. Some hotels have an outlet in the bathroom that says ‘shavers only’ (this is so people don’t try to plug in high-powered appliances like, you know, hair dryers or the spare blender, for example), but this hotel didn’t even have that. I actually had to crawl behind the television, covering myself in an array of cobwebs and dust, unplug it, and then plug my phone charger in. How very inconvenient. Seriously, is it really that hard to install some spare outlets or to leave at least one outlet unattended by the multitude of floor lights and other electronics in the room!? Just a thought. Bitchy, maybe…but practical all the same.

Vacation Discoveries

Today as I was driving home from a fantastic and very relaxing massage at the end of a glorious week of vacation from my tiresome job of serving coke after endless coke (yes, I’m using a lot of superlatives, but life is just that fucking fantastic right now, so just go with it…), I was listening to the ‘On Broadway’ channel of my XM radio and a song from the original Broadway production of You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown came on the radio. The name of the song is ‘Book Report’. If you are not familiar with the show, it is about the Peanuts gang—snoopy, Charlie Brown, Lucy, Linus, and all the rest of them. They are in school and going through their various misadventures. Anyway, during this particular song, the kids are singing about the book report that they must write for school. The book: The Adventures of Peter Rabbit. 100-word minimum. Simple enough. Of course we can all remember back to the days of writing book reports and other creative writing tasks given in elementary school and recall that it was often more difficult and cumbersome to come up with 100 words about something we didn’t particularly care about than we would have thought. One of the boys in the song is literally adding extra ‘verys’ to how much he liked the ending…’very very very very very much’, and then counting the words to make sure he hit exactly 100 words. (I, of course, as you can tell from my other essays, have never had that problem. Instead, I have always prided myself on my verbosity, and was usually told by teachers to be more concise than anything else.) In any case, it is a very interesting and funny song about these four kids struggling to write a book report about this benign and rather morose subject.

The song got me thinking about writing and why I like writing about my adventures (and also why I sometimes despised writing papers in school). The simple answer…I. Yes, the word I. In school, you are told to avoid the I and to take a more objective stance on a subject. However, when those damn professors want you to express yourself and make a case for your opinions, it becomes a little awkward to escape the I and to use expressions like ‘one’ or ‘some individuals’. I don’t know how many times I just wanted to thrust an I in my papers to really underline my opinion. Some professors told me that the I was often inferred and that my paper would be stronger by remaining quietly on the sidelines. But, I’m sorry, my name is on that paper and it’s pretty obvious that I wrote the damn thing, so why should I sideline myself. Rather, I I I I believe I should jump on in there and really own up to my cause.

So, now that I have stopped writing for a grade, I feel more at liberty to use the elusive I as much as me, myself, and I choose to. That’s why writing about my own adventures and stories is so much fun. I get to secretly spite my professors and teachers en masse by using as many I’s as I damn well please. Plus, I think the shit that happens to me or that I witness is often very entertaining, so I might as well share it with you. You, yes you. Well, I might as well slam this door wide open and get rid of everything objective. Now it’s about you AND me. How do you like them apples? I thought so…

So, where am I going with this? Not sure exactly. But it sure has been fun talking about myself in the first person rather than a withdrawn third person. After all, I am on vacation and might as well make it all about me.

Okay, enough of that garbage. Let’s get on with a funny anecdote of something crazy that happened to me on my stupendously fabulous (yay for superlatives) week of vacation that I can share with you. Let’s see… Well, I just finished a week-long cruise in the Caribbean aboard the stunning Allure of the Seas, the largest cruise ship in the world. I like to call this cruise ‘The Big GAY Boat Ride’, because with 4500 gay men, well, that’s pretty much what it was. As you can imagine, with so many gay men there was plenty of unnecessary drama and craziness—parties galore, hearts broken, bitch slaps, rippling muscles, and gallons upon gallons of vodka. I can’t even begin to imagine just how much vodka was consumed during the week of festivities—they say that the main ingredient in the human body is water, but I’m thinking that figure may be slightly off for the martini-slinging gay man. Oh well, it’s all in good fun. Until it turns tragic or trashy, which…eek…happens. On the other hand, vodka does lead to some amazing times as well—like a flash mob of gays sporting itty-bitty swimsuits and drag queens with stiletto heels and gaudy wigs that suddenly appear on the pool deck to dance to Lady Gaga. Just close your eyes and imagine that. Scary. But, oh so entertaining. So long shuffle boards and walker races…hello Homo hello!

It was amazing just how many different types of men were represented onboard. Bulging bicep men, hairy men, short men, tall men, ugly men, beautiful men, old men, young men. White men, brown men, black men, and thanks to body paint, even silver and purple men. Men wearing t-shirts and jeans, men wearing slacks and sweaters, men wearing tight little swim trunks, and men wearing nothing at all. Men, men, men everywhere. It was a gay people watcher’s dream. Men, men, men, woman, men…wait a second. Yes, there were actually a couple of women onboard, 70 to be exact. (not counting the women amongst the 2,000 Royal Caribbean staff members—it takes a lot to run a city-sized cruise ship). It was actually such an anomaly seeing a woman that you almost didn’t believe it was a ‘real’ woman. (sorry divas, but you drag queens don’t actually count) Also, many of those real women were hard to spot—some of them much more masculine than any of the gay boys could ever hope to be. 70 women and gobs upon gobs of gay men. Needless to say it was an eventful week, what with all the visual stimulation I could fathom. I’m not sure if I can handle so much excitement again, but it was definitely worth trying once.

After a week of cruising craziness, I have returned to reality, and alas, the vacation is coming to an end. Back to work I go…god, I hope I still remember how to open a coke… ! Until next time: keep it fun, keep it gay, and (sorry professors) always make it personal!

Left in the First Class Closet...

I’d like to call this piece ‘Left in the first class closet,’ because it gives a very broad range to the litany of items one might find in the extremely cramped space where we are supposed to hang coats for first class passengers. Sometimes there are, indeed, coats stored in this closet. More often, however, there is an array of odds and ends (with emphasis on the odd) that seem to find their way into this coveted storage space. Let me explain how this came to be.

Scenario # 1: Long, long ago, there was a plethora of available overhead bins, spacious and roomy with plenty of space for Aunt Marge’s cute little, pastel beige weekender. With the advent of baggage fees and the roll-aboard suitcase, suddenly the once cavernous overhead bin space is now teeming with bags and Aunt Marge no longer has any room to fit her now, MASSIVE, suitcase. Confronted with the unknown fate of having to check her bag and the fear that it may not arrive with her in Topeka, Aunt Marge sweetly, yet firmly, attaches herself to the bag and swears life and limb that she will not let it out of her sight. The solution: ‘oh, let’s shove it in the coat closet.’

Or consider Scenario # 2: Mr. Williams, who is seated in 3C, just needed to make one last phone call and have one last cocktail in the frequent flyer lounge before boarding his flight to destination XYZ. He waltzes on the plane just before the door closes with a huge bag and an even larger computer bag…hmm…personal item? I don’t think so. Maybe it should be called ‘big enough to fit a person’ item. But that’s beside the point. All the overhead bins are full and because Mr. Williams is one of our ‘best’ customers, we decide to stow his bags in the: yep, you guessed it, first class coat closet. Never mind that his bag(s) is now stacked on two flight attendants’ bags and an array of other crap, and that it is smooshing your delicate coat up against the wall. Sorry. Perhaps wrinkles are in this year? One can’t help wondering if this was Mr. Williams master plan in the first place; after all, his bags get to ride in style and he himself actually suggested that we put his bags in the closet in the first place. Tricky? Oh yes, I’ve seen it all.

Of course we don’t allow access to every bag that wants to live in the coat closet. Actually, we aren’t supposed to put any passenger bags in the closet at all, because it is supposed to be for, uh, coats. Go figure. But passenger items are not always the offending party. More often than not, flight attendant bags seem to find their way into the closet. The typical scenario for that goes something like this: Shelly and Bev love to shop and really needed to buy 4,000 pounds of crap during their 9-hour layover in Des Moines. Those bags are really heavy now and it is physically impossible for them to lift their bag into the overhead bin. So, where do they put their gargantuan bags? Yep. Unfortunately despite strict baggage guidelines (yeah, right) and even clearly posted weight limits on the closet wall, somehow the closet is always overflowing with bags and other junk, which is a fineable FAA offense (and we’re talking thousands of dollars). The simple, should-be, organized coat closet is really a disaster in the works.

So, what sorts of items can one find in said coat closet. Let’s take a closer look at some of the hoopla that makes up its contents. At any one time or another, I have discovered the following paraphernalia jammed into an airplane coat closet:

· Passenger/crew coat (normal)

· Passenger/crew suitcase (annoying, but relatively normal)

· Folding chair (useful in case we spontaneously decide to tailgate)

· Painting/Mirror/Drawing (oblong and delicate, hopefully arriving in one piece!)

· Animal skull (complete with a myriad of horns)

· Grocery bag (often with foul smelling cheeses or other unknown substances)

· Colostomy kit (unused, thank god)

· Crutches/cane/assistive device (normal but not always easy to fit)

· Heavy artillery (unloaded and on a military charter but weird, nonetheless)

· Oversized stuffed animal (presumably won in a fair, but maybe some brat’s favorite toy)

· Gigantic wooden figurine (person, place or thing…seen it all)

· A small child (apparently he thought it was a good place to build his fortress)

· A box of bibles (destined for some forlorn hotel room in Romania)

· Dishes/vases (good luck to you on those showing up in one piece!)

· A ten pound box of grapefruit (hmm…hmm)

· Kotex (unused…again, thank god)

· Condoms (unused, but still condoms—‘mile high club’ anyone?)

· False teeth (probably fell out of an elderly person’s bag—either passenger or, sigh, flight attendant)

· Toupee/weave/wig (poor bald person who lost their hairpiece)

· Afghan (the blanket, not a citizen of Afghanistan)

· A puppy (left by an owner who didn’t realize ‘pet in cabin’ actually meant ‘pet in cabin and at seat with owner’)

· A flight attendant (she decided to take a nap there during crew rest on an international flight—why? No idea…)

· Mink stole with the heads still attached (gruesome, at best)

· Stroller/collapsible playpen/diaper changing table (rubbing up against first class coats…perhaps yours)

· Stuffed penguin (who shoots a penguin?!?)

There are other things that I can add to this list, some of which worth mentioning, others of which are better left unnamed. Some interesting, some banal. The real point is: why do we carry half of this sh*# onto the airplane in the first place, and why does it always end up sitting on top of my lunch bag or rubbing up against the coats of the well-to-do who put their coat in the closet so that it would be well looked after and not wadded up into a mess, like it usually is at the end of a flight!? Lets get one thing straight. This isn’t ‘Hoarders at 30,000 feet’. It’s a closet. For coats. Any questions?