What can one say about the boys in the cockpit? Because many of the cockpit crews were former military there was a mannerism that reflected that culture. There were many captains I found to be magnificent aviators, responsible to the utmost, utilizing their skills in assuring the safety of their crew and passengers. Some even were not too high and mighty as to acknowledge a lowly junior flight attendant, have a conversation or sharing a meal with them on a layover. Then there were others who believed themselves to be second only to the Almighty. They reeked of narcissistic self-glory and used their rank to make sure everybody knew it. The majority of pilots though were boys with only three stripes on their sleeves and shoulders. They spent every waking day waiting, dreaming of the time when they would be the one to be promoted to that left seat. Until then, they minded their business and did what was told by their Supervising Check Pilots. I knew many aviators who were happily married and respected as good family men, people of great character and in good standing in their communities. I also found others who were referred to be “horn dogs,” as the ladies I worked with used to call them: using a nice layover at an exotic location, a free hotel room, a couple of drinks and an uninhibited desire to tell an unsuspecting pretty woman what they do for a living.
I, for the most part kept my head down sneaking about here and there, casually scanning the faces in the F/A's lounge lest Shana find me. I would spend a great deal of time reviewing the pass benefits manual for as soon as my probationary period was over I was planning to bid a monthly schedule grouping all of my ten days off together and take off on another adventure.
As I viewed the pages I noticed that Iberia Airlines of Spain had an agreement with our airline and I could use them to get to Madrid. Trans World Airlines had deals that opened the way to Rome, Athens and Cairo. London was available through Pan American Airways or British Airways. KLM, the Dutch based airline had a history of treating crew members very well. They could transport me to Amsterdam and beyond. Air France to Paris, Lufthansa to Frankfurt and Berlin, it was all there, tremendous benefits for a pittance. This job truly did offer me a magic carpet and I licked my chops with anticipation.
“Just lay low, keep a clean record and make weight check,” I murmured to myself as I closed the manual and went to work.
Month after month I starved myself to make weight but other than that life as an F/A was good. I was living in a great beach town community minutes from the airport. Many a time I could be seen rushing down Pacific Coast Hwy, hurrying to catch a flight I had just been assigned minutes before destined to who knows where.
Soon, six months zoomed right by and my probation period was terminating. That meant the time to escape was near. I made my plans very carefully. I could catch our airline to Miami with a 4 hour layover then hop on an Iberia jumbo jet to Madrid, total cost round trip LAX – MAD – LAX was eighty dollars. Yes, it was a gamble involving stand-by status all the way and back. But what the heck, I was young, strong, single and I had ten free days.
Word got around concerning my planned venture and another F/A who had been a classmate in training was interested in coming along. Alan was a tall, good-looking, dark haired man. In his uniform he looked striking enough of be on the cover of GQ. The ladies adored him yet he never flaunted the obvious. He was a down to earth real guy that had aspirations of becoming a high fashion model. He eventually did and successfully I may add.
“You can come if you like but I know exactly where and when I am going.” I informed him. I also mentioned that my one carry-on bag rule applied. I never took the chance of having my suitcase stored below delaying my well thought out plans. Alan was well aware of my travel experience because of our friendship from training and he agreed to the terms.
Finally the day of our liberation came, the day we became “real” flight attendants. All the employee benefits kicked in, health insurance, dental plan, life insurance and membership in the credit union were all available to us now. One other change was that we were now members in the Association of Flight Attendants union with the proper dues to be deducted each paycheck. During training we were given the application forms for the union and told that whether one joined or not the fixed charge would be deducted. Everyone filled out the forms except me. I suppose it was done as an act of defiance against the greater powers that be. Perhaps I was just being a rascal; it never entered my mind that it would make any difference in the long run.
Espana, and Madrid in particular, had become a much desired destination for my early adventures. Over the years friendships were made and nurtured and the Spanish capital made a fine jumping off point for traveling farther east or to the south. Eating fried calamari and sipping sangria, Alan and I enjoyed the fruits of our vocation. Heading south we experienced the beauty that is Seville. Catching a ferry at Algeciras, we explored the wonders in Tangiers where every merchant professes to be your best friend in an effort to entice you into their venue. Returning to Spain we sunned ourselves on the exquisite beaches of Marbella before driving up the Costa Brava to Benidorm. Alan and I were intoxicated by the depth of our curiosity; our eyes open wide in amazement. Finally, we had our fill and boarded a DC-10 at Barajas Airport. I was exhausted yet exceedingly content with the outcome of my first adventure as an F/A.
Arriving back at LAX I felt a sense of achievement and was not hesitant in expressing the details and highlights of my recent journey, emphasizing that our associates could share in such a trip
“It's all there in the pass manual,” I said to my fellow crew-members. “Where to go next?” I wondered out loud. If planned correctly with my reserve status I could literally do an exotic jaunt every month. “Let the senior girls have their fixed trip.” I was enjoying myself. More importantly, I was understanding the systems, culture, pace and faces of my beloved airline. These were the keys to ensuring a successful job experience.
“Eddy, I have sequence 190 for you tonight.” On a day that was like any other F/A Scheduling needed to fill a position. I would have to check my F/A bid sheet to see the details and destination.
“Oh no!” It was the all-nighter. LAX – MEX, nine o'clock report time. I was not pleased. The aircraft was the 10, probably eight flight attendants, three and half hours flight time in the middle of the night, arriving early morning with limited time on the ground before we return northward. That morning flight back to LAX was always full and would include a meal service.
By the time we arrived in El Distrito Federal, the only thing I got to see of the Mexican capital was through the windows of the aircraft at Benito Juarez International Airport. I was tired from being on duty all night. My spirits were lifted when informed I was allowed by customs to bring back one bottle of liquor into the U.S. each flight. My selection that morning and for future flights was a fine tequila, Centenario, but there was little time to relish the joy of my acquired bottle as the passengers began to board for my return flight. After working through the night and busting my butt, that second leg was a real backbreaker. Exhaustion set in along with irritation as a result of a woman with her crying baby in my section of the cabin. Just as the upset baby began to cry at an even higher pitch, and while trying to recover a food tray in light turbulence, I of course spilled remains on the aisle floor and myself.
Relief set in only once we landed and the craft was secured at the gate that led to U.S. Customs. The experience of coming back from Mexico as a crew member was different than the passengers'. We were allowed to bypass the main crowd, but those custom guy sure did like to look through the suitcases of the stewardesses. I have truly seen some of the strangest and most interesting items while accompanying crews through customs, all one has to do is use one's imagination. In the time of pre-9/11, without mass security, much more contraband boarded the planes every day by the hands of both the public and the flight crews. Passengers also took more liberties in the amount of alcohol consumed on any given flight and the messes they created were cleaned by the F/As. It was not an easy job. Flight after flight d
emonstrated that I was going to be made to earn those benefits I cherished. I would be disposing of dirty diapers one minute and helping people with anxiety try to relax another minute. In the space and time we were all essentially captives enclosed in a metal fuselage.
A flight to HNL with a nice layover is what every reserve F/A desires: roll the dice and pray it came up ALOHA. It was important to develop a relationship with the flight attendant schedulers even if it was only by telephone. Be nice, considerate, responsible and maybe when that Hawaii trip popped up they remembered me.
Names and faces were becoming familiar and the more I flew the more I learned. Because of the time I had committed myself to spend working out in the weight room, I wasn't one to hang around the flight lounges. I formed few real relationships at the airline. I opted to stand in the background. I did attend a few crew parties but was always there more as a spectator, not one of the many more colorful characters at these functions.
My work month always focused around the day I had to report for weight check and Shana continued to address me as Edmundo. Always just making the cut I would hurry away, rushing to find a decent meal after days of starving myself and hopefully avoiding Shana for thirty more days. One morning I strolled down the aisle of a 727 that was just about to be boarded for a flight to Guadalajara. While checking the over-wing aisles where the emergency exits were, I turned and spotted a person sitting in the back row.
“How did that passenger board?” I was puzzled and concerned. Perhaps it is someone needing first aid. I hastened aft and when I got closer, I realized it was Shana. My loopy supervisor was all dressed up with clipboard in hand.
“Hi, Edmundo!” Her voice shrieked. “I'm here to do your checkride.” A flight to Mexico with a full load on the return in a few hours, two complete meal services and Shana James on board to judge every minute of my performance. I wanted to cancel sick.
The flight was predictable. Over a hundred hungry, tired, anxious people, mostly bilingual, were being served drinks and a meal in mild but sufficiently bothersome turbulence. The women always wanted Cola, the men a cocktail or beer. We struggled to balance the meal trays, the money and the drinks as we inched our way down the aisle from row to row. Then there was the dirty clean up, with your bare hands. Some passengers were demanding while others were just trying to sleep without having their seat belts fastened. There in the aft with a stern eye on all of my actions was Shana, head swaying in and out of the aisle. One second my supervisor was gazing, another second she ducked back behind the seat in front of her as she wrote down notes on her yellow legal pad. I spilled a drink on a man. I apologized and went off to get a cloth drenched with soda water, the flight attendant's all purpose cleaner. Shana scribbled down more.
Once the cabin was clean and secured for descent, a Spanish speaking woman started to complain of problems with her ears. This happens often, mostly to young children when the airplane is descending. The other two F/A's tried to assist but they did not understand her as she only spoke Spanish. The assigned Spanish Speaker for this flight was positioned in First Class and had her hands full. Shana stood up and joined the rest of us in the aft galley deciding what to do as the woman's agony seemed to grow. I informed them that I spoke Spanish and would speak to the lady.
My efforts were made a bit awkward as she occupied the middle, seat B of a 3-seat section. You have to be tactful when there are other passengers on each side. She was somebody's mother, heck may have been a distant aunt of mine, jet black hair, dark tanned skin, and in much pain. I bent down and explained to her in Spanish that what she was experiencing was very common. The kind woman took comfort in what I said and the fact that it was in her native tongue. I demonstrated for her how one opens the mouth wide to help the ear adjust to the sensation of descent. She began to settle down as I turned to ask if anyone had a stick of gum since chewing would relieve her ailment. Someone obliged as I left the sweet lady calm and satisfied, pleasantly jawing down on the gum for the rest of the flight.
Shana was indeed pleased. One of her charges had taken control of the situation and saw it to a successful conclusion. She would make too much of it.
“Great job Edmundo,” she gloated once we had arrived and the passengers had deplaned. The cabin crew remained on the craft as we were scheduled to turn right around, back to LAX. From that point I became relaxed. The return flight went on without a hitch. Back at LAX Shana James had given her full approval of my abilities to do the job. That was fine by me but I was leery for I knew there would be more check-rides to come in the future.
I settled into a comfortable routine, grabbing my share of Hawaii flights, mixed in with a combination of layovers to all sections of our company's route system. On one flight I found myself in sunny Miami, a few days later I got to see the glaciers of Juneau. Just when I thought I had it all together, a flight to Kodiak, Alaska in the dead of winter made me remember all those little prayers the nuns in elementary school said might save my soul one day. Every F/A was strapped tightly in our jumpseats from beginning to end. The turbulence was so severe passengers were heaving to the left and then to the right. It made me wonder what was keeping the airship in one piece as I began to haggle with God (making promises I knew I would never keep) if only we arrived safely at our destination. Once on the ground all the F/As strode about calmly acting cool and collected in front of the shaken passengers.
“Yeah, it's a piece of cake. We experience this all the time.” It's better to lie even to ourselves than contemplate reality. Yet, in between the messy food services, missed connections and mechanical breakdowns I was given the opportunity to literally run away each and every month. Ten days of wild escapades at the festival in Avignon, France diminished the thought of nail biting approaches and fog-ridden landings. A couple of months later I was drinking crystal liters of fine German beer while dancing at the Oktoberfest in Munich.
The highlight of those first few years of flying was having the opportunity to escort my 48-year-old mother on her first plane trip, carefully planned with Honolulu as our destination. For a woman who worked hard all her life and rarely set foot outside East Los Angeles a whole new world was about to be revealed that day as we boarded the DC-10 at Terminal 5. I relate the experience of that vacation to the same sheer excitement of a child's first trip to Disneyland. With the majority of the First Class cabin all to ourselves, we sat comfortably in the lush seats. My mother, Alicia, clenched my hand tightly on take-off unsure of what to expect or what was to come as the large metal bird did its magic and lifted up over the Pacific. Sitting by the window she seemed concerned because she continually looked out upon the vast ocean below then back into the cabin. Finally she leaned over to ask a question.
“Eddy, you mean we have to go over water to get to Hawaii?” I was stunned. I was aware of the many restrictions and boundaries that had been put upon her generation but to what extremes, I had no knowledge. Of all my ventures throughout the world, that trip with my mother remains the fondest memory. Yes, things were going pretty darn good and I was grateful. And then there came a change.
Chapter III
It arrived like a chilled breeze, unexpected and all encompassing. Something was not right: as though someone was supposed to come and deliver some stunning news or make a relevant announcement. I was on edge without knowing why. My routine remained constant through the months but little things started to occur. I was assigned more of the less-desired flights, or so it seemed to me. Honolulu almost became a distant memory as I began to struggle with what I perceived as extreme demands from the passengers. That nice flow and rhythm of our inflight services began to be interrupted by incidents I could not foresee. Mechanical problems caused hours of delays. On layovers I would be assigned a hotel room next to elevators continually in use, the traffic and ding-ding-dinging keeping me up all night. Then an early morning report would follow, with a grueling six legs across half the country.
Right out of training my uniform was impeccable when re
porting for work. Now, I began to slack off. My shoes no longer had that mirror reflective shine. These changes truly bothered me. Like an itch I could not scratch, it constantly lingered but I was unsure why. Even my usual workouts in the gym suffered, my motivation being sabotaged. It came to a head when after days of starving myself, I barely passed weight-check having one pound to spare. Shana warned me of the serious consequences and possible suspension, scolding me like a child. I retreated to one of the many sofas in the flight attendant lounge as I contemplated my dismal predicament.
“Maryann, hey are we on the same flight?” A familiar face of a well-known F/A rushed to greet her dear friend. They were both dressed in their regulation Aloha uniform. That fact irritated me as I was due to land up in Idaho Falls with a very short layover. Rocky, another charismatic young man, entered the lounge and was received with great excitement by a few of my fellow crew-members who were happy to be in his presence. And so it continued as dear friends arrived and left, greetings were shared and best wishes given. I sat, a virtual unknown to the crew-members based at LAX, yet I accepted responsibility as that was the way I initially wanted it to be.
“I bet they would notice me if I survived an air disaster.” The outlandish statement just came out. I had not contemplated such a thought before. I felt ashamed that I'd wish to be recognized by my associates at the cost of such a terrible event. Fortunately, no one had been sitting near me when I voiced the unthinkable.
And so it began. It lodged itself deep in my soul and I made every effort to deny that it was with me. I carried it on each and every flight I boarded and into every hotel room where I hoped for some peace. It would soon manifest itself late into the night, invading my somber sleep, like a thief coming to rob me of my very dignity.
Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate Page 6
