Around the World in a Bad Mood! (5 page)

I
REALLY WANT TO EMPHASIZE
the amount of psychological stress associated with being a flight attendant, especially a new hire. You don't know the ropes yet, and you've probably just moved to a new city and live in some scummy apartment with four or five other stressed-out novice flight attendants. You're on reserve and never know where the hell you're going or when you'll be back. Once you arrive at work you'll be subjected to all sorts of bullshit. It starts the minute you walk in the door: Some big shot will be giving you the once-over. Is your hair right? Are you wearing your uniform properly? Frankly, I think it's a big accomplishment if I can
find
my uniform. The supervisor may call you into the office and ask you about some outraged passenger on a flight three months ago, but you won't be able to recall this incident because there have been hundreds of flights since then and they've all been full of outraged passengers!

Then it is time to meet the crew. If you're lucky you'll be with a nice, fun, cooperative group of people. This is usually the case, but every now and again you end up with some real oddballs and, believe me, these freaks can make a simple two-day trip a living hell. Now it is time to board the plane. This is where things will most likely be screwed up. For example, there is usually a shortage of supplies—like food! Once you make this discovery, tell someone right away. If you delay because you want enough food so all the passengers can eat, you will be getting a call on your layover and someone is going to want to know why the flight left three seconds late. Never mind that you were missing twenty meals! I once heard of a crew that was so short on breakfasts (boxed cereal, wrapped bagel, and apples) that they didn't have enough food to get past row twenty-two. So they fed the front half of the plane, then went through and collected the uneaten and unopened leftovers from the first twenty-two rows and then offered these leftovers to those passengers in rows twenty-two to twenty-eight. For psychological stress some people recommend therapy, but I recommend
denial
. It's a lot cheaper and easier to schedule. I spent years of my career in denial and look at me, I lived to tell the tale!

The next piece of advice I offer to the new hire is to develop the virtue of
patience
. If you don't have this you are doomed! Forget about carrying a tin of shoe polish in your tote, you better have the patience of Job in your pocket, because it is going to be tested . . . daily. Let me start by saying that you're going to say “hello,” “good-bye,” and “I'm sorry” to a hell of a lot of people in the course of a day, let alone the course of a career. You'll be giving the safety demonstration sometimes five times a day (sometimes more), offering coffee hundreds of times a day, and in this global economy in which we are now living, you will be conversing or at least attempting to converse with people from all over the world. One of the greatest joys of this profession is all the intellectual stimulation it provides. Oh yes indeed, flight attendants are permitted to engage in so many enervating conversations with passengers. They usually begin with one of the following questions:

Will our luggage make it?

Can you get me a pillow?

Will I make my connection?

Do you have raspberry kiwi iced tea?

Is this decaf?

Is that your natural hair color?

Has anyone ever told you that you resemble Monica Lewinsky?

What time is it?

Is this your regular route?

Can I borrow your pen?

Can you find out the score of the game?

Why?

Why not?

Where?

When?

Who?

What river is that?

Where are we?

Can I have another bag of peanuts?

Can I have the whole can?

Doesn't the air-conditioning work on this airplane?

Is this your regular route?

Where do you live?

Are you married?

Have you ever been married?

Do you have a boyfriend?

Have you ever had a boyfriend?

How old are you?

Can I have another beer?

Where is my seat?

Can you bring me drinking water?

Where can I hang my wedding dress?

So, you live in New York. . . . Why?

What's your rent?

Can I use your Chapstick?

Who is in charge here?

Why can't I use my cell phone?

Can I move up to first class?

Do you have a refrigerator?

Is this your regular route?

Do you have soy milk?

Who is flying the plane?

Can you heat this up in the microwave for me?

Where are you staying tonight?

Is this your regular route?

Can you take this diaper?

Do you have a place I can stow my cheesecake?

As I mentioned, many times these questions
can
lead to in-depth conversations regarding important issues like world peace, global warming, and the economics of underdeveloped nations. They also lead to discussions about major life decisions, such as what type of light snack a passenger might enjoy on a particular day.

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Hello. Would you like the almond rocca or the brownie?

P
ASSENGER
(very long pause with a blank stare): What?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Would you like the almond rocca or the brownie today?

P
ASSENGER:
What?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Would you like the almond rocca or the brownie today?

P
ASSENGER:
What did you say?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Would . . . you . . . like . . . the . . . almond . . . rocca . . . or . . . the . . . brownie . . . TODAY?

P
ASSENGER:
Ohhhhh. . . . Well, ummm, brownie . . . I guess. . . .

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
OK, here you go. . . . Jesus Christ! (The “Jesus Christ” is whispered under the breath, of course.)

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Hello, would you like the almond rocca or the brownie, sir?

N
EXT PASSENGER:
What?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Would you like the almond rocca or the brownie?

P
ASSENGER:
Ummmm, what?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
You know, you could probably hear me a lot better if you took those headphones off. OK, now, would you like the almond rocca or the brownie?

P
ASSENGER:
Do you have any peanuts?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
No.

P
ASSENGER:
Can I get a Coke?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Yes, it's on the beverage cart behind me, sir.

P
ASSENGER:
What is that?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
It's a cart with drinks on it.

P
ASSENGER:
No, that pink thing in your hand. What is that?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
That is the almond rocca.

P
ASSENGER:
I thought you said you had brownies.

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Look pal . . .

P
ASSENGER:
Well, what is almond rocca anyway?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
It is a fine butter toffee elegantly wrapped in gold foil. Now do you want one or not?

P
ASSENGER
(pouting): Nah, nothing.

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Fine. Buh-bye.

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Hello, would you like the almond rocca or the brownie?

P
ASSENGER:
Listen, my husband and I were separated . . .

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
Yeah, well, nothing lasts forever.

P
ASSENGER:
No, I mean we were not seated together. We purchased these tickets six months ago and we were promised two seats together, and I'd like you to do something about it.

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
There is not much I can do about it now, but after I deliver all the almond roccas and brownies, I can try to see if someone will switch seats with you.

P
ASSENGER:
You are going to do something about it right now, young lady. Do you know who I am? DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? Well, do you?

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT
(over public address system): Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please? We have a passenger on board who does not seem to know who she is. If anyone can identify her, please ring your flight attendant call button.

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT
(to next passenger): Would you like the almond rocca or the brownie?

P
ASSENGER:
I'll have the almond brownie!

F
LIGHT ATTENDANT:
I'll be right back.

A
FTER TRAINING,
being assigned to the New York base seemed like a dream come true. I was convinced that I'd be able to have my cake and eat it too—that is, I would have this airline job with
benefits
and also be able to pursue my acting career in the Big Apple. Little did I know what lay ahead. First of all, I had nowhere to live, let alone any kind of theatrical connections. Youth gave me a kind of indefatigable confidence that I could do anything and that something would work out. Of course it did, but it wasn't exactly what I had planned.

I pictured myself living in a swanky Manhattan apartment. It might be small to start out, but eventually (like within a month or two) I'd have some great digs. Just before graduation WAFTI sent us out on a one-day base-familiarization trip. The minute we arrived in New York I began scouring the board with advertisements for available apartments, sublets, and that sort of thing. My aim was to find another female flight attendant who had her own apartment in Manhattan and was willing to share it for less than $400 a month. What can you say about a young chick from the Midwest, except that ignorance is bliss? Needless to say, there was no such situation available. In fact, much to my chagrin, there was not even one notice on the board regarding housing. The only notices appearing before me were a “never worn wedding dress for sale . . . cheap” and a 1979 SAAB in excellent condition that was also up for grabs. Would it be possible to live in a SAAB?

It was then that I met Olive Douglas, a seasoned, sassy New York flight attendant. She listened to my tale of woe and said, with the cadence of a native New Yorker, “donworryaboutit.” It turned out that Olive knew of some flight attendants who were looking for a new housemate. “Whaddya know?” They worked for a charter company, and had a big house in Queens near the airport. These men were great—all five of them—and I'd have my own room, all for $300 a month. And there was no lease. I had to find something and I figured if it didn't work out, I could get out of it easily enough and the price was certainly right. (I was about to discover the meaning of the phrase “you get what you pay for.”)

“So whaddya say?”

“Ummm, is there any way I could see the place or at least talk to the people who live there before I make a decision?”

“Look, I'm givin' youse a great opportunity here. I make all the arrangements and anyway the boys are all out of town this week. The place is great, ya gotta just trust me. Besides, what other options do ya have?” As she asked me this, she eyeballed the “never worn” wedding dress sign.

I had to think fast. I didn't really like the idea of living with complete and utter strangers—five men, no less! Queens was not exactly Manhattan, but these people did not work for WAFTI. Maybe that was a good thing. Ahh, what to do? I looked around at the desperate, frightened faces of my classmates, who were also trying to find places to live. Olive was working a buyers' market. If I said no someone else would jump on this and then where would I be? Living in the SAAB.

“Okay Olive, I'll take it. I'll be out here next week. Can I move in then?”

“Sure, donworryaboutit, no problem.”

Olive and I worked out the details regarding keys and phone numbers and then she gave me the address. My first New York address: 22 Lefferts Blvd., Top Floor. It wasn't exactly Fifth Avenue. In fact, it was about as far away from Fifth Avenue as a girl could get, and yet I was thrilled. I had found a place in New York on my own and I was now about to embark on a journey that held all sorts of possibilities.

I began making my plans. As soon as I was settled, I would start my acting classes, get new head shots, find an agent, and start looking for an apartment in Manhattan. Oh yeah . . . and fly a few trips. After all, my first priority would have to be my job. I arranged to have my boxes shipped out (courtesy of WAFTI). I had a lot of boxes because I planned on staying in New York, and since the shipping was free I decided to take advantage and get as many of my personal effects as possible (like my clothes, books, cross-country skis, tennis racket, roller skates, and assorted other necessities, not least of which included my stereo, the speakers, and about three hundred albums—this was the eighties) sent to my new home, 22 Lefferts Blvd., Top Floor. I had arrived! I had a roof over my head and a song in my heart.