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!