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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dog Days...

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

The Trouble with Cell Phones...

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

           

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

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

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

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