Confessions of a Hostie 3

by Danielle Hugh

  In these instances I push the cart a row or two forward, yet nine times out of ten the passenger moves the exact same distance forward. I am guilty, at times, of turning my head to give a look conveying: Are you kidding me or what? How would you like it if I crept up behind you and started breathing on the back of your neck while you were trying to work?

  It is not just about the crew's feelings. I am concerned for passengers who either miss out on things or are kept waiting because of the selfishness of some fellow passengers. When there are over 200 mouths in my zone alone and, in this case, only five crew to feed them all, then any disruption by one person comes at the expense of the rest of the passengers.

  We've had one woman on this flight who has paid for her seat, yet prefers to live in the aisle. She is constantly fidgeting around - opening lockers and placing her bag, not on the lap like most, but in the aisle. Of course the bag is huge and heavy. I can attest to the fact because she insisted I put it in the locker when she came onboard. She even has the nerve to ask me, while I am on a cart, to take her bag down from the locker for her. This means delaying the service so this woman can access her bag. She would no doubt place the bag in the aisle again, thus blocking our access to the galley.

  I tell her I will return to help her after the meal service, meaning later. That advice falls on deaf ears. As soon as we have pushed the cart past her, she gets out of her seat to remove the bag herself. Guess where she puts it? In the aisle.

  She is continually in our way. When two people are on a cart, one is always walking backwards. Today that is me. Crew have exceptional peripheral vision skills.

  I joke that even though I can't see things in the future, I can often see them off to the side.

  Walking backwards, I keep my peripheral vision trained on where the cart is heading. We've had to shuffle the crew around to accommodate the loss of Wendy. I'm now working with Julia. Although Julia has little to do with the woman in the aisle, Julia has instantly identified her as pest, even before the woman began rummaging through her bag in the aisle.

  Every time Julia needs to go back to the galley, which is often, she has to pass the woman - stepping over her bag and contorting her body to slither by. This also occurs when returning with armfuls of drinks, or bread rolls, or whatever Julia is required to carry. To Julia's credit, her verbal encounters with the woman are pleasant enough, using the words please, excuse me, thank you, and can I please get past. Julia's expressions, however, are becoming increasingly animated. Everyone in her viewpoint can see how frustrated she is; everyone except the woman who is the source of the hindrance.

  Julia's patience is at breaking point. We need to return the now-empty cart to galley. As I push the cart towards the galley I can see the woman continuing her residence in the aisle. I am sure Julia already knows the woman is still there, yet I inform her anyway.

  Julia cannot hold her tongue anymore.

  'Of course she is still there - but not for long' Julia says with anger.

  Julia turns around, but just as she is about to unleash a verbal tirade, the arrogant woman grabs her dirty tray from her tray table to then shove in front of Julia face.

  'Oh hell' I think to myself.

  I can see steam blowing from Julia's ears.

  I hope she doesn't say something she will regret later. Fortunately she is in shock as the dirty tray is so close to Julia's face she is forced to back away.

  I think quickly.

  'Julia, we've still another 30-or-so passengers who haven't had a meal yet and the meals will be getting cold if we don't serve them soon. Please get the lady to hold onto her tray and we will collect it when we have finished attending to those who have yet to be served.'

  The serial pest finally decides to get out of our way. The immediate problem is averted - for the short term anyway. The woman will take up residence again in the aisle - it is a given.

  Wendy hasn't left her seat since boarding. She had two glasses of wine and went to sleep. It is good for some. It is over six hours since we stepped on the aircraft and we are still collecting trays. We have not stopped. None of the crew has eaten. I haven't even had time to take a sip of water, with racing to the toilet the only break of any description. As soon as the last tray is collected we close the galley curtains in preparation to eat any morsel of food not nailed down.

  'The call-lights can wait for five minutes' says Julia stuffing a bread roll into her mouth.

  Aircrafts are not the only things needing fuel.

  hop to it

  After a quick bite to eat, answering all the call-bells, and then clearing the cabin of rubbish, we turn the lights in the cabin down. Hopefully the passengers will get some sleep. Our 'resident aisle woman' doesn't look the least bit tired. She is still in the aisle, being in ours and everyone else's way. We still have work to do: call-lights to attend, toilets to clean, rubbish to collect, drinks to serve, and general hostie business to attend to. Every time I step outside the galley I run into the woman, having to maneuver my way around her to get past, with the added inconvenience of walking in a dark cabin. On one occasion Julia bumps forcibly into the woman. I can't be sure if it was on purpose, but I suspect it was.

  While I am out in the cabin I see the silhouette of Wendy getting up from her seat to walk to the toilets. She has her back to me, thus does not know I am watching. Wendy made the presumption none of the crew would notice her, however she presumed wrong. She still has a limp, but only a slight one. The way she carried on earlier, when she stood up from the wheelchair, you would have sworn she had a broken leg. A few hours later and Wendy is scooting down the aircraft aisle quicker than my 76 year-old aunty.

  Predictably, Wendy's 'bad leg' must have worsened during the flight as when the plane lands she hops to the waiting wheelchair, grimacing in pain as she sits in the chair. Wendy looks refreshed. The rest of the crew look like we've stepped out of a train wreck, having the night from hell. When flights are full it is often a struggle to keep pace with the demands. Take away a crew member and it can be mayhem.

  Most airlines and flights disembark wheelchair passengers last, as is the case, in theory, today. Wendy is not the last passenger off the plane. By the way, we are only paid until the plane pulls up at the aerobridge. Should we spend extra time on the plane, as we do, it is on our own time. The job is not about money, but most passengers don't realize that many of the delays and extra duties we do, particularly after we have landed, are considered 'after work duties'.

  Regardless, crew are obliging with special-needs passengers, particularly those requiring wheelchairs, the elderly, and mothers with babies. What makes our blood boil is waiting for someone so oblivious to the world around them that they hold up the entire crew. That person today is none other than our 'resident aisle woman'.

  Let me also point out that it is not just the current crew impacted by this woman's actions - or lack of actions - there is a flow-on effect. This aircraft is being turned around to operate to the next destination. We are already late - the clock is ticking - cleaners, caterers, and an engineer are all waiting to come onboard before the new crew and then ultimately the new passengers can start boarding. Now everyone is waiting on one person - and that one person is no hurry at all.

  She waited until last so the crew could get her bag down from the overhead locker. This is the same bag she took down herself - at least a dozen times. When the crew member did get it down for her, with that person being me, she insists on checking everything in her bag is in place. She then starts checking the seat pocket in front of her.

  Julia walks up the aisle... if looks could kill, this woman's funeral would be in three days' time.

  Julia cannot hold her tongue, yet uses humor to mask her absolute distain for this woman:

  'Did you know that the last person left on the plane has to clean it?'

  It is water off a duck's back.

  Julia's patience is exhausted - no more humor - no more compassion. Just as Julia is ready to put a bomb
under this woman, I step in.

  'Ma'am, the crew cannot leave the aircraft until everyone is off. To assist you I will take your bag to the front door. If you require further assistance, the ground-staff will help you there.'

  I take a deep breath and count. Another 22 seconds elapse before she finally moves. Twenty two seconds is not a long time, but when she has been dawdling for at least five minutes more than any other passenger, it is excruciatingly lengthy.

  Cleaning staff line the aerobridge in readiness. A millisecond after the woman leaves, the ground staff swoop. When the crew finally take our first step from aircraft, we let out a collective sigh of relief. I've said my goodbyes to the rest of the crew, except Wendy. I'm normally the first to offer help with crew who might need a hand, but not this time. Wendy is out of sight and out of mind. I scurry away from the plane with nothing but thoughts of getting home.

  Arriving at my apartment, I feel a wave of calmness wash over me. Outside of other flyers, I spend less time at home than anyone else I know. That's why I appreciate it so much. When tired and worn-out, nothing is more soothing than a long shower in my own home. There are not many jobs where you work such long days to then shower, dry off, and then jump straight into bed. Add jetlag, oxygen deprivation, and working in a pressurized tube racing across the skies at speed and it's understandable why sometimes my head hits the pillow with the force of a sledgehammer.

  The next day Dean and I meet for lunch. I rarely talk about the intricacies of my work, however the last time I went to Jakarta Dean came with me. Being familiar with the trip and destination, he wants to know what I did there. He can see I've had a haircut and presumes (correctly) that I had a massage (or two). I tell of Wendy's fall at the massage place, forcing us to work home with one less crew. Dean has watched me work, knowing how demanding the job can be; there is no need to elaborate.

  Having a supportive partner is essential in my occupation. I guess it is the same with any job - with any couple, although my lifestyle is a little different than most. I am away so much; sometimes I can barely function when I return home. Dean has seen firsthand the demands of my vocation. He does not profess to fully understand, nor should he, but he is empathetic.

  I give Dean the small gifts bought in Jakarta - three pairs of Ray-ban sunglasses, two Hugo Boss, a Burberry, and Lacoste polo shirts. The time consumed buying them and the amount of money spent is embarrassingly miniscule compared to Dean's appreciation. I love to shop, it is my pleasure, I tell him.

  I also bought a few other items for friends and family. Again, the cost was little. I found the cutest clutch-bag for Helen. She did not ask for anything; good friends rarely do. I'll give it to her later in the day when we meet for coffee.

  I only have less than 48 hours at home before my next trip. Unpacking becomes repacking. I take out my Jakarta clothes to replace with a new wardrobe for my next trip, being to South Africa. I place the dirty clothes in my washing machine, changing thoughts from the trip just done, to pack clean clothes with thoughts of the trip I'm about to do. After so long in this job, one trip tends to run into the next. The dramas and hard work of the last trip are quickly forgotten. A new adventure beckons.

  I meet with Helen for our obligatory coffee and a chat. She loves the clutch-bag. I knew she would. I tell her my 'Wendy story'. She has heard many Wendy stories. The great thing about having a true friend like Helen is she not only listens, she sympathizes. It works both ways as Helen shares the trials and tribulations of her family life. Mine is not the only life being a rollercoaster of events and emotions. It is easy to become overly self-indulged. Thanks to family and friends like Helen, I'd like to think I stay grounded - if you will excuse the grounded pun.

  Helen would love to come away on another trip with me, but her eldest child is a bit of a handful at the moment. Helen recognizes she needs to spend more time with him, being in the fortunate position that she can.

  I often think that flight attendants with families live a strange life. It must be difficult juggling a family while spending more than half their life away. I've talked with Dean's brother Danny about his life with a wife and children. He admits the lifestyle is hard on his family. It is equally as hard on himself. He has missed birthdays, Christmases, Easters, the children's first days at school, concert recitals, sporting events, when the kids have been sick, parent-teacher nights, and, as he says 'the list goes on and on'.

  A redeeming feature of our job and our airline is we have a seniority driven bidding system for our rosters, our trips. The longer we've been flying, the more likely we are to get specific days off. Danny's been flying a tad less than me, yet even though he is approaching 20 years flying there are no guarantees. I'm the same. I do get the occasional Christmas off these days, whereas for the first dozen or so years of flying I was either in a different country or in the air for Christmas.

  Our rosters and trips are bid for in advance. Days off, like Christmas, can be planned for, but when last-minute or short-notice events come up, it's a lottery. Usually those odds aren't good.

  For someone with a family, like Danny, the days at home are most important. He prioritizes his family time first. We have the ability, at times, to swap trips. I've told Danny I will swap at any time to accommodate being home with his family for important events. He is appreciative, but has yet to take up the offer.

  Flight attendants generally have more sick days allocated than the average occupation; that's because we get genuinely physically fatigued and sick more than most jobs. We are in foreign countries, often third-world, staying in large, polluted cities in hotels with sometimes no way to open a window. We deal with thousands of people weekly in a sealed aluminum tube with recycled bugs floating around everywhere. You can see why we get sick more often than most.

  There is always going to be those who abuse the system, to take days off work when it suits, although it is not an easy thing to do. We need to provide a medical certificate to prove our illness. That is fair enough.

  I'm a goody-two-shoes. I won't wrought the system. The closest I've ever been to taking days off without a legitimate reason was when my aunty passed away and I wanted to go to the funeral. My company has compassionate leave days available for immediate family, but did not classify my aunt as immediate family. I had just come back from a long trip, feeling jetlagged and tired anyway.

  I visited my local doctor. Without prompting, the doctor discovered I had blocked ears and a throat infection (severe upper respiratory tract infection), insisting I take four days off work. To be honest, I was shocked. Needless to say, I went to the funeral.

  Another hostie I know had felt unwell for some time. She thought she may have had a mild cold, not feeling good, yet being well enough to go to work. She explained that she wasn't coughing or sneezing, being confident she was not contagious. Her doctor agreed.

  She did three or four long trips, not being able to shake the persistent and niggling cold. She visited the doctor again with the same diagnosis, so she thought she would do one more trip. If she did not feel better after this trip she would insist on having some time off work to fully recover. While away, in Bangkok, she fell in a heap. It turned out she had fluid on her lungs - and a lot. She ended up hospitalized, spending over three weeks grounded in Thailand as doctors would not allow her to fly.

  She had no medical history or preexisting ailment. It was purely a case of being slightly unwell, not having the chance to recover, and continuing to place her body under stress. The accumulative effects of those additional flights caused her body to shut down.

  I have talked with numerous flight attendants having similar experiences. Most did not become hospitalized, yet I've heard some harrowing stories. Our bodies are subjected to many stresses and conditions foreign to ground-based workers. It is not always easy to recognize what is wrong, if indeed there is anything. As my experience of going to the doctor to be diagnosed with a severe upper respiratory tract infection when I merely thought I had jetlag showed, w
e can never be too careful. In saying that, I love my job and lifestyle; I only take days off when I am genuinely feeling unwell and I always make sure I have a doctor's certificate.

  Dean is a G.P and also Danny's brother, yet neither Danny nor I, when sick, go to him for medical certificates. It could be seen as a conflict of interest by our airline. It shouldn't, but sometimes it is best to air on the side of caution.

  Another flying friend of mine has a brother who is a doctor. She always went to him for medical certificates. One day she was called into our company's office. I remember her telling me how furious she was. The company kept saying that the name on the medical certificate was the same last name as the flight attendants'.

  'So what' she said.

  'Is it a family member?' they asked.

  She would not answer, explaining that the doctor in question was qualified and followed all codes of ethics as set out by the medical association.

  'What's the doctor's last name got to do with anything?' she added.

  She was livid. Obviously one or more people in the company are employed just to check crew medical certificates, thus she was called in to explain hers. She said that questioning the authenticity of a medical certificate was questioning the authority of a doctor.

  'Are you a medical practitioner?' she asked the company investigator.

  When the person said 'no', she stood up and walked out.