by Joe Thomas
It didn’t end there. She continued hitting buttons and speaking to whoever answered. By the fifth call I questioned why anyone in Tulsa cared about our diversion. I was traveling with the residents from the island of misfit toys. How did they escape and end up on my flight?
After spending only an hour on the runway in Harrisburg—it felt more like a week—the captain came over the PA and updated us on our new take off time. He added that everyone needed to be in their seats within five minutes—with their seat belts fastened—and that if the airplane had not departed by that time, our next opportunity to leave would be in three hours. I’ve never seen adults move so fast in my life.
The airplane shot into the sky like the space shuttle. As our airplane lifted off from the tarmac we got a clear view of three other airplanes from my airline that had diverted to Harrisburg. When Reeta saw the matching tail fins outside my window she started screaming,“They’re lyin’ to us. There are otha planes here just like this one. We could have gotten off the plane.”
My patience had worn thin with this women. I turned to her, “They diverted like we did. That is why they are here. They couldn’t land safely either.”
She stayed quiet for the short flight back to New York City. As we made a turbulent, but safe, landing at JFK she cried the entire time threatening to never fly again.
That was a threat that I hope turned into a promise.
When Flight Attendants Attack!
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome on board flight 666 with service to LaGuardia. My name is Joe and it’s my displeasure to be working with Carol. She’s the nasty looking she-devil standing in the middle of the cabin. She’s also a total bitch so feel free to throw your empty cups of ice, dirty diapers, and any other trash at her whenever she walks up and down the aisle. In addition, there’s a free drink in it for you if she cries. Thank you. Please sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight.”
That was the safety demonstration running through my head while standing at the front of the airplane preparing to work a flight from Tampa to LaGuardia. Working a flight to LaGuardia is difficult enough, just ask any flight attendant, but adding Carol to the mix made it unbearable. Flights to LaGuardia-or LaGarbage (which is how I will refer to it from now on)—are not my favorite. Every flight I’ve ever worked in and out of LaGarbage the passengers were demanding, rude, and took enough beverages off the airplane to last them through another Hurricane Sandy. What made the entire flight worse, if that was possible, was knowing I’d be stuck in a metal tube with the evil Carol. Carol can only be described as vile, disgusting, and so unfriendly I can’t fathom how she’s continued her employment as a flight attendant.
I don’t know many of the people based in Cleveland and I am perfectly okay with that. Some of my coworkers treat this job as a high school repeat. Fuck that! I struggled enough as an outcast throughout my four years in high school, who the hell wants to relive that nightmare? The popular flight attendants make it a point to know every pilot and every flight attendant in the base. They’ve worked with most of them, slept with a few of them, know all their personal business, and share it on the airplane as galley gossip. It’s like third period study hall but with a lot less pounding of erasers and a lot more pounding of sphincters.
Now that I think about it, there could be some benefit to knowing more people at work. If I knew I didn’t like someone, it would help me decide whether I wanted to work the assigned trip or trade it for another one. At my airline, flight attendants and pilots receive their monthly schedule weeks before the new month starts. Even though I have the names of all the flight attendants assigned to my trips, I usually have no clue who they are.
I often find myself sitting on Evan’s sofa calling out names like a game show announcer, “Who’s Beau Dawkins? How’s he to work with?”
He’ll look up from his laptop with a chuckle, “Ewww. Beau Dawkins? You won’t like him.”
He’s always right.
Airline crew lounges have a multitude of flight attendants and pilots filing in and out at all hours of the day. With crew briefings being conducted, lunches being devoured, and gossip broadcasted from one ear to the next, it’s a challenge tracking down the people you are working with. It’s not until I’ve printed out the flight details, stood in the middle of the crew lounge, and yelled out to anyone who happens to be listening do I finally meet the flight attendants I’ll be spending countless of hours with for the duration of the trip.
That was how it happened a few years ago when I was assigned a three day trip with layovers in Tampa and LaGarbage. Two cities that I don’t like flying into, but I’m not senior enough to put on my avoid list.
Standing in the Cleveland crew lounge I yelled, “Who’s going to Tampa?” awaiting a response from the dozen or so people fluttering around the expansive room. I quickly saw two hands raise at the back of the room. With my big smile, I collected my required items from the table and walked over to the computer station where these two ladies were seated. Our required items must be with us at all times during each flight. These include such things as: our flight attendant manual, a flashlight, a working watch with a second hand, and our employee ID. To name a few. There are also a few off-the-record required items you should bring with you as a flight attendant, and those are: a friendly smile, patience, a can of mace, dollars to tip the van driver, and a desire to drink. The mace is for walking to your car late at night in the employee parking lot or to blind horny pilots who get too touchy in the hotel elevator. When our trip starts, we must prove to each other that we’ve brought our items before we step onto the airplane. It’s adults babysitting adults. Imagine working in an office building and stopping each person that enters your cubicle area checking to be sure they brought their laptop, stapler, and that they are dressed appropriately and not like homeless gutter trash. It’s annoying. It’s childish. It makes me feel like the hall monitor ready to report anyone who steps out of line. Sure, some flight attendants need supervision (okay most flight attendants) but my stance is this, if the FAA walks onto the airplane demanding to see a flight attendant’s manual and they don’t have it, then they should be held accountable. Agree?
But let’s get back to the story. I made my way across the room and walked up to the two flight attendants, “Hi. I’m Joe. How you guys doing tonight?” There were three desktop computers sitting on top of a chipped gray formica counter that was attached to the wall. I placing my oversized flight attendant manual on the counter next to a computer that nobody was using.
“Doing great, Joe.” One of them answered. She had a beautiful smile and warm greeting. “I’m Amber. Are you new to the base?” I liked her right away.
“No. I’ve been here awhile. I guess we just haven’t worked together.”
That was as far as I’d get to liking anyone on this trip. Sitting to Amber’s right was a frizzy blond-haired flight attendant who had yet to look up from the computer screen. She pounded furiously at the keyboard and I wondered what the keyboard had done to put her in such a grumpy mood. It wouldn’t take me long to learn that the keyboard was just an innocent bystander like the rest of us. Plain and simple, Carol was a vicious cunt.
She still refused to introduce herself. After a second or two of silence I continued the conversation, “Are you guys ready to brief?” I lifted my manual off the counter, “Do you have your manuals?” I asked ignoring the steamy attitude protruding from Carol.
She came to life, “Really? You wanna see my manual?” Her sarcasm leaped out and scratched the surface of my skin without us touching. Amber simply reached into her bag and removed her manual.
I told you I liked Amber.
“Yes,” the aggravation in my tone harder to hide, “I would love to see your manual.”
Carol rolled her eyes as if I was her father telling her she had to finish her homework, clean her room, and pray to Jesus for a better attitude before she would be allowed to go out on her date. Sadly, not even the little baby Jesus could help this gir
l out.
She was pissed, and I will be honest, I loved every fucking minute of it. Without her speaking one syllable she pulled out her flight attendant manual and the three of us completed our crew briefing. The instant we finished she began banging at the computer keyboard and added, “I still have work to do on the computer, Amber. I’ll meet you at the gate.”
I smiled while packing my manual into my tote bag. Did this little kinky haired bitch think she was upsetting me? She had better think again. Her disdain gave me the power and ammunition I needed to verbally attack her later on the flight. I grabbed my bags and started walking away, “I’ll meet you guys at the gate. It’s B9.”
Amber stood up, grabbing her bag, “I’m coming with you. I need to get some coffee.”
We were scheduled to fly from Cleveland to Tampa and then up to LaGarbage for the night. Sadly, I was ready for the trip to be over before it even started. Carol arrived to the gate at the last possible moment (not a surprise) and the three of us boarded the airplane and conducted our security checks. As I was placing my cell phone in my tote bag I remember that I had forgotten to brief them on electronic devices. Each airline has specific rules regarding flight attendants and pilots using electronic devices while they are working on the airplane with passengers. The rules are simple—we are not allowed. Electronic devices included are: laptops, iPhones, iPads, cell phones of any type, tablets, e-readers, and anything else with an on and off switch. Surprisingly, not vibrators. That’s important to know when working a red-eye flight. Cell phone—NO! Vibrator—YES! Some airlines are more lenient than others, but the airline I work for forbids it. There are no chances. If you make a mistake and get reported by a passenger, caught by management, or tattled on by a ruthless flight attendant for having any electronic device on while passengers are present then it’s adios amigo. I have known a few amazing and talented flight attendants fired for simply forgetting to turn their cell phone off and putting it away in their tote bag. The repercussions for using electronics during the flight are equivalent to a positive drug test, which is something I have questioned since my first day on the job. In my opinion, an electronic device in the on position during a flight can’t compare to a flight attendant doing a line of cocaine off a Cuban dancer’s ass on a nine hour Miami layover. But what do I know?
Carol and Amber were standing in the back of the airplane by the last row as I sauntered down the aisle to remind them about the electronic device policy. Whatever conversation they were having came to a quick halt the moment I passed row 22. This happened for the remainder of the trip every time I stepped within earshot of their conversation.
“Hey guys, I just wanna remind you to be careful with your electronic devices during the flight. Be smart if you take them out. I don’t want anyone to get in trouble.”
Amber nodded in agreement. Carol’s head spun around like it wasn’t attached to her spine, “I’ve signed a union card so don’t worry about me!” She turned and walked to the back galley.
What was up with this asshole? Why was she so hostile towards me? Did I remind her of an ex-boyfriend who broke her heart by fucking her high school best friend? A pregnancy test that came back positive? An abortion that didn’t keep? Maybe she had a bald uncle who slipped into her childhood bedroom one night and tried playing hide Uncle Bob’s salami. I had no clue but I was starting to question if I actually did work with Carol at one point and that we left the airplane as mortal enemies instead of best friends. I racked my brain for a split second. Nope, I did not know this fucker. One doesn’t forget meeting Satan’s illegitimate offspring. And I say illegitimate because even Satan wouldn’t claim Carol as his own. I forcefully gripped the top of an airplane seat and blasted out, “I didn’t mention anything about the union but you go ahead and do whatever you want.”
I released the seat cushion, leaving an indentation, and stormed up the aisle like someone just asked for a cup of coffee on a 30 minute flight. All I wanted to do was tear that untamed fucking mop out of her head one strand at a time. I’d even take a delay to make sure I got every last lock.
A union card? Who even brought up anything about the union? If throwing that up in my face was her war tactic, this would be a slam dunk battle.
My airline is one of the last few airlines that do not have union representation for flight attendants. Some days I like this; some days I don’t. But officially, I am not on board with welcoming a third party union into my workplace. That’s my own belief. I refuse to push my anti-union beliefs on my fellow flight attendants and I appreciate it when they do the same by not shoving their union beliefs down my throat like an unwanted dick. What am I saying? Have I lost my mind? Is there really such a thing as an unwanted dick?
The answer is no. There is no such thing as an unwanted dick. Just in case you were wondering.
Union talk is very dangerous territory at my airline. There are union pins, union bag tags, and a union website for union representation that doesn’t even exist at the airline. Conversations regarding unions should be left on the jet bridge along with other topics like: religion, politics, and if you blew the first officer on a layover in Salt Lake City.
When I approached the front of the airplane I fought the urge to smack my head against the overhead bin for not delivering a juicier quick-witted response. Anyway, I had no time to dwell. Within seconds passengers started filing in one right after another. As I smiled and welcomed them onto the airplane I couldn’t help but see the words flash across my brain like a billboard, “You dirty whore, nobody cares if you signed a union card. You should be signing a letter of resignation.”
By the time the last passenger stepped onto the airplane I was beside myself. Carol’s voice over the PA was like fingernails across a blackboard. How was I going to manage through a three day trip with this monster? I ignored the urge to hammer a stake through her heart. Although nothing would have made me happier than to impale her with a blunt instrument, I decided against it. The last thing I needed was to go back on disciplinary action. The best way to forge ahead was to stay in the front of the airplane for the entire trip. I’d refrain from passing row 12 unless someone was dying. And hopefully that someone was named Carol.
My plan didn’t last long and I quickly found myself in the back galley talking with Amber whenever I passed through the cabin doing a security check. At least Amber treated me like a human being and not part of the fuselage. When I stepped into the back galley, Amber attempted to strike up conversation with me. Carol, on the other hand, had her nose so deep into the crevice of her book I wanted to ask her about the fragrance of the pages. Once we landed in Tampa, reboarded, and started preparing to take off for LaGarbage, I had had enough.
After my front airplane door was closed and all the evacuation slides were armed, Amber and I began conducting our cross check. During this brief moment, Carol attempted to call me on the interphone. Her calling to the front of the airplane was not an uncommon practice, that’s how we are trained to do a verbal compliance check. I never hesitate picking up the interphone when the signal dings but I was actively speaking to Amber and it took me approximately three rings before I picked up.
She didn’t allow me to speak. “I’m armed and cross-checked. Does it always take you that long to answer the phone?” she questioned acerbically.
Without skipping a beat I responded, “I will pick up the phone when I’m ready. Armed and cross-checked.” I hung up. Click! Actually, it was more like a SLAM!
My blood pressure was palpable. It became clear that a Carol vs. Joe confrontation was inevitable. My neck was red, my ears were burning, and if I didn’t stand my ground and put this bitch in her place I’d wind up killing her and that’s really no way to end your career as a flight attendant. I held my tongue until service was completed. Before I made my move I called the flight deck to ask the pilots if they needed a lavatory break. They declined. I swiftly cleaned up the galley, did one quick trash pick up in my section, and headed to the back galley to ta
lk to Carol. I rehearsed exactly what I would say once we were face to face. I wouldn’t let her get away with disrespecting me. No fucking way. After Amber finished helping a female passenger in the aisle, and she was positioned in the back galley on her jumpseat, I headed down the aisle towards them. Confronting Carol without a witness would be a foolish action. And I’m no fool.
Flight attendants and pilots are encouraged to confront each other when it comes to work related conflicts. Do they actually use the term confront? I don’t recall. Probably not. Most likely they use a fluffier more politically correct term. Words like: approach, discuss, and hug it out, come to mind. Unfortunately, that shit was not going to work on our way to LaGarbage. I needed a knock-down, drag-out confrontation with Carol and I was ready to deliver the first punch.
When I stepped into the back galley she was in her jumpseat, feet up on the trash bins, and reading her book. Her worn down black flats were falling apart like she either ran the Cleveland Marathon or picked them up at Goodwill. Amber sat in her jumpseat fishing through her lunch bag, preparing something to eat. I stopped once I reached the galley counter and stood between the two of them. I folded my arms as gay as possible, spun around to face the aisle, and just let it out, “Do you have a problem with me?”
Amber instantly looked up; Carol refused to peel her eyes away from the paperback book she held in both hands. I glanced over at Amber, made eye contact with her, and then shifted my gaze back to the top of Carol’s dirty blond thinning hair. Did she realize her hair was thinning? If not she was in for a rude awakening. From this angle she reminded me of Larry David. The idea of her turning into a female version of Larry David made me smile. Her sadistic voice snapped me out of it, “Are you talking to me?” she asked closing her book and placing her feet firmly on the uneven plastic floor covering. She also turned her book over so the cover was hidden. My guess she was reading The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie. Anything to try and get on her biological father’s good side.
