Call Me Stewardess

by Elizabeth Landry

  I will never be able to scientifically explain how or why Rupert manages to jinx his aircrafts but, as far as I’m concerned, I’m convinced that’s what he did on a particular day in August, as part of my crew. And above all, my charming pilot would also be there to witness our misfortunes.

  ◆◆◆

  If you ask me, a checked baggage equals constant frustration. After a flight, I’m too tired to allow myself the luxury of waiting around with my passengers for my big suitcase to appear on the belt. Obviously, depending on our destination, some ground agents make sure to remove our crew bags in priority and hand them over to us at the bottom of the stairs or in an area reserved for us. But, as I do not feel like worrying about losing my personal belongings (which does happen!), I prefer to only bring my carry-on and take it on board the aircraft with me. Therefore, I had agreed with Rupert that we would both proceed that way, allowing us to follow each other without having to wait around. He, obviously, had complained.

  “Well then, I’m going to have to roll all my clothes tight and can only bring two pairs of jeans!” he moaned.

  “Come on, Rupert, if I can compact all my clothes, I’m sure you can too. And you only need one pair of jeans anyway, not two!”

  “Yeah but then I can’t bring back any souvenirs!” he sighed.

  “Just do whatever you want. You’re the one who’s going be stressed out if you lose your suitcase. We’re not just going directly to Paris this week, you know. On the second part of the pairing we leave from Philadelphia, stop in New York, and then continue on to Barcelona. We’re gonna have to wait for your big suitcase in JFK (New York) and then check it in at the counter again. And that’s if it even makes it there!”

  My mind was set. I would convince him to travel light, for his own good, my own good, and the good of our future crew, as it was a known fact: Rupert’s suitcases get lost—all the time. He finally gave in after about half an hour.

  We were leaving on a Wednesday evening and would get back to Boston the following Monday. This meant a six-day pairing worth many hours of flying, which would take us across the Atlantic Ocean a total of four times. I didn’t know the flight details and relied on my colleagues to explain them to me. Neither Rupert nor I had printed our flight itinerary, so I didn’t know then that my dear John Ross would eventually be added to the crew.

  In reality, there were only four of us who would be together throughout the whole journey. For each flight, we would be joining different cabin crew members, which meant that over six days we would have to adjust to all sorts of personalities. At least I knew the other two colleagues coming with us very well, and I knew there would be no issue with them. There was Anna, a pretty, soft-spoken brunette with quite a delicate nature who got along with everyone. There was also Ishma, a cute Indian girl no taller than five feet three inches. She wore heels so high that a simple gust of wind could make her trip. She seemed gentle but was far from a pushover and would always ask me to close the overhead bins for her, claiming she was too short to do it herself. If I wasn’t around, though, she would manage to close them by bouncing up and down in a very amusing way. The last member of our quartet was Rupert and, being a faithful servant to his passengers, there was no way he would be the cause of mayhem in our group.

  During the first part of our pairing, we operated a flight to Paris. We spent twenty-four hours there and, the next day, crossed the ocean again to Philadelphia. So far so good. Rupert-the-Jinx had obediently stayed hidden away. Like a dream come true. But it wouldn’t last long.

  The very next day after arriving in Philly, we were flying off again. We were due to leave the hotel for the airport at three p.m. As planned, the hotel room phone rang at precisely two p.m. to wake me up. The voice recording announced:

  “Hello, this is your wake-up call.”

  I immediately hung up. Per usual, I had tried to have a nap before my flight but as it was the middle of the day, I hadn’t fallen asleep. Still, I had stayed under the warm covers, relaxing. After the automated call, I got up and jumped in the shower. That’s when the misfortunes, or rather the disasters, started.

  Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring!

  From the shower, I was able to pick up the receiver in the bathroom. As I had just gotten my wake-up call, I knew this time it wouldn’t be a machine at the end of the line.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Good afternoon, Scarlett, it’s crew sked. It’s to let you know that there’s a one-hour delay on your flight. The new departure time from the hotel is now four p.m.,” announced one of the department’s employees.

  DISASTER No. 1! I wasn’t surprised, nor disappointed, nor anything at all. Delays happen. I wished I had received that call before I got up or at least before my shower but oh well, I was simply going to relax and take my time getting ready in my room, until the new departure time. At four p.m., I made my way to the lobby to meet up with my three colleagues and we left for the airport.

  What disgusted me the most had nothing to do with the delay itself, but rather that we had to start our workday on a dirty aircraft. DISASTER No. 2! The aircraft had arrived from Paris and was continuing on to New York. Some of the passengers were getting off in Philadelphia while others continued on to the Big Apple. Four of the cabin crew who had operated that inbound flight were being replaced by my quartet. Then we were to work the one-hour flight with the rest of the crew coming from Paris, to finally join yet another crew in New York, to operate a flight to Barcelona. I was a bit lost, so I was better off just going with the flow.

  Needless to say, it wasn’t with great pleasure that we boarded the aircraft. First, the exhausted passengers didn’t seem very welcoming, and I’m not even going to mention the musty smells floating around the cabin. As for the lavatories? How is a flight attendant supposed to be cheerful and joyful when they have to pick up little bits of paper soaked in pee before the flight has even started? Aviation always implies some level of adaptation, if not to say a huge amount of adaptation, so I did my job without a word. I had yet to perceive how long the upcoming day would be.

  As no passenger was boarding for New York, we were waiting for the captain’s okay to close the door. Suddenly, the chief purser got called into the cockpit. He came out somewhat frustrated.

  “Hydraulic issue. Delay of at least an hour,” he announced.

  DISASTER No. 3! He then proceeded to make an announcement to the passengers to keep them informed. On our end, all we could do was wait patiently and hope the issue would get resolved quickly so that we wouldn’t miss our flight to Barcelona. Meanwhile, Rupert came to the front of the aircraft to talk to me.

  “I spoke to Ishma and Anna and they say we’re gonna have to run in New York because if we don’t take off within an hour, we might miss our flight to Barcelona.”

  Rupert was fidgeting, almost as if panicking. Regardless of the situation, that’s the way it was. I tried to calm him down.

  “The crew will just have to start boarding without us. No big deal. Anyway, crew sked knows we’re stuck here, someone from the department will just have to call in some reserves if they don’t want to delay the flight.” I tried to put his mind at rest.

  After almost an hour, things seemed to be progressing. A mechanic came in to talk to the captain and I heard an okay, meaning we would soon be able to leave. We closed the last door and took off. In-flight, we looked at our itinerary and realized that the aircraft taking us to Barcelona was the very same one we were on. Turns out, no one could leave without us.

  Once landed in New York, all passengers disembarked in no time. It was now seven thirty p.m. We quickly said bye to the crew members leaving us. As this flight was, technically, coming from Paris, we also had to go through American customs. I was no longer worried about being late as the plane had to be cleaned, restocked, and refueled. In theory, we had plenty of time to go through customs and make our way back to the gate. But I did wonder which gate we had to go to.

  To find out, I took
a look at the board, aka FIDS (Flight Information Display System), in the waiting room where my future passengers were seated. Curiously, it indicated a time of eleven p.m., so I mentioned it to my colleagues.

  “Um, guys! What’s our flight number? Because it says departure at eleven p.m. on the board.”

  “Hold on. I’ll check,” Anna said softly.

  She grabbed the unique copy of our itinerary and looked at the flight number.

  “Six forty-two.”

  “Okay, it’s the same number written on the board, except now it says eleven p.m. instead of eight p.m. What’s the problem?”

  Rupert, already worked up, was restless again and asked us to wait. He seemed to have the intention to solve the mystery as quickly as possible. He then stood in front of the gigantic window separating the departure area from the arrivals. He happened to be just behind the check-in counter. He violently knocked on the window located between him and the agent. The action made her jump and she quickly turned around, curious to see who was disturbing her. He brought his face close to the glass and yelled very loudly:

  “Why is the flight to Barcelona now at eleven p.m.?”

  She rolled her eyes with an obvious sigh and managed to tell us what we didn’t want to hear.

  “Delay! They planned a three-hour delay on that flight in order to fix a mechanical problem.”

  DISASTER No. 4! I couldn’t believe it. Another delay! And there I was thinking that the hydraulic issue had been fixed in Philadelphia. We were already tired and hadn’t even started our real flight. Rupert was beet-red. Anna was mute. Ishma’s feet, with her heels, were already hurting. Our day, which in a way hadn’t yet begun, looked like it was going to be long, illegally long. We started calculating while going through customs.

  According to our union contract, if we went over a certain number of hours while on duty, we were no longer “legal” to operate a flight. We had to speak with crew sked immediately. Perhaps they had already replaced us and we would be spending the night in New York.

  When are arrived in the crew room, our future colleagues were also there. They had just found out about the delay. I didn’t know any of them and everyone was concerned with the wait so there wasn’t much in the sense of introductions. Ishma, only slightly more experienced than us, contacted crew sked to clarify the situation. The conversation was heating up. When it came to the rules of our union contract, we were all inexperienced, so in some way, we blindly trusted the company. Ishma informed us that crew sked hadn’t called in other flight attendants to replace us even though it was obvious that the new delay would make us go over our legal duty time. They were asking us to still operate the flight. In order to make an informed decision, Ishma requested they send us a new flight itinerary. In the meantime, I walked toward the restrooms, passing by the room reserved for pilots. As I walked by, I froze. Someone who looked quite familiar was seated there. Without thinking, I entered.

  “Hi, John!” I said, shyly, as usual.

  He looked up. His gaze penetrated mine. He smiled brightly at me, as if my surprise visit truly pleased him. I got weak in the knees.

  “Hey, you! How are you?”

  “Hm, so-so. Our flight’s been delayed by three hours. We’re gonna go over our duty time and crew sked hasn’t replaced us,” I confided.

  “How come? Are you by any chance coming with me to Barcelona?” he asked, looking happy.

  “Eh, looks like it. But I have no idea how this whole story is going to end.”

  Suddenly, I felt a little bit more motivated to operate the flight, even though we weren’t legally supposed to do so.

  “I don’t understand why they didn’t replace you . . . they called in a third pilot for us to be legal to leave.”

  I simply couldn’t understand either. I knew that a pilot needed all of his concentration to fly, but that was no excuse to ignore flight attendants, who were also going to be drained within eight hours, right during our decent into Barcelona. If the union had determined a specific maximum number of duty hours, it was certainly for a reason. Regardless of my handsome captain’s presence, I was eager to clarify the matter. If I couldn’t go, I wouldn’t go, even if John was going. I returned to my group, where Ishma, Anna, and Rupert had just received the anticipated itinerary.

  “Crew sked just sent us a flight itinerary indicating an eight p.m. departure time. It is not the real departure time. We have to find out when we’ll be landing in Barcelona in order to know if we must refuse to operate the flight!” explained Ishma.

  “I’m gonna go see the captain!” I said, pretending to be just as infuriated as them and making my way back toward John.

  I was glad to be able to talk to him twice within such a short period of time. I asked him the expected flight time to Barcelona and came back to the group with the information.

  “The captain told me we’re due to land there at twelve fifty,” I said, not really knowing what to think of this new piece of information.

  Rupert lifted his hands up to his temples and looked down. He was calculating. Anna was watching the group with an empty gaze. So was I. Until now, I had never had to understand the union rules. I knew a couple of them, of course, but I had no idea how to handle such a situation. Therefore, I preferred to let the more experienced ones do the complex math. During this short moment of silence, I attempted to fully understand the situation myself. At two p.m., I showered as planned. At three p.m., I was supposed to leave for the airport but left at four p.m. instead. At five p.m., we got another delay. And then, another one. It is now nine p.m. I have already been “working” for seven hours, although I haven’t started my real eight-hour long-haul. Whoa! So, I’ll be working a 1sixteen-hour day? I’m lost! I thought, feeling overwhelmed. Then Rupert interrupted:

  “We’re not legal!” he finally declared.

  We had to call crew sked again. Besides, they still had time to get ahold of other flight attendants and replace us. Why hadn’t they done so already? Ishma grabbed the phone and pressed nine to be directed to the crew scheduling department. Vanessa answered again.

  “Vanessa at crew scheduling?”

  “Yes, hi, it’s Ishma in New York. We’re scheduled for the eleven p.m. flight to Barcelona. We calculated our duty time and aren’t legal, therefore we refuse to operate the flight,” she said very professionally.

  The woman at the end of the line seemed to be going mad.

  “You said earlier you would do it. It’s too late now to call reserves. You’ll get your bonus, but you must do it,” Vanessa replied with much authority.

  “We are going over our duty time. We’re tired. We have the right to refuse and are exercising our right,” Ishma pressed on.

  “Okay. I’ll replace you,” she finally replied angrily. “Stay in the crew room. I’ll call back to tell you where you’ll be sleeping.”

  Ishma hung up and gave us a summary of her conversation. In a way, I was relieved this would be over as we were already worn out. I couldn’t imagine serving loud Spanish passengers and picking up dirty trays all night long. While waiting to find out which hotel we’d be sleeping in, I went to the couch to try to relax. That’s when I saw John’s silhouette in the next room. I suddenly felt disappointed. I thought it was better this way, though. I was better off not flying with him as I didn’t want to be tormented again. From the simple look he gave me, my knees had gone weak. I didn’t dare imagine what else could happen.

  Next to me on the couch, there were a couple of other crew members. One of them introduced himself as Roberto, today’s chief purser. At last, he found out more about the situation and seemed to agree with our decision. We were going to exceed our duty time and knowing this, we were allowed to refuse to operate the flight. He kindly assured us we shouldn’t feel bad. Suddenly, the phone rang again. Ishma answered.

  “Hello, Ishma speaking.”

  “Yes, it’s Vanessa at crew sked. I’d like to speak with Roberto, your chief purser.”

  Roberto too
k over the call. I was observing him, intrigued by the conversation. After a few seconds, his whole body language completely changed. A few minutes earlier, Roberto had seemed very friendly, understanding, and pleasant to work with. He had just told me we were perfectly allowed to respect our union contract. I had appreciated his solidarity but somehow, now I didn’t feel as much empathy from him. The kind and respectful look he had had toward our group had suddenly transformed into a terrifying one. I found myself feeling scared of what he was about to tell us and doubted his opinion had remained the same about our decision. After a couple of okays, he hung up. His mind was set. He pointed at us angrily, almost like a maniac.

  “The four of you are coming with me! You’re operating the flight. End of story. GOT IT?”

  Roberto was clearly not asking us a question. There was no room for discussion and I got the message. In other words, he meant SHUT UP and TO HELL WITH YOUR FATIGUE TONIGHT! We were baffled. It had already been at least an hour since we had refused to operate the flight and he had even confirmed it was our right to do so. Now he was ordering us to get on the plane with him. It was beyond my understanding. Looks like no one had cared to listen to us. DISASTER No. 5! 6! 7! 8!

  After having ordered us to follow him, Roberto grabbed his carry-on and all his paperwork, then yelled like a mad dog:

  “Let’s go! Everybody on the plane! NOW!”

  The rest of the crew followed him. We were still in shock. As I didn’t want to lose my job, I followed him as well. Perhaps Vanessa had threatened Roberto? I had no clue what her argument had been but it had obviously worked. My feet were moving forward out of fear. Fear of authority. I didn’t know my rights. Rupert either. Anna was following behind and Ishma was struggling to walk with her high heels. Legally, we could leave, and at the same time, we very well knew that refusing to operate the flight would possibly result in additional delays. We pressed on, listening to other crew members express their opinion on the matter.