In the Air Up There

Resolutions

2011-01-01T21:47:00.000-08:00

I dislike making New Year's resolutions. Mainly because I feel really crummy about myself when I fail to live up to my self imposed expectations. My problem is that I take myself too seriously. A fact with which I am coming to grips. I think I know what my good characteristics are. Recently, I have been allowing myself to state what I believe are my bad characteristics. From childhood I could never laugh at myself, depsite my mother's good-natured teasing to train me otherwise.

Last year my unstated resolution was to start a blog, which I did. But just to make it not look like a New Year's resolution I posted my first entry on December 31, 2009. I averaged one article a month which is lame by most blog standards. However, I felt proud that I actually kept up with the blog for a whole year. There were a few times when I wanted to quit.

I was insired by a friend to start writing a blog. She and I are probably opposites in temperament. She is a great writer and blogger, loves the spotlight and can laugh at and even poke fun at her own foibles. This year she has inspired me once again. Her recent blog entry was a review of last year's resolutions and a light hearted evaluation of her success and failure. I realized that I don't need to be afraid of resolutions because its okay if you don't live up to them. In fact, the failure to fulfill them might actually be more interesting than scratching them off a to do list.

Here are my resolutions for 2011:

1. Learn some new dance moves.
Dance like nobody's watching.

2. Reach 500 twitter followers.
Love like you've never been hurt.

3. Never refuse an opportunity to karaoke again.
Sing like nobody's listening.

4. Laugh at myself.
Live like it's heaven on earth.

Note the reference to William Purkey's quote.

The wrinkle problem

2010-12-20T09:32:00.000-08:00

In flight attendant training our instructor told us the best method for packing clothes is to roll them. For years I followed the advice of this ex-military authority and rolled my clothes to pack them. My clothes were always wrinkled. My solution to the problem was to buy as much travel clothing made of polyester as I could. It’s not as old lady as it seems. It is possible to find some cute dresses that work really well without a single wrinkle after 12 hours in a tightly formed roll.

This dress (100% poly) I have had for 10 years. I receive compliments every time I wear it.

One day my Mom mentioned that way back in her early married days she had invited a flight attendant to speak to her ladies group to show all the women how to pack a suitcase. I was shocked.
First of all, why had she not mentioned this before now? At the time, I had been a flight attendant for 5 years.
Secondly, I couldn’t picture my mom as a ladies club type. What kind of life did she live before having me?
Thirdly, why had this clothes packing wisdom of the 60’s been hidden through the ages? It’s a mystery.

Now revealed, the method is simple. Place an article of clothing in the suitcase loosely folded with half of the garment hanging out over the edge of the suitcase. Place another garment in the same manner on the opposite side of the suitcase.

.

Repeat the process with two garments each time until all the articles you want to pack are in the suitcase.

Then fold the portion hanging out on the bottom side of the suitcase into the suitcase. Next fold the opposite side in.

Voila. That’s it. This method prevents wrinkles from being pressed into the clothes by keeping them loosely packed. It really works. Of course, there is a learning curve and it's trial and error with some fabrics. That's my disclaimer.

Should this method fail, be sure to check the iron in your hotel room for scorched carpet before touching your clothes with it.

Follow your gut--not Google

2010-12-02T08:15:00.000-08:00

For those who don’t know, Atlantic City is very seedy. There are two main drags, Atlantic and Boardwalk. When walking in Icky City, never, never stray from these two thorough fares. Side streets are a no-no.

Holed up for hours in my hotel during my 30 hour layover, I finally succumbed to cabin fever and fled my confines. Using my Google map app to navigate me from the hotel to the beach, I started off well enough. Then found myself back tracking. Google told me to make a right on Indiana. My inner sense prickled, yet I proceeded any way. Halfway down the street, I felt that I had made a mistake. I heard a large group of male voices behind me at the intersection that I had just passed. Looking forward, I anticipated the next intersection to be Boardwalk. It didn’t look like a boardwalk. I saw a few people walking ahead. My heart rate picked up with my heighten uneasiness. I contemplated turning around to face the voices behind me. No, I had come too far. My pace quickened. As I passed Caligula’s Temple, (proof of seediness) a man crossed from the other side of the street in front of me.

“How are you?” he asked. The blood drained from my upper body and I prepared to engage in a one woman stampede.

Whatever expression was on my face; fear, terror, or the “don’t mess with me” look, I don’t know, but it invoked another comment from him.

“What are you DOING?”

“Oh, Lord. What AM I doing?” I prayed inwardly. Whether or not I was in danger, I did not know, but the fact was that I felt as if I was.

Running seemed like a reasonable response. I checked my inner sense again.

“Do I need to run?”

Quickening my pace another notch, I turned the corner. Relief flooded me. I could see the main drag. A glance behind told me that I wasn’t being followed. Without sprinting, I made it to the Boardwalk in twenty strides or less. It took me ten minutes to calm down. I scolded myself for breaking my own rules and venturing out alone and for not heeding my inner sense. Lesson learned.

On a happier note, I did enjoy the boardwalk.

24 hours in San Juan

2010-11-29T10:30:00.000-08:00

“An inch is as good as a mile" must be the driving mantra in Puerto Rico where speeding and tailgating are required driving skills. My crew and I arrived seat belted --and safely at the hotel early in the day. Since it was my first time staying in Puerto Rico I let my crew plan the agenda.

A relaxing ferry ride followed by a sweltry van ride landed us at the steps of the Bacardi factory.

The free tour included two Bacardi Rum laden beverages. With so many flavors of rum: lemon, apple, raspberry, peach, coconut, orange, melon,
everyone found it hard to choose. I thought the tour would take us behind the scenes to see the distilling and bottling,

but instead we saw a film on the history of the company, looked at some old documents in Spanish and sniffed oak barrels scented with ancient rums.
Rum used to be called Kill Devil by sailors. Would Bacardi still sell millions of dollars worth of spirits if it were still so aptly named?

Dinner was at a restaurant recommended to us by a local passerby as we were touristly wandering around looking lost.
I can’t remember the restaurant name, even though I repeated the pronunciation aloud 3 or 4 times so that I wouldn’t forget. I DO remember the name translated means the farmer. Puerto Rican tamales are not anything like the Mexican version. The traditional fare is good, but it needs some cayenne pepper.

Venturing out in the morning by myself, I found breakfast at La Mallorca. Even though the menu had heartier options, I chose pastries-- four different kinds.

Old San Juan is old. Old is interesting--especially the old forts.

On the fort wall, I scanned the horizon for enemy ships. Under the protection of the sentry box, I felt safe. It’s not called a fortress for nothing. In the dungeon, I was reminded of a hymn:

In a low dungeon,
Hope we had none,
Tried to believe
But faith didn't come.

The tune fell flat on the dank, dirt walls, in contrast to the upper room overlooking the ocean where my melody rang out more melodiously than I delivered it.

God our sky clearing,
Jesus appearing,
We, by God were tranfused.

I loved my time at the fort in San Juan.

An Unlikely Hero...Steven Slater

2010-08-11T14:32:00.000-07:00

Everyone is talking about Steven Slater—the new and surprisingly unlikely hero of thousands of empathetic flight attendants across the nation. When I first heard the news of Steven Slater’s shocking and dramatic exit from his flight via the emergency evacuation slide, I laughed and cheered with shameful glee. Apparently my reaction was the common response of most of my co-workers and fellow flight attendants. Steven Slater’s actions though bizarre and unusual seem to strike a chord with flight crews and travelers everywhere.

For those who missed the big news. Here’s an excerpt from today’s USA today:
After reportedly exchanging words with a passenger who had hit him on the head with a piece of luggage on a flight that arrived at JFK Airport here Monday, Slater took to the jet's public address system to curse the flier. He then bid the flight — and by his own acknowledgment, his job — adieu by sliding down the plane's emergency exit chute, but not before quickly grabbing a beer from the jet's galley.

Why is Steven Slater being hailed as a hero? Why are so many rushing to his defense? Why do we want to “Let Steven Slide?” Simply put, Steven’s actions demonstrated in an outward and dramatic way the inner frustrations flight attendants feel when encountering ignorance, obstinacy, and just plain rudeness while trying to perform their duties. The job of a flight attendant is a unique one because of the dual nature of the function of a flight attendant. On the one hand, a flight attendant is a customer service representative ever mindful of the comfort of the customer dedicated to delivering a pleasant flying experience. On the other hand, a flight attendant must ensure customer compliance of the federally mandated safety regulations. We are not policeman, but we do have the responsibility of overseeing the carrying out of the laws of the sky. If the job were merely about being friendly and serving cokes, it wouldn’t be nearly as challenging. The tricky part is melding the two functions. A true professional finds a polite way to maintain the balance between both roles every flight of every day.

Competitiveness in the airline industry has forced airlines to lower fares and find creative ways to lure more customers. I have noticed this trend has caused the airlines to place a greater focus on customer service. This trend is great for the customer, but it has the negative effect of blurring the lines of customer safety for fear of offending them. My airline’s policy is don’t do anything to offend the customer. Unfortunately, people usually get offended when you ask them to take their seat, especially when you have to ask them in front of a whole airplane of passengers. As in Steven Slater’s case sometimes the customer becomes belligerent and even abusive. Although, it is strictly forbidden by law to grab or hit a flight attendant, my company provides coaching sessions defining just what kind of grabbing a flight attendant should tolerate from customers. The mixed message that flight attendants receive from the FAA versus the airlines is baffling. It leaves the flight attendant feeling extremely vulnerable. What is a flight attendant to do? Most of the time, we just have to take the abuse and let it roll. After many years of abiding disgruntled exchanges and conflicts it’s not hard to see why a flight attendant would snap and hurl himself down the emergency slide.

Given the climate of the times; the economy, unemployment, falling real estate values, higher cost of living, etc, we ALL are under tremendous pressure these days. Every day it seems the vice grip is ratcheted down one more notch. As the pressure mounts, everyone is looking for an escape, an emergency exit, if you will. While there are many escapes it seems Steven Slater found one…literally. His triumphant exit from an environment that no longer felt safe or enjoyable for many has the feel of a Hollywood movie played out right before our eyes--the down trodden rises above his persecutors to “stick it to the man.” In the theatres we root for the underdog and know that everything works out in the end with the good guys holding the winning lottery ticket. Steven Slater supporters see him as the good guy and hope that he will be vindicated and his tormenters will be shamed.

I can with most certainty say that I will not copy the pattern of Steven Slater. I cannot, however, speak for others in my profession. It’s quite possible that Steven has merely paved the way for some to follow suit. Honestly though, I think his exit from the fabulous world of air travel would be extremely hard to beat.

You pack it, You stack it

2010-08-08T18:41:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been getting the impression that the flying public thinks that it is the flight attendants job to pack and arrange bags in the over head bins. What gives me that impression? Well…..The other day I was assisting a customer by directing her to the open overhead space in rear of the aircraft; she ignored my helpful information and began rearranging the bags in the bins above her seat. I heard her mumbling under her breath, “Nevermind me, I’ll just do YOUR job.” The day before that I had another person tell me that she was miffed because she had to gate check her bag. She said,“The flight attendants didn’t arrange the bags in the overhead properly,”

Okay, dear Flying Public, it’s time to set this matter straight. First of all, flight attendants are not baggage handlers. The people hired to sling and arrange bags are on the ground outside the airplane. You can see them through your window. They are the ones making all that bumping noise under your seat. Baggage handlers handle bags. Flight attendants are not baggage handlers. K?

Secondly, it’s YOUR carry on. You are responsible for stowing it. Why do you think we make all those announcements telling you HOW to stow it? Despite repeated instructional announcements, still there are clueless travelers who are not very courteous or efficient in their packing. Some inexperienced folks believe that the overhead bin above their seat belongs solely to them. That’s when we have to smile and explain:
“The overhead bin space is for everyone.” (Including crew)

Thirdly, the FAA allows one carry on and one personal item per traveler. If the plane is full and everyone brings one carry on and one personal item, I don’t care how the overhead bins are arranged, there will NOT be enough overhead space to accommodate everyone’s bags. Also keep in mind that parents fully utilize child labor and make their kids haul suitcases and personal items too. The FAA also has size restrictions on the size of a carry on, but how many people try to sneak in with a larger than usual bag? These travelers have either failed to do their research or are trying to beat the system. Either way, it is extremely inconsiderate to hog all the bin space with your giant bag.

Finally, please be aware that a flight attendant is onboard for your safety and we cannot perform our job if we are injured. I have heard countless stories of co- workers being hurt by onboard luggage- a broken wrist from trying to catch a falling bag, a concussion from being hit in the head with a suitcase. I myself was out of work and in physical therapy for six weeks from an injury I received from repeatedly rearranging suitcases in the overhead bins.

The bottom line is that your bag is your responsibility. You should take responsibility for stowing it properly with courtesy for other passengers. And repeat after me,
“Flight attendants are not baggage handlers.”

Thank you for flying.

Mark Twain/Arrival Check

2010-07-29T21:17:00.000-07:00

The sun is just beginning to rise as the van pulls out of the hotel driveway in Moline, IL at 5:30 in the morning. Everyone on the van is quiet. I’m thinking about Mark Twain. His childhood home is not too far from here. I remember reading Tom Sawyer as a young girl and imagining myself lost in a cave with Tom and Huck. The van rumbles along the country road on the way to the airport. I can see the bridge just ahead that crosses the Mississippi standing large in the landscape. Crossing the bridge, I catch my breath. Instantly, there seems to be no distance between me and the past. The morning sun is soft and pink on the mist that rises from the still, dark waters of the mighty river. A riverboat rests gently on the shore. THIS is what Samuel Clemons saw 145 years ago. THIS is what inspired some of the greatest American literature ever written. THIS is Mark Twain territory.

I had my writing analyzed by “ I write like.” http://iwl.me/ It’s a gimmick, but it’s fun hoping that your word choices and sentence structure will somehow align you with a great, classical author. My analysis said that I had the writing style of Cory Doctorow. “Dr. Who?” you might ask. Exactly. He seems to be prolific, but I have never read him since he is a SCI-FI author. Anyway, I digress from my beloved subject, Mark Twain, who, by the way, said, “An author values a compliment even when it comes from a source of doubtful competency.” Not that I’m an author….But if I was, I would imitate my favorite author and adopt a pen name. For those who don’t know, Mark Twain is a phrase meaning two fathoms or 12 feet in depth. This term was used by river pilots (an occupation Samuel Clemons practiced) when sounding the water depths. There’s a phrase in my profession that is related to altitude that all flight attendants like to hear : “Arrival Check”. How’s that for a pen name? Don’t anybody steal it. I’m going to use it when I become an author.

Mechanical = Ditch your plans

2010-05-02T10:43:00.000-07:00

It all started with the immensely generous woman seated in 3C who stuffed a large bill into my apron pocket and insisted that I go do something nice when I finished with work. What I thought was a $10 bill turned out to be a craftily folded C-note! Newly funded with an extra $100, my mind began to imagine all the “nice” things that I could do on my days off. Strange to say the first thing that came to mind was camping. My parents had been begging my husband and me to join them at their campsite on the beach in South Carolina. Needing no further persuasion, we loaded our sport utility vehicle and headed south to Beaufort, (pronounced Bew-ford) South Carolina.

A hundred and ninety-eight miles down the road, my husband and I were enjoying our progress, singing loudly to the tune on the radio, Love Rain On Me:

“How I need a drink of cool, cool rain…..”

That’s when I heard it. Clat. Clat. Clat. Clat.

I turned the radio off.

“What’s that noise?” I asked.

“Not good.” My husband said, “We are overheating.”

We pulled off onto the shoulder on the barren stretch of interstate on I-16.

“We gotta’ let it cool.” Pat said.

So we dug out the folding chairs and waited. We weren’t waiting long before the Lord sent us a helper. We watched in amazement as a truck driver who had blown passed us stopped and backed his rig down the emergency lane to meet us.

“God bless you folks. Do you need some help? Our Godsend asked.

“My name is Leroy.” He said. “I have a gallon of anti-freeze. You can have it …free of charge. I know people don’t trust truck drivers, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to help you. I get the blessing. ”

“Leroy, we sure appreciate you stopping to help us. Do you know this highway well?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Leroy said.

“Can you tell me if there is a service station close by?”

“Yes, ma’am, just 2 miles down the road.”

Leroy’s phone rang.

“Excuse me, folks. This is my Uncle. Ya’ll have a blessed day,” Leroy waved good bye and left.

Pat filled the radiator with the anti freeze that Leroy gave us and we limped to the next exit.

Fortunately for us, the next exit was an oasis full of helpful people and amenities. We coasted into the closest gas station which just happened to have free water …and air, as it turned out we had a flat tire too! After a thorough assessment of our mechanical situation, we realized that our big weekend plans for camping and beach air were out the window. A blown head gasket was the big spoiler. We made arrangements for a tow back home and checked into a hotel. As circumstances would have it the “something nice” for the weekend turned out to be an overnight stay at the Holiday Inn Express in Metter, Georgia.

In My Defense

2010-02-21T18:23:00.001-08:00

Fighting has never been my forte. Aside from the scratching and biting spat I had with my younger brother once, I have never been in a fight in my life. It’s not lady-like to fight.

Since 9/11, flight attendants at my company have had the opportunity to take close quarters self-defense training, also referred to by flight attendants as “fighting class.” We are instructed in some basic defensive and offensive moves and then made to perform various moves on a striking dummy. I had no idea pummeling a training dummy with my bare fists would unleash in me a “crouching tiger, hidden dragon.”

The Transportation Security Administration also offers self-defense training for airline crew members: http://www.tsa.gov/cmsdt
I took advantage of the free session and spent the day delivering kicks and strikes until I was exhausted and bruised. I learned a few good jujitsu moves that will bring a grown man to the ground. It's all about leverage and joint manipulation. Did you know it only takes 8 lbs. of force to break a collar bone? I dare a bad guy to grab me.

I won’t start a fight but I’ll be darned if I won’t defend myself. Being a victim is not a good feeling. I remember the helplessness I experienced when an attacker snatched my purse. I thought it was over for me. Having some self-defense training has given me the confidence that I won’t be a helpless victim ever again.

Recently my husband signed me up for a kick boxing class. All I can say is “What A Rush!” For someone who abhors women's boxing, I enjoyed putting the smack down on a punching bag way too much. Not only is kick boxing a serious cardio workout that releases major endorphins, but the training provides the repetition needed to build muscle memory to order to react instinctively in a fighting situation.

To be properly geared up for my new endeavors, I found a website for all my kickboxing needs at (of all places) http://www.fightergirls.com/ . Although I still think fighting is unlady-like, a bright pair of pink hand wraps will keep me looking girly while I’m learning to fight like a dude.

Misconnect

2010-02-21T09:05:00.000-08:00

I missed my flight. “What a cluster****,”I thought as my husband and my best friend and her husband pulled away from the gate in the aircraft that I was supposed to be on. Standing at the podium, I’m trying to find someone to blame as the gate agent is chewing me out for causing her to delay the flight (one that I’m not on, mind you.) waiting for me. Why did I miss the flight when everyone else in my party didn’t? Good question. Misinformation is the simple answer.

Starting from the 4:30 wakeup call everything was on schedule. We left the house with plenty of time to swing by the library to drop off a book and to stop off at the in-laws to drop off the dog. I deposited my husband on the airport steps in a very timely manner. I drove to the employee parking lot with 10 minutes to spare to catch the 7:00 bus back to the airport. Oh, but no! There wasn’t a 7:00 bus as I was informed, but a 7:20. Those precious 20 minutes made all the difference in me making the flight and not making the flight.

When I non-rev, I choose to travel in comfortable business casual clothes rather than my uniform for two reasons. The first is that I want to be comfortable. The second reason is that it keeps me in touch with the traveling public. Uniformed crew members enjoy advantages navigating ticketing and screening. Despite the lack of uniform, I smoothly passed through both, but I could not make up for the 20 minutes lost. I moved deliberately and calmly resisting the urge to panic but finding it hard not to be angry at the misinformation. I suppose it is my fault for not checking bus times for myself. I suppose I could have worn my uniform and bypassed ticketing. I suppose I could have given myself a bigger buffer, but I don’t want to blame myself. I want to blame someone else. Which brings me to my next question, what good is it to blame someone? I was hoping that blaming would make me feel better. It doesn’t. What will make me feel better? Maybe a sandwich.

Post Script:
Instead of getting a sandwich, I ran into a flight attendant friend,Shari, who listened to my rant and told me of her woes of missing a flight because of a spiteful gate agent. We concluded that the gate agent was at fault for me missing the flight. “Yeah, it’s the gate agent’s fault.” Now I feel better.

Overview of Layovers

2010-02-06T10:46:00.000-08:00

My favorite thing about being a flight attendant is LAYOVERS. I bid for them, plan for them, obsess over them, look forward to them and pitch a royal fit if something interferes with them. Three important items contribute to a great layover:

#1 Hotels
I love staying in hotels. I mean, who doesn't? Most people associate hotels with being on vacation and that's fun. So for me, going to work is like a mini vacation. When I’m done with work for the day, I check into my room free from the usual chores of home. I don’t have to cook, do laundry or walk the dog. The room is clean with fresh towels and sheets AND I didn’t have to make the bed. Some hotels are cleaner than others, for sure. As long as there are no bugs, filth or rodents, I'm okay. Perfect cleanliness isn’t an absolute must for a great layover. I’ll overlook the Cheeto behind the night stand to be one block from the city train. A good layover hotel must have access to the city or be within walking distance of things of civilization like restaurants, shopping, movie theatres and museums. A friendly hotel staff and shuttle service is also a necessary ingredient to the “great layover mix.” Some of our hotels are landlocked by a labyrinth of interstate highways. Walking across the street to the convenience store on the corner to buy a sub sandwich and a bag of Cheetos for dinner is a life endangering event. Sympathy and a ride from the hotel staff can come in handy. Comfy beds, quiet rooms, Hi def TVs with tons of channels add to a blissful stay. Work out facilities is important too. But in truth, food and libations are the most important things to crew members. Easy access to both at hugely discounted prices pleases all.

#2 Things to do
The great thing about layovers is the ability to explore new places. All it takes is an open mind and a little curiosity. The major cities are obvious playgrounds of adventure. New York, Boston, Philadelphia and Washington D.C. are my favorite cities to visit for their lessons in American history. I’ve been to Faneuil Hall, Independence Hall and New York City Hall. I’ve climbed Bunker Hill, Federal Hill and Capitol Hill. I’ve visited the graves of Ben Franklin, Paul Revere and one unknown. Thanks to my Blackberry and GPS, navigating the public transportation is easy. In Akron, of all places, I stumbled upon a rare and unique exhibit of exquisite Japanese kimonos. A Chicago museum delighted me with the most terrifying display of medieval weaponry that I have ever seen. The Midwest is also the stage of one of my most bizarre layovers. After wandering the sidewalks of down town Wichita and entertaining ourselves by climbing on the outdoor art statues, my crew members and I hitched a ride with a local on Leo’s tricked out limo trike.
He took us to see a creepy, green troll in a storm drain then proceeded to ride us in circles in the parking lot until we threatened to be sick.
I love exploring San Francisco. It is a treasure trove of sightseeing adventures. The public transportation is extensive. Chinatown, Fisherman’s Wharf, Union Square, Golden Gate Park, Lombard Street, Haight-Ashbury,Pacific Heights are all accessible. Renting a car isn’t a bad idea either. It’s a must in L.A. Sunset Blvd. and Rodeo Drive should be viewed from the open rails of a rag top jeep. Sightseeing aside, sometimes I need to get a pedicure and sit on the beach. South Beach, Palm Beach, Manhattan Beach, Pebble Beach, Lido Beach, and Ocean Beach all have one thing in common. My bare feet have walked on their shores and my brightly painted toe nails have burrowed into their sands. I love that I get to explore new places, sample new cuisines and experience different cultures. But sometimes I don’t feel like going anywhere. That’s when a gym, room service and 57 cable channels are most important.

#3 People to do things with
Layovers are so much more satisfying when shared with someone. Over the years, I have enjoyed the company of my fellow crewmembers in restaurants, museums and malls. Some of the best times are when the entire crew meets in the hotel bar for dinner and drinks. The good times are made even better when the captain picks up the tab. A couple of evenings were made memorable by the karaoke performances. Good and bad, we all sang. Yes, we did. I often plan my layovers around cities that I have friends and family in that I want to see. My friends in Vegas that I like to check in on usually take me to good restaurants and recommend the best shows to see. Sarasota layovers are like family reunions for me. I have many relatives there. My aunt who lives minutes from the airport usually picks me up then gives me the use of her car for the day. She feeds me delicious home cooked meals and sends me back to the hotel with fresh baked goodies to share with my co-workers. My friend Mary El lives in DC. She has hosted my visits many times. We have been to great and notable restaurants. She has even given me a personal tour of her work place--the pentagon! One visit I was nursing a wounded shoulder, she showed up at my hotel with 2 bottles of wine which we drank sitting cross legged on the bed while swapping gossip. Since spouses fly for free, numerous times my husband has accompanied me on my layovers. My husband loves the mountains and the snow. He’s always itching for Denver layovers.
For the past year I have been flying with my good friend, Jewel. She and I bid the same schedules so we can always have each other’s company on our layovers. Flying with Jewel has brought a whole new level to bidding for, planning for and obsessing over layovers. We start formulating layover plans the minute we get our schedule. We even plan down to the smallest detail of when and where and how we will get our Dunkin Donuts coffee. In the past I have had some great people to hang out with on layovers, but having a most trusted companion by my side is the best so far. One can chase a thousand, but two can have twice as much fun! Bring on the overnights!

20 Things that make me smile everyday

2010-01-28T10:31:00.000-08:00

A recent study revealed that jobs which require workers to smile all the time are stressful jobs. Apparently it causes human beings anxiety to express emotions that they are not necessarily feeling. Flight attendants were at the top of the list of those workers who suffer from such stress. Every flight attendant I know has had burn out at some point in his or her career, me included. This week I had a trip with Shaun. He confessed to having recovered from a recent burn out. To maintain his renewed state he likes to think of one thing everyday that makes him happy. He inspired me to write this list. It is in no particular order, just the little random things that makes me happy on the job:

1. Dunkin Donuts coffee

2. Cute, little kids

3. Flake ice chips

4. White haired ladies in bright colored blouses

5. The smell of french fries

6. Cowboy hats

7. Light loads

8. Non- revs who bring chocolate

9. Arriving early

10. A magazine stash

11. Giant stuffed animals

12. Discussing a good book

13. Pilots who make coffee runs

14. Flight attendant lounge

15. Shih Tzus

16. Spotting real designer bags

17. Wide-eyed babies

18. USA Today crossword puzzles

19. Starbucks coffee

20. Happy people

I love New York

2010-01-09T17:34:00.000-08:00

I heart NY! And yes, I have the t-shirt, which I promptly cut in flash dance style and wore to the gym. Jealous admirers gave me nods of approval. A young spin queen asked in a breathy, excited voice, "Are you from New York?" Grinning, I replied, "I just got back from a layover there last night."

Working a New York flight can be very interesting. The flight attendant's mantra is no drama, but that is rarely the case with LGA flights. Often the flights are delayed. More often the flights are packed. The people are interestingly eclectic. Some are flat out unique. Like, dry eye girl, "Excuse me, I get dry when I fly. Can I have some ice for my eyeballs?" Me. "Uh, would you like that in a cup?" Like a cross section of America, all nationalities and types are represented in the New York crowd. The possibilities are astounding and mingled with many challenges. I relish the opportunity to work multiple LGA turns for a fabulous 18 hour NYC layover.

Flying over the city for approach into LaGuardia airport is a thrill every time. I peek out of my jump seat window and strain to spot the Statue of Liberty. The great American landmark is so tiny from the air, but her silhouette is unmistakable. The airplane travels parallel to the city. Even through my porthole, the skyline is utterly remarkable. It is amazing that so many buildings can be packed into what appears to be a small island and still leave room for a park which is a brilliant, green swathe in the midst of a sea of grey and black. At night the park is a dark patch and the lights of Times Square can be seen through the rows of buildings.

My best friend, Jewel, is also a flight attendant and the one with whom I share many of my travel adventures. Armed with an amazingly keen sense of direction, she has navigated us through the deepest NYC subways to world renowned places, parks, buildings and restaurants. Her enthusiasm has cultivated my appreciation. She is the reason I love New York.

Our latest visit to the city began with a trek to Katz's Deli for pastrami sandwiches that would make you slap your mama. We are talking fresh, juicy, savory pastrami piled 4 inches high. Worth every penny of the $14.75 it cost. Jewel and I split it, so no big whoop. Sherry, our fellow crew member, joined us on our city jaunt. She proved to be a worthy companion ready for any quest of the day. Our next stop was a short walk to Sugar Sweet Sunshine for the most amazing red velvet cupcakes. We arrived to find the bakery closed for the week. As we pressed our disappointed faces to the shop glass, a passerby heard our lamenting and suggested another bakery just down the street. There was nothing sinister about his face, but I should have suspected a ruse when he called out after us, "You won't be disappointed!"
We found the tiny shop just as he said. As Jewel and Sherry eyed the menu, I noticed a giant placard on the opposite wall: Not one of our products contains one grain of white sugar. We rolled our eyes. Great, we landed in a hippie joint. What's the point of a cupcake without sugar? "For research," Jewel said as she bit into a red velvet-type cupcake. She chewed slowly as she tried to hide her face contortions from the shop hostess. "I don't smoke, she said, but this health food crap makes me want a cigarette. Let's get outta here." We bolted off to our next destination --Canal Street

Now, when I say Sherry was a worthy companion that wasn't the half of it. She was on a mission to find some perfume. In just a short time she found what she was looking for but not before we were approached by knock-off bag sellers. "Coach, Fendi, Channel. You want bag?" they hissed at us from behind. Sherry loves wheelin' and dealin." No, I told you I would pay $40.00." I heard her say to the perfume guy. "I'm leaving. Somebody doesn't want to make a sell today," she added. I almost felt sorry for the guy. He lowered the price again and then she insisted he throw in another fragrance as she barked, "Spray that one on me, I don't buy perfume without knowing what it will smell like on me. No, no, I don't want that. What about the one in the blue box?" I think I saw him glare at her. In the end Sherry was happy. She walked away with 3 big bottles for $55. The perfume guy was probably happy to see her go.

Ferrara's bakery in little Italy has the most beautiful pastry display. The cannoli ranks as the best. We visited the competition on this trip, La Bella Ferrara's for cannoli research. The jury is still undecided on this one since we forgot to actually eat the cannoli. La Bella's mainly provided us with a bathroom break and a place to warm our faces and hands. It was already a cold day but the temperature was dropping as the sun was setting. It was a short walk from there to the train station to scout out another location.

With nothing more than an address and a hope, we walked another 4 blocks to 157 W. 17th St. We had been tipped off by another flight attendant and a NY resident that we were en route to a great NY thrift store. All the while, I'm imaging stumbling into a Xanadu of REAL (but gently used) designer merchandize. Coach, Fendi, Channel! What awaited us was exactly the same scene that I find in thrift stores back home, except with higher prices. Sherry and I are regular thrifters. We were going to make a believer out of Jewel, but sadly not that day. We browsed a bit and walked away with a few purchases, of all things, a big, hard back book and an even heavier pottery bowl. Heavy-ladened with our treasures we traipsed to Grand Central Station.

Grand Central Station houses not only a train station, but also has a number of excellent restaurants and shops. Junior's has THE cheesecake and Zara's has THE bagels. Jewel stocked up on bagels and black and white cookies for her grandmother, while Sherry and I listened to the ringing tones of the acapella gospel singers. As soon as the singing stopped another voice reverberated under the great ceiling. Hey, Hey, woot, woot. Scanning the crowds, we spotted a man striding purposefully through the corridor. He looked like a Peruvian mountain man on a mission. He was bundled in a dirty, tattered costume of white with colored piping. He sported giant, black furry boot/slippers that came to his knees. As he sang out his tune he boldly made eye contact with us and as quickly as he came he disappeared leaving us with his haunting melody. That was weird. We laughed and walked out onto the street headed for Times Square.

Right out front of TGI Fridays in Times Square is a web cam. If you position yourself in the middle of the sidewalk, you can be seen live in Times Square by your friends and family back home on their computer. One block over is the Best Western Times Square. We had to go scope it out because Jewel had made a reservation there a month prior that she couldn't keep and wanted to see what she had missed.
On the way we were lured into a Turkish restaurant by the 2 for 1 martinis advertised on the outdoor billboard. Our server, Ibars, brought the first round of martinis. He spilled Jewel's espresso martini all over the table. Apologizing, he mopped up the mess. Unfazed, we toasted each other and the good time that we were having. Then the 2nd round of martinis came. Ibars did the unthinkable and spilled another drink! He gushed with apologies, exclaiming that he was a wonderful server. By this time the first martini had taken effect, we laughed at the mishap and worried even less with the mess. To make amends, Ibars brought us a bowl of the best tasting hummus that has ever been made and a shot of purple love. After paying our tab, we thanked Ibars for spilling on us and left on the way to the last stop of the evening.

Giddy with spirits, we loudly made our way to Rockefeller Center laughing and chiming the Peruvian mountain man's song. Hey. Hey. Woot. Woot. Amazingly, we were no longer cold. The giant Christmas tree was still on display, so we snapped a few pictures of its final evening standing in NYC while we posed in front. I think the photographs capture our elated mood. We all agreed that even though it was very late it was well worth the loss of sleep to have had this grand experience. A quick cab ride got us back to the hotel in 15 minutes. Just in time to land 4 hour of sleep before a 4am wake up call.

It’s hard to believe that we did all those things and visited all those places in just an 18 hour layover. Recounting the events reaffirms why I love NY and reminds me why I love being a flight attendant.

2009-12-31T15:12:00.000-08:00

This particualar blog is going to make me seem like the biggest b****. However, what I gripe about is common to all flight attendants. These are just a few of the things we talk about on the jumpseat and behind the galley curtain.

Everybody's a comedian! I have completely lost my sense of humor as a result of being subjected to lame and corny quips from passenger upon passenger who actually believes he is the most clever and witty person to step aboard my aircraft all day. What makes the scene so sad is that the comments uttered in attempts to entertain the flight crew are usually the most unoriginal and unentertaining. What is so funny about "I'll have my steak medium rare?" This is spoken by the passenger as soon as he enters the aircraft in response to my "Hello, welcome aboard." How can he know the agony I experience as I smile weakly and laugh? It it similar to nails on the chalk board. He walks away to the back of the aircraft feeling proud of himself that he is so funny and makes a mental note to use that line again every time he flies.

Imagine how fun it is to fly with Captain Hook. No matter how clever people imagine they are, no one, and I mean no one, can come up with an original line. Except maybe a professional comedian and then they wouldn't even attempt it because it's not original to go after the obvious joke. Where's Peter Pan, Oh, you must be Wendy, Tinkerbell, Snee etc.,Is this flight going to Neverland are just a few of the "good ones". After a while you grow numb as your face is frozen in a fake smile. I don't have to fly with Captain Hook very often but everyday when he goes to work he has to endure the torture. People, please have mercy. The same holds true for Captain Morgan. He didn't pick his name. Don't make him have to change professions to silence the chorus of yo ho ho and a bottle of rum and every other worn out pirate quip. Argh, Matey.

The FAA has requirements for the people who sit in the emergency exit row. Being funny is not one of those requirements but that doesn't stop the able-bodied from trying. Every flight I have to give a special briefing to each person seated in the emergency exit rows. This briefing is three straightforward questions that require a simple response of "yes." Keep in mind this procedure has to take place before we can shut the airplane door and get you on the way to Cincinatti. The first question: Are you aware that you are seated in the emergency exit row? The comedian acts surprised. I ignore his antics and nod my head. Next question: Do you understand the responsiblity? The comedian chimes, "I'm the first one off the plane!" Deep breath. Not smiling I nod again. This is serious business. We ARE talking about an emergency evacuation. Third and final question: Are you willing to assist? My personal comedian reaches for the emergency exit and shouts out with esctasy because he believes his final act of self-imagined wittiness will bring the entire airplane to their knees, "Do you want me to practice?"

I have concluded that it is our culture to be casual and light hearted. The good-natured passengers that I see everyday are proof. I don't really despise people for attempting humor. I would rather bear a hundred corny jokes a day than encounter one rude and surly passenger any day. My one exhortation to society is to not be afraid to play the "straight man." I hope to encourage those that I love to use a language filter. If you have a thought pop into your head of something that you'd like to say. Filter it. "Is this original? Is this really funny? How many other people have had this same thought?" Giving pause will allow you to filter out the common things and spare you the embarassment of a failed joke. No one will fault you for smiling and saying hello. Not everyone appreciates humor, but everyone respects politeness.