by Joe Thomas
As the lead flight attendant, Keegan was responsible for being the executive decision maker in the airplane cabin. If you want to be nitpicky, then yes, the captain is the main man—or woman—in charge, but for this story we’ll just say that the lead flight attendant is in charge of the cabin, which, technically, we are. That makes sense because the lead flight attendant receives more pay and as we all know, mo money equals mo problems. If you don’t believe me just ask The Notorious B.I.G. Oh wait, never mind.
Let’s just say when the luggage hits the overhead bins, I start looking around for the flight attendant in charge. If there’s stress to be had during a flight, it belongs on the shoulders of the person making the most money. Correct? When I am standing in the middle of the airplane during boarding and someone throws their bag down and demands, “Excuse me, Stewardess… Help me with my bag!”
The first thing I do is look around to make sure that this rude passenger is talking to me. How do I know? They could be traveling with someone named Stewardess. Trust me, if there is someone walking around with the name Schartzmugel, then Stewardess doesn’t seem like such a far stretch. After confirming that they are speaking directly to me, the second thing I do is respond ruder, “Hold on. Let me get the lead flight attendant.” Usually the asshole’s bag gets checked.
That’s where Keegan failed. He refused to make a decision or answer a question to save his life, or more importantly, mine. Whether he refused or just didn’t have the balls remains a mystery. Whenever Wendy or I asked him the simplest questions he froze up. No matter how elementary the question was, he never had an answer.
A normal conversation with Keegan went something like this, “Keegan, two passengers are fucking in the back lavatory.”
“What do you think we should do?” His voice cracked into the interphone.
“I’m not the lead flight attendant. You make the decision.”
“See. I hate this position!” He’d hang up the interphone while I immediately went back to eavesdropping with my ear to the lavatory door waiting for the two passengers to climax.
Here’s a confession, I made that entire dialogue up. That was a typical conversation with Keegan but I’ve never had two passengers fucking in the lavatory. I wish I had. I am not that lucky. I’ve never even had to yell at a passenger for giving a handjob in the last row of the airplane. I figured adding airplane sex in the middle of this story might help me prove my point. Alright, I really just wanted to talk about airplane lavatory sex because GODDAMN IT—it never happens on my flights.
I am all for collaboration on my flights. Teamwork is essential to guarantee a successful flight. Without some form of solidarity on the airplane you can go from synergy to synerg-no in a matter of minutes. You don’t have to be a flight attendant to understand that. It’s the same in the office environment. Nobody wants to share a cubicle with someone who depends on you to make all the decision. With Keegan it was simple, he was free to call on me when it came to the important outcomes: questioning the removal of a passenger, a life threatening medical, or an irate passenger. Not mulling over what time to start coffee service. Make the decision and pass it along.
Even with Keegan’s indecisive behavior, our trip was still workable. Wendy and I managed by rolling our eyes enough behind his back to give ourselves migraines. Have you ever rolled your eyes enough to give yourself a headache? Don’t. It really happens. Fighting back the tears from a headache while serving fat passengers cups of sugar water made it easier to deal with him. I can’t explain it. Rolling our eyes at him made us laugh which helped with tolerating his behavior. It’s just too bad I didn’t pack enough Advil to fill a plastic tub.
It all fell apart when we arrived at San Francisco International Airport to work the red eye back to Cleveland. As planned, I spent the night at home. I met them at the airport for report time and nothing seemed out of the ordinary when I walked up to the gate. Wendy waved over at me as she sat on the large white sleek window ledge overlooking our airplane parked at the gate. Keegan stood behind the counter flipping through the flight manifest.
“Good evening, Mr. Keegan,” I greeted him placing my luggage against the wall, “how was your layover?”
“It was fine,” Keegan answered. Wendy was too far away to hear the question “The gate agent said there is a technician on the airplane working on a seat at row 19.”
I sighed, “Are we delayed?” That’s a rolling question in the airline industry. There are two things we can always count on—uniform non-compliance and delays.
Before Keegan responded, our two pilots walked up behind me and the captain questioned, “Delayed? Why are we delayed?” He was tall and lanky with no facial hair and big lips. That’s all I remember about him. I remember less about the first officer. He made no attempts at communicating with us, and I couldn’t begin to dig down deep enough to remember his appearance. Short with a God-like complex and small dick? That pretty much sums up most pilots, or at least the pilots I dislike who refuse to show me an ounce of respect.
The gate agent piped in, “No. We are not delayed. We just have a technician on the airplane fixing one of the seats,” she was getting defensive before we responded, “We need to board this flight and get it out on time.”
By now, Wendy had made her way over to the gate and joined the five of us huddled around in a circle working out what time to board. “Are we already having drama?” she asked. I smiled at her while sipping on the coffee I picked up on the way to the airport.
Nobody verbally answered her. Keegan was having tunnel vision, “What time should we start boarding? Should we start on time?” He asked out loud to anyone who wanted to answer. A few more decibels higher and dogs living in the next town over could have responded.
Before any of us had a chance to reply the captain answered, “We will board the front of the airplane first and then after row 19 is fixed, we will start boarding the rear of the airplane. Is that good for everyone?”
Easy enough, right? We all agreed unanimously, grabbed the handles of our luggage, and filed down the jetbridge. The gate agent yelled out one last time before closing the oversized gate door, “I’ll start sending them down in five minutes.”
We ignored her like we always do.
I immediately saw the technician kneeling down at row 19 as I started down the aisle. When I approached him, and his overexposed butt crack, I noticed the seat he was attempting to fix, 19D, was reclined all the way into the seat directly behind it. That wouldn’t fly (pun intended) especially with a full flight. All one hundred and forty seats had a passenger eagerly awaiting it and I doubted the person sitting in 20D wanted some stranger staring up their nose for five hours.
After the three of us completed our security checks, in what seemed like record time, we started boarding the airplane. My only indication was when I looked up the aisle towards the front of the airplane and saw people lined up like cattle. There was no heads-up from Keegan but that was normal. He’d probably just call to the back of the airplane and say, “We are boarding. Is it alright with you that I call you and tell you?”
Instantly, the front of the aircraft began to fill up with passengers and they spilled down the aisle. Exactly like they weren’t suppose to. Wendy become irate, “What the hell is he doing up there? They are already at row 19.”
I stopped counting the liquor cart and looked up the aisle to see passengers piling up behind the technician. The look on their faces mirrored the look on Wendy’s face. Even with arriving at the gate on time, and having our airplane awaiting us, we started boarding a few minutes late. Not a big deal to the flight attendants and pilots, but when it comes to airline passengers, it’s like punching them directly in their genitals with a sledge hammer; or so they act. In our normal everyday existence, a few minutes is nothing. Think of all the minutes we waste in our lives; sitting at red lights, waiting for our cappuccinos at Starbucks, biding time until our sexual partner climaxes. It’s endless. I literally just wasted a few minut
es writing that line about waiting a few minutes. It’s that easy to waste minutes. When it comes to airline passengers a few minutes is no different than a few hours. They are like my cats, they have no concept of time. These people could board the airplane five minutes late but arrive at their destination 20 minutes early and still not be happy. Then, to add insult to injury, the airline will send out their friendly little satisfaction survey which gives the passengers the chance to bitch about boarding late while completely forgetting they arrived to their destination early. People wonder why airline employees are such bitches.
I picked up the interphone and called the front of the airplane. Keegan answered on the second ding, “Hi. This is Keegan.”
“Hey. It’s Joe.” The airline makes us answer the interphone like that but seriously, who the fuck else would it be? A passenger? The Virgin Mary? Only in Keegan’s dreams. Responding on the interphone like that when 10 flight attendants are working makes sense. On an airplane with three flight attendants, it’s just foolish. I continued, “We need to stop boarding. These people are piling up back here and the technician’s ass is hanging out into the aisle.”
He was flustered, “What do you want me to do? They keep coming down the jet bridge.”
I snapped, “Just have them wait on the jet bridge!” I looked at Wendy. There was steam coming off her arms, “Have the captain go up to tell them to stop boarding.”
The interphone went dead.
I went back to counting the liquor cart. Once I was finished I slide it back into place and glanced back up to the front of the airplane. Keegan was planted in the front galley talking with the captain while passengers continued to pass him. What the fuck was he doing? Planning an early morning pilot blow job session once we landed in Cleveland? I was almost jealous. What really pissed me off was when he finally made eye contact with me and simply threw his hands up in the air signaling his defeat. My dislike for Keegan was certified platinum from that point on.
Once Buttcrack (aka the technician) finished fixing the broken seat he pushed his way passed all the passengers fighting his way to the front of the airplane. From that instant, the tidal wave of people that flooded the entire back half of the airplane was overwhelming. Most of them went straight to the lavatory, which is never a surprise. Why use the restroom in the airport when you can wait until you are on the airplane and use tiny lavatories? Makes perfect fucking sense. Boarding continued but Wendy and I were irritated with the way Keegan managed the entire process.
She was vocal about her dislike for him, “I know he’s got problems and troubles in life, but damn, that’s no excuse for being a terrible flight attendant.”
I agreed while leaning against the back galley smiling at passengers as they walked down the aisle. The interphone rang. Before I could speak, Keegan jumped right in, “Joe. There’s an older lady up here who almost fell coming onto the airplane. She can’t even make it to her seat in row 14. What should we do?”
I looked at Wendy and rolled my eyes. That reminded me to take some Advil before we departed, “Is she drunk?”
“I can’t tell. Can you come up here and talk to her?”
“Sure. I’ll be right there.” I hung up the interphone and addressed Wendy who was staring at me, “Some lady almost fell up there and he wants me to talk to her.”
“You mean he wants you to handle his shit.” she said bursting into laughter.
I smirked and stepped into the aisle pushing my way upstream from the crowd of passengers fidgeting with their bags and trying to get to their seats.
The little white haired lady was seated in 1D clutching her purse like she stole it. Boarding had slowed down and there were no passengers walking on the airplane. I stepped into the front galley and approached Keegan. “What do you want me to say to her?”
“I don’t know. Whatever you’d like.”
I guess slapping his smug face was out of the question. But if I did, I could probably go home for the night. No. I needed my job. I approached him another way, “Let me rephrase that, what have you said to her already?”
He looked down at her with disregard, “Nothing.”
Perfect. I had no problem assisting him and offering up my advice to help but like always he brought nothing to the table. He was setting himself up to take no responsibility for the outcome.
If looks could kill, his lifeless body would have fallen over into the flight deck. I turned from him and bent down to face the passenger, “Good Evening. How are you?”
She didn’t make eye contact and looked forward without turning her head towards me. I tried again, “Hello. Are you alright?
“Yes,” she whispered.
This was like having a conversation with my grandmother after she was hospitalized for falling and breaking her hip. “Are you on any medication?”
“No.”
“Have you been waiting a while at the airport?”
She finally looked over at me, “Yes.” I politely peeled her boarding pass out of her veiny hand to address her by name.
I turned and looked up at Keegan who stood there chewing on his fingernails. I wanted to punch him in his balls but I continued questioning the passenger, “Ethel, how many drinks have you had?”
“Four.”
“Four?” I questioned. She didn’t respond.
Four drinks? That’s even a lot for me and I am a heavyset guy. Grandma was probably 95 lbs fully dressed so it was no surprise she almost fell while walking onto the airplane. It was a shock she actually spoke. I stood up and looked at Keegan, “Did she come down the jet bridge in a wheelchair?”
He muttered, “I don’t know,” while continuing to snack on his hangnails.
This dude didn’t know much of anything on this trip. I whispered to him, “I think she’s had too much to drink. She should probably come off the flight.” I bent down to ask her a few more questions but before I could get another word out, the gate agent stepped onto the airplane with our final paperwork. Boarding had concluded and the gate agent was ready to close the airplane door. Unbeknownst to her, we were dealing with what appeared to be a drunk old lady in 1D. I smiled at Ethel even though she wasn’t looking at me. She was now rummaging through her purse, most likely looking for the piece of shit she placed in there yesterday. Ethel was saving that hard turd for a rainy day, and sadly, I created a storm. If she did have a piece of dried shit in her bag, she’d probably fling it at me the first chance she got. My hope was for it to hit Keegan instead. Listen, I know old ladies and they love to shove everything in their purses; including a firm piece of dooky. I straightened myself out and walked towards the airplane door away from the passenger and motioned for the gate agent to step out onto the jet bridge with me. There was no doubt in my mind that Ethel was as deaf as my sports obsessed grandfather but I wasn’t taking any chances, especially if her hearing aid was turned up. Keegan followed.
If Keegan had taken a break from chewing on his fingers long enough to step up to the plate and handle the situation, my outlook on him might have been different. He was, after all, the lead flight attendant. To my surprise, he initiated the conversation once we were all on the jet bridge. Sadly, it was to throw me into the airplane engine. “Joe talked to the lady in 1D and she’s drunk. She’s suppose to be in row 14, or something, I don’t really remember. He wants her to come off the flight.” He blurted out flailing his hands around like he was swatting away invisible flies.
“Wait a minute, “ I aggressively put my hand up in Keegan’s face. If I had been an inch closer he might have taken care of the hangnail on my right thumb. “Please don’t speak for me.” He cowered down. I looked at the gate agent and gave her the quick and full rundown on the conversation with Ethel.
Not wanting to delay the flight the gate agent responded, “Well if she’s drunk we’ll take her off the flight.”
Keegan’s eyes bulged out of his head. “I just want to clarify,” he said looking at the gate agent and then over to me, “you’re the one maki
ng the decision to remove her from the flight, right?”
She paused for a moment as she walked past us back onto the airplane, “Yeah. Sure. I don’t care, we just gotta get this flight out.”
Once Ethel was off the flight, and the main airplane door was closed, I armed and cross checked my doors and took a deep breath. That always helps me to stay mindful of my attitude and my reaction to people. If I don’t do this I usually fly off the handle and start yelling. It’s a fact that I do not meditate enough, which results in not enough deep breathing, and a lot of flying off the handle.
My attitude improved rather quickly. I had barely unfastened my seatbelt when we hit the 10,000 feet chime and Wendy came racing into the back galley. With the clank of my seat belt against the jumpseat she yelled out, “He’s an asshole,” and flopped into the jumpseat across from mine.
This should be interesting. I turned on the galley lights enough to see what we were doing but not bright enough to disturb the last row of passengers. “What happened? We’ve been in the air for five minutes.”
“We got into it up there!” Her body language was set on destroy. I wouldn’t have messed with her even if I was carrying a gun. She stood and placed both hands on the galley counter while continuing to unload her frustrations, “He was yelling at me in front of the passengers in row one. Can you believe that shit?” She grabbed her plastic water bottle from inside the metal bin and started drinking. I waited. “And then he asked me if I thought he was a bad flight attendant.”
“What did you say?” I asked, glued to my jumpseat.
She let out an angry laugh, “I said yes.”
“You said yes?” That gave me the power to stand up and get to work. Before that I felt drained from the entire boarding process, but this scene woke me right up. This was some ABC daytime drama kinda shit and I didn’t want to miss any of it. This is the kind of excitement that keeps bitches awake working a red-eye flight. I started pulling plastic cups out of the bin and placing them on the counter, “I can’t believe you said yes. You’ve fucked him up for years now.”
