Confessions of a Hostie 3

by Danielle Hugh

  A good night should be followed by a girly day of pampering, shopping, and self-indulgence. Yippee.

  digging a hole for yourself

  I wake up early, not 2.15 a.m., but still early. I hit the gym before having breakfast by the pool. While I eat breakfast, Julia strolls by. She woke early, ordered room service, yet assures me that she is always up for another coffee. She joins me to excitedly discuss shopping and pampering plans for the day.

  Julia mentions a fabulous massage and spa joint not far from the shopping center. I've actually been several times before - loving the place.

  'Have you had the massage and full body scrub combo?' she asks.

  I haven't. I am intrigued.

  'One hour of massage, I like oil' reveals Julia, 'and then a further hour of being massaged with a body scrub lotion. It's a bit rough, not painful, but you feel fantastic after.'

  'Count me in' I say with excitement.

  I am still in my gym gear, so I return to my room for a shower and to get changed before venturing to the hotel lobby where I'll meet Julia.

  I have a spring in my step entering the lobby, but only momentarily. My heart sinks as sitting in a lobby chair is Wendy. I politely say 'good morning' before she continues to explain why it is not a good morning at all. With or without sleeping tablets, this girl must dream negative thoughts.

  'No, no, no' I think when Wendy reveals she is going to the same massage place as Julia and I. It gets worse; she invites herself to share a taxi. She has never been to the massage place before. She asks a myriad of questions, mostly about price. We are in Jakarta; to us everything is cheap, yet she asks about the costs anyway - repeatedly.

  For a two hour Indonesian massage it costs less than an apple martini in New York, even so, the price continues to be a sticking point for Wendy. She then queries about what type of massages are available, the state of the rooms, and the price structure (again). I have only been a few times before. I get massages all over the world, mostly in Asia, so I cannot remember specifics. I did recall there were individual rooms, or cubicles, with a mattress at ground level with a slot in it where you can place your face. I also tell Wendy that at the end of the mattress was a recess in the floor, a step-down box, where the masseur climbed in to kneel down and work on your head.

  Wendy had not heard of this step-down area in other massage places, being intrigued.

  'I love my head being worked on' she says, almost jovially. 'So they kneel in this box and massage your head?'

  I explain that it is not really a box; more a recess in the floor, but in essences 'yes'.

  'So how much does it cost again?' she asks causing me to grit my teeth in frustration.

  Julia turns up. Thank god. Behind Julia is another girl from the crew. She too wants to share a cab.

  Taxis in Indonesia are so cheap. I'd much prefer to share a cab just with Julia, as planned, but feel obligated to let the other two girls tag along. A 20 minute cab ride with Wendy will be 20 minutes too long. Just then another girl from the crew steps into the lobby. She too is going the same direction.

  Yay - five people - too many to share one standard cab. Julia is on the same page as me, offering to jump in a taxi with me while the others can share another cab.

  Wendy races to the first taxi which arrives at the hotel. With Julia's insistence, the two other girls reluctantly hop into Wendy's cab. I could sense they were embarrassed that Wendy took off without any consideration to the rest of us.

  'Go' I tell them. 'We'll see you there.'

  Julia also noted Wendy's self-centered charge to get the first taxi. She verbalizes what I am thinking:

  'We're off to get a massage and shop, so what's a few more moments waiting going to matter?'

  Unfortunately those few more moments end up being another 15 minutes. Finally a cab comes.

  Julia has a sharp wit. She comments that a 15 minutes wait is a small price to pay for avoiding being with Wendy. I rarely voice such forthright views. I think them, but seldom say them out loud. In this instance my smug smile is a give-away that I agree wholeheartedly with Julia's comment. Wendy is never going to be on either of our Christmas card lists.

  When we arrive at the massage place the three other girls must already be inside. Julia and I are told we have to wait almost two hours for a massage because the staff are busy. The other crew must be the cause of the delay. It is no big deal. As much as we would have loved a massage first up, there are plenty of other things to do while waiting. At the top of the list is shopping. Other activities on my 'me-list' include a haircut, a facial, and a pedicure, but they can wait until after the massage, so, for now, shopping it is.

  Jakarta has many copy goods, but they also have the real McCoy items. Many of the big brand companies have factories in Indonesia, so you can find some incredibly cheap bargains. In today's center I visit a factory outlet clothing store with brands like Hugo Boss, Versace, Burberry, and Lacoste. It is a great opportunity to buy some nice polo shirts for Dean. He also hinted that he could use a new pair of sunglasses. I might go down the 'copy' path for those. I buy three pairs of Ray-bans and four shirts before my massage beckons.

  I meet up with Julia. I have been salivating at the thought of a two hour massage and body scrub combination. I've had plenty of facial scrubs, but not full body. There are choice of scrubs, with different flavors. Julia said she had a coffee-infused scrub last time.

  I clowned that I am a coffee-addict; rubbing coffee into my skin while it is trying to escape from the inside might be a recipe for disaster.

  It would be like two swollen rivers colliding, I joked.

  The most popular scrubs, according to the girl at the front desk, were green tea or a cream vanilla flavored.

  Vanilla scrub it is, I say instantly. Julia will have the same.

  The massage component is first - an hour of oiled bliss. The little recess or box at the head-end of the mattress is a brilliant idea. The masseuse kneels down, being in the perfect position to rub my head, neck, and shoulders. I'm in seventh heaven.

  The scrub component is a continuation of the massage, yet using the cream with some sort of grit in it. It feels a bit like sandpaper when applied and rubbed in, but it is not uncomfortable. The hour goes very quickly with my skin revitalized. After the massage and scrub I shower as bits of the grit are still on my skin. Showered, relaxed, and grit-free, I'm ready to indulge in the next of the activities on my 'me-list'. Julia has some more shopping to do, so we will meet for a coffee later in the afternoon before sharing a cab back to the hotel.

  As I make my way to the hairdressing salon I see Wendy hobbling through the shopping center, being helped by one of the other girls.

  'What happened to you?' I ask when seeing a bandage wrapped around her leg.

  'I fell down THAT hole.'

  'What hole?'

  'That hole at the end of the massage mattress. I know you told me about it, and I even saw it, but I fell in it anyway' tells Wendy.

  'Oh you poor thing' I reply, trying hard to sound sincere.

  I've just been in the massage place. All the cubicles are the same. That recess in the floor is past the mattress on the floor and the same width as the mattress. It is clearly visible and hard up against a wall. Why would she step into it?

  I know Wendy is a pain and self-centered, but I guess we can add not-so-bright to the list of adjectives. She tells me that she fell in 'the hole' when she went into the cubicle. This means she fell BEFORE the massage.

  Even though she wants to lament about the pain of the fall, I ask 'So, what about the massage?'

  I'm no fool. I can evaluate that Wendy must have had the massage and then gone shopping. She arrived at the shopping center over four hours ago. She probably had a two hour massage before going shopping. The other girl is carrying an armful of bags. I would bet any money that most of the bags belong to Wendy.

  Wendy confirms that she did indeed have the massage. She fell, scraped her leg, they wrapped her leg in
a bandage, and then she had her massage. After, she somehow convinced one of the hosties to go shopping with her and to carry her shopping bags.

  Wendy explains that they are going back to the hotel to report the accident to the onboard manager as she will not be able to operate on the aircraft the following day. Our company will not have time to fly in a replacement for her, so logic tells me we will be operating home one crew member short. This also means Wendy will be a passenger on our flight. It will be a double whammy.

  I meet with Julia for coffee, with Wendy the first topic of conversation. Julia also saw Wendy hobbling through the shopping center, even later than I saw her. We compare time frames, guessing that Wendy shopped for at least another 30 minutes after announcing to me that she was returning to the hotel to report the incident.

  Julia is not surprised with any of Wendy's actions. What was annoyance at Wendy's personality has turned into outright hate, at least from Julia's point-of-view. I think similar thoughts, nevertheless I keep my mouth shut. Julia knows what I am thinking though.

  There is no doubt Wendy is not the most likable human-being on the planet, and her fall is certainly not life-threatening, however she genuinely could not work in her condition. Her leg is a little swollen and bruised.

  Julia is less sympathetic, deducing: 'If she can hobble around and shop for several hours, then surely she can push a damn cart on the plane.'

  I doubt Wendy can, but regardless, our workload will be dramatically increased because of Wendy's foolishness.

  some are accidentally more foolish than others

  Many crew suffer injuries while away from home; some onboard, although numerous are hurt while on layovers. Accidents occur, but add in jetlag and exhaustion and the chances of something going wrong dramatically increase. I know one crew member who walked straight outside our crew hotel and stepping onto the road to be hit by a bus. His injuries were severe, but he survived.

  A 'flying' girlfriend of mine was on a layover after working a 14 hour flight across numerous time zones. She had a few hours sleep to then join the crew for a drink at the hotel's bar before going out for dinner. She only had the one cocktail at the bar and was on her first glass of champagne at the restaurant when she semi-dozed off. Her head just dropped momentarily. Unfortunately she slammed her face into the champagne glass, breaking it, leaving a nasty gash above her eye. She was so lucky, it could have easily pierced her eyeball.

  I've heard of all sorts of crew injuries, from muggings to falling off pushbikes.

  You must remember that most crew get out-and-about when staying in a foreign land. We face all the usual travel problems the general public face, yet we travel so much more than most - and the majority of the time we are jetlagged or tired. Things will happen.

  I have never been seriously injured while away on a trip - touch wood. I was once sick in New York, which would have been a fantastic place to enjoy the few extra days if I hadn't been genuinely bed-bound. It is no fun being sick anywhere, let alone being on your own in a foreign country. Sometimes crew are able to passenger home, like Wendy will, but sometimes they cannot. I know of several incidences where flight attendants have had weeks or even months stuck in other countries, with illnesses not permitting them to fly.

  In Wendy's case her accident was caused by her own foolishness. It is hard to be overly sympathetic; a fact pointed out by Julia in the cab ride back to the hotel. Wendy will not be operating on the flight home. This will impact the entire crew. The taxi ride is slow, so Julia has much time to vent. Jakarta traffic can be a nightmare. It is this afternoon.

  Travelling the world I have the opportunity to see the most amazing things, visiting iconic tourist attractions and spectacular scenery. With that said, sometimes a simple taxi ride can expose some surprisingly interesting sights. The streets and main roads in Jakarta are chaotic, with motorbikes everywhere. They dart in and out of the traffic at incredible speed; some have one driver, some a pillion passenger, so several passengers - and more. On my last Jakarta trip I saw a family of six, including a newborn, all crammed onto the one bike. I've seen two school-age boys on the back of a bike with their father in Mumbai, India, with both sons doing their homework while the bike weaved through traffic. I've seen crates of chickens being carried on the handlebars of a motorbike in Vietnam and I've seen kids as young as one or two hanging on for dear life - and none wearing helmets. They rarely do in third world countries.

  What I see coming up alongside our current taxi, for me, is the most bizarre motorbike incident yet: A man is steering the motorbike while his female companion is holding on to the bike with one hand and the other arm is holding cartons of beer. These are not flat cartons with cans of beer, but high cartons with large bottles of beer - THREE cartons of them. They stack up much higher than her head. She cannot see a thing, yet he is driving at speed along a main road - weaving in and out of traffic.

  I point it out to Julia. We joke that they must be going to a party, giving kudos to the woman. Julia says there is no way she would carry even one carton of beer to a car, let alone sit on a motorbike with it. I tell Julia about seeing the family of six on the one bike on my last trip to Jakarta.

  'That's nothing' Julia says pulling out her phone to show me a picture; displaying a photo from a recent trip to Cambodia.

  'How many people are on this motorbike?' she asks with a smile.

  At first glance it looks a lot; probably seven, maybe eight.

  'Nine people' she answers.

  She hands me the phone. I start counting. She is right, there are nine family members on the one bike - and not babies, but a mother and father with seven kids ranging from three or four years-of-age to teenagers. I am dumfounded. This is not some photo-shopped joke, but a genuine photo taken through the window of a taxi. I ask Julia to send the photo to my phone, so when I tell the story of nine people on a motor-bike, not being some sort of Guinness Book of Records stunt, people will believe me.

  On an unrelated note, Julia shows me another photo on her phone. The accompanying story is hilarious: The photo is of a pair of men's old fashion white underpants pulled over the handle of an aircraft's emergency exit door. I thought it was a joke, expecting a caption like: only touch in case of emergency. I was not a joke at all. Julia explains that a passenger went to the toilet after obviously soiling themselves. He washed his underpants in the sink and slipped them over the door handle to dry.

  'This is the same door handle they expect me to open if there is an emergency' she quipped.

  The emergency exit was in full view of dozens of passengers, with many eager to point out to Julia who the culprit was. She took a photo before notifying the man that emergency exits were not a public laundry. I won't reveal the man's nationality, but can say, that according to Julia, he was not the least embarrassed. She also noted that even though the underpants were wet and washed, she reveals they were far from white.

  'Too much information' I said cringing at the thought.

  'So what happened next?' I asked, still being curious.

  In broken English the man questioned: 'If I can't hang them (being the underpants) here, then where can I hang them?'

  Julia's reply?

  'In the trash can.'

  We finally arrive back at the hotel. I go back to my room for a quick shower, then change before heading down to the pool bar again.

  All four from last night are there, as well as several others from the crew, including the boss. The manager, David, is a nice guy. He sits down to explain Wendy's predicament, reiterating she will not be operating the next day. The way David tells the story, Wendy fell AFTER her massage and came straight back to the hotel to report her injuries.

  'The poor thing' he says with empathy.

  Hang on, I thought, did he just say what I believe he said?

  Julia cannot hold her tongue.

  'Sorry David, I think you'll find that she fell BEFORE her massage.'

  He assures Julia that she must be wrong.


  Julia sits forward in her seat, facing David. She is ready to explode.

  I too am ready to speak-up.

  All I need to say is: 'Julia is not wrong.'

  David changes tact. He now knows two crew members have reiterated that Wendy's story is not correct.

  Julia leans in close to David to whisper 'I wouldn't feel too sorry for Wendy if I were you. She couldn't have been badly injured as Wendy slipped as soon as she went into the massage place - AND THEN HAD A MASSAGE. That was just after ten o'clock this morning. I saw her at around three in the afternoon; that's five hours later. She must have shopped for at least two hours before coming back to the hotel and reporting to you. Sorry David, she plays the sympathy card - give me a break.'

  With that Wendy appears in the pool area - in a wheelchair. She is being pushed in by the same poor girl who carried her shopping bags. Wendy has come to the pool bar for two reasons: to have a drink and to get sympathy. Drinks she may have, but sympathy...?

  I have learned over the years only one negative or self-indulgent person can often spoil the mood of a whole group. The mood changes considerably after Wendy's arrival. Any (great) conversation we were having is put on hold. Wendy takes center stage - it is all about her. I'm not jealous, just disappointed. We had the best discussions the previous evening and I was really looking forward to continuing. The mood is completely different tonight.