“Uh, yeah, I think so.” I responded.
“Then don't worry about it, let it go and when it happens that will be one thing you can cross off your bucket list.” Tommy turned to pick up one of his technical books (which only someone like him can happily get lost in) and that was the end of the discussion.
That's what Reina Torres was doing. Her acceptance of what she believed to be God's will allowed her to be bathed in peace. I was no saint nor did I want to be. I just wanted some serenity. I gazed out the window of the gliding craft and saw the last rays of the sun vanish below the horizon.
Down on flight hours when I returned to duty on the 24th I hadn't yet been called for a trip. Meanwhile, relishing the extra hours of sleeping and eating, they became the focal point of my day. Soon I was rewarded by Scheduling with a trip and a unique situation. The entire crew of a Miami bound DC-10 flight needed to be replaced. They also informed me that I was to work the Senior/ lead position on the flight. I was shocked because I really hadn't accumulated that much seniority compared to most based at LAX. I was then told that the rest of the F/As assigned were all new, just out of training. The bonus was that this flight sequence also offered a 31-hour layover in the Floridian metropolis. No bossy senior gals on this one, I thought. I became panicky as I tried to recall the first class service on the route. I rushed about my home looking for my Flight Attendant Manual. I prepped for the flight.
“The McDonnell Douglas DC-10 has eight emergency exits,” I rehearsed with my best disc jockey voice. “Make sure your seat is in the upright locked position and your tray table in front of you is stored away. On behalf of the entire cabin crew I would like to thank you for flying with us this evening. If there is anything you need please be happy to ask one of our friendly flight attendants.”
Once we assembled in the flight attendant briefing room I was amazed to find an all female cadet crew. They were young, bright and willing to hang on their Senior Flight Attendant’s every word. Every new hire imagines what the first great trip will be like. I was overwhelmed. This naughty little boy found himself locked in the candy store.
“Respect,” my conscience dictated. I was gonna try my best to be a fine example of what a Senior F/A should be. One other factor was that I no longer felt depressed or sluggish and I was ready to work the cabins. A normal diet was supplying me with tremendous energy so there would be no need for coffee on this leg.
The crew worked with precision and the new F/As were on top of everything as we cruised at 35.000'. Some passengers complimented the young and beautiful crew. Everything went more than right, and like my class, they had developed a close bond with each other.
“What's to do in Miami, Eddy?” The ladies wanted to go out, seek excitement, see and be seen. Some spoke of eating fine Cuban cuisine, others wanted to dance, and all had come with fine attire stored in their regulation garment bags. As each reappeared in the lobby later that evening I was blown away. I had not been around that much elegance in a long time. They certainly turned heads! As the evening progressed some young buck would approach the fillies to try his luck only to be dismissed, politely of course.
This splendid evening out was not about finding a boyfriend or forming a new relationship. This was their inaugural flight and as one crew-mate told me, it was filled with hope for a long and successful career in the industry and enjoying the fruits of their trade. The night's expectations were one of jubilation. They celebrated their recent graduation. Soon I discovered by the process of the evening's activities that I was designated to be their chaperone. Seven gorgeous ladies was overkill. I would never have a moment to focus on any one F/A as it was my responsibility to see to the well-being of all of them. I was the director of this little Girl Scout group and the airline would have my head on a platter if something happened to even one of my crew-mates. Dinner was first on the list and Cuban cuisine was the star attraction. Although adults, some of the ladies were just a couple of years out of high school. They freely gave of their trust and respect, expecting rightfully so that I would watch over them.
Drinking was kept to a minimum as I still retained an extremely low percentage of body fat. Besides, as the time passed, I became more nervous: as suitor after suitor approached only to be rebuffed. As the proud cocks walked away with their tails between their legs they would glance over at me and deliver a menacing stare. Why did these seven gals stick so closely to that tanned Cuban which they may have assumed my ethnicity because of our geographic location. I was more the house mother seeing that the innocent ladies made it back to the hotel happy, entertained and grateful. I was there to protect them. The joyful F/As never realized I was lucky I didn't get my ass kicked that night. There were a lot of pissed off guys when we finally left the disco.
The crew laughed and sunned by the pool the next morning and it was clear that I had made some new friends. That was a really good thing in my mind and the flight back to LAX was a delight. Once I deplaned I felt great. The depression I encountered while dieting faded away. I was now consuming thousands of calories and my energy level surged. At the gym I was easily dealing with noble amounts of weight while still retaining a low percentage of body fat. I became relaxed and removed all caution from mind.
Chapter IV
Awakening on October 30th I struggled to open my eyes. My mind caught a flicker of light, a flame. Was I dreaming? I forced myself into a semi-conscious state and caught the stare of the Virgin Mother, a statue I kept in my room. Her face seemed so peaceful as I studied her features. Mary seemed to be focused on the small flame below I had failed to extinguish the night before. The fire danced a gleeful jig as an act of defiance to taunt me because it had survived the entire night. The wide white candle that had rested at her feet was now a small lake of smooth crusted wax, a testament to the flame’s assault. The Virgin statue had been a gift from my aunt, Sister Marie Inez. She had attained the position of Provincial Mother in the convent of the Holy Sisters of Carmel of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus. I was sure Sister Inez would have preferred it if I had become a priest but she got a flight attendant instead. I recalled the time I had just returned from Las Vegas, and she referred to the desert oasis as “that city of sin.” I thought the real sin was having to endure six legs of flights in awful turbulence over the hot desert that day.
Although I had drifted from my Roman Catholic practice I had not strayed from my cultural beliefs or my mother’s dedication to the faith. My mother and aunt's great convictions were enough for me to retain some sort of hope for guidance from a greater source. I reasoned that if God listened to anyone, he listened to the Sisters of Carmel. Sister Inez assured me that the assembly in the convent was constantly praying for me and, I supposed, the repentance of my wicked ways. Yet, I was wise enough not to dismiss the power of prayer that echoed in whispers through the religious space of their convent.
Now upright in the bed I noticed my suitcase open on the floor, filled with everything a reserve flight attendant needed to cover any flight on short notice. My clothes were nicely packed; there was my flight manual, a flashlight, a wine corkscrew and my passport. All that was needed was for Scheduling to call with an assignment. I glanced out the window that revealed a lovely sunny day in the South Bay. I decided I would try and push the scheduling process in hopes of having the possibility of beach time before reporting at LAX.
“I think I have one, Eduardo,” Marlene the friendly scheduler stated.
“I’ll take anything,” I interjected but was hoping she would say Honolulu. After a moment's pause, she resumed speaking.
“Ah, Sequence 190.” Concluding the call, I grabbed my current F/A bid sheet. My finger frantically ran down each page seeking the destination of Sequence 190.
“LAX-MEX,” the coded letters jumped out at me
“Shit, the stinking all-nighter.” I slapped myself on the forehead and cursed for having forced the process. If left alone, I may have been awarded a Honolulu trip. All that was now settled. It was going
to be a long night, a hard international flight with no sleep and a full service turn-around back to LAX the next morning.
Although there would be no layover, the thought of Mexico City brought warm memories, the Zona Rosa, crew-members laughing wine glasses in hand. I had decided that Mexico would be my next destination for a lengthy escape, a new adventure. The beaches of Acapulco or Puerto Vallarta were tempting. The cuisine, the nightlife and especially the warmth of the Mexican people, all of it was very inviting. But tonight would just be an all-night turn-around.
Resigned to the fact that I would be up all night I put on my workout clothes and drove inland to the Animal House gym. I suppose my decision was out of habit more than anything. There was no more contest, no more test to challenge my will, no more anything. I sensed a measure of anxiety, a sense of uncertainty lingering in my mind. After a while I tried to shrug it off. I stood in the gym and tried to balance the pleasurable and the necessary for the workout. No matter how hard I tried I could not get my thoughts together. Something was wrong. There was no focus. There was no particular problem overriding my immediate task, but nevertheless I was totally distracted. On October 30th, I quit my workout early for the first time.
Heading back to Manhattan Beach I began to get nervous, to tremble. My hand was still shaking as I shut the door behind me upon entering my home. I lay down and sought to rest before my evening report at LAX. The anxiousness continued to rise and soon turned to anger. My body just tossed and turned as I desperately tried to grasp the escape of sleep. The time dragged on with not much comfort, just the gentle look of the Virgin, her pose reflecting sympathy or possibly pity. She didn't have to work the all-nighter, I thought, and I wished I didn't either. I glanced at the clock and it was time to get ready.
I selected the beige shirt with the company logo throughout once I had showered and shaved. Fully dressed, I gazed into the mirror one last time. My dress tie with the airline’s emblem was straightened. As I grabbed my suitcase and closed the door behind me, I had a strange thought, would I ever see this place again? I dismissed it and tried to embrace the fact that it was time to go to work. I settled into my vehicle, turned on the radio and headed out for LAX.
“What if the plane goes down?” I whispered to myself. It wasn't the first time I had asked myself such a silly question. I supposed that other flight crews most likely had doubts now and then on their way to work. Using logic I tried to convince myself that it was indeed true, others must have such questions. It must be normal.
Any profession who sees their career as a mission must always generate such reflections I reasoned. The explorer looks to the poles, the athlete looks to his Olympic trials. In each case they share an absolute, unyielding, irresistible urge to the ultimate calling in their field. No matter how horrible the thought of an airliner crash, I determined one must carry the fantasy of experiencing, enduring and overcoming the penultimate test of their life. I began to feel more composed as I reasoned that such feelings must be with others also. The radio’s music soothed me as my conscience insisted that such thinking was silly, at least on this night and as this flight was concerned. I gazed into the sky as I came to a red stop light on the crowded boulevard. I allowed my imagination to gather the sight deeply, enjoying a recurring dream of a DC-10 going into the heavens. I recalled the sensation of sitting behind the captain in the cockpit, a few miles high and gazing out the window. The spray of lights that gathered around a city were always impressive, they seemed to be galaxies, complementing the galaxies above. I would always get carried away with the thought that I had transcended the mundane, that in fact I was on a spaceship destined for some remote star.
“Get moving asshole.” The vulgarity from behind broke the vision, The light was indeed green.
“I hope that individual is not on my plane tonight,” I expressed with some embarrassment. One thing was sure- it was going to be a long night.
A day full of unpleasantness convinced me that it might be best if I kept myself busy through the night flight. Work would make the time pass quickly, or so I hoped. Going into the last day of the month I figured that the other crew members would also be reservists. With the addition of the recent graduating class I most likely would have more seniority. Maybe I should bid to work the first class position? That certainly would keep me on my toes. Arriving at the company’s parking structure, I quickly gathered my belongings and hurried to catch the company tram that took the crews to the terminal building.
As the elevator door opened, I heard the clanging bell announcing the tram’s arrival. Not wanting to be left behind to wait for the next tram, I began to run. Leaping upon the bus at the last moment, I stopped to compose myself before finding a seat. As the tram sped off, I immediately recognized friends' smiling faces. Tamlyn Surutan Baily was a lovely little flower of a lady. In her early twenties, we had shared duty on various flights in the past. Her laughter was always welcome. Becky Devita was another of the new faces on the flight line. Her blond hair and green eyes had such a sparkle. Gary Rollings, Rod Dawn and Jeff Stillwell were familiar faces. Three other people I did not recognize, a young lad, a woman and a very young girl dressed in an F/A uniform who looked as if she could be a student in high school.
“They are sure hiring them young these days,” I whispered to myself as I took a place in the rear of the vehicle.
“Maybe you’re just getting old.” The statement came from the rear corner of the bus. Funny, I did not initially notice anyone on the other side, as my mind had been occupied. The lights on the tarmac outside the vehicle shined brightly through the window of the dimmed tram, creating only a silhouette of the figure that had caught me off guard. I strained to make out a face.
“Well I know one thing, I will be a lot older when we arrive back here from Mexico City tomorrow morning,” I countered.
“You’re on Flight 605 also?” The figure lurched forward, the airport lights shifted. Out from the shadow emerged the radiant face of Reina Torres.
“We’re all on the flight, Eddy. What a great crew,” Tamlyn blurted out, expressing her joy. “It’s going to be a grand flight.” The revelation that such close friends were assigned the same sequence lifted the spirits of everyone except me. I glanced back at Reina who had switched on her F/A flashlight which enabled her to delve into some paperback novel. I was left in silence to ponder my fate.
“Why were we all going on the all-nighter?” I was speaking to myself. What had happened to the regular crew? Like clockwork, the answer came from Gary, speaking to one of the F/A’s that I was not familiar with.
“Yeah, they became illegal to fly the trip by eight minutes,” he stated. “They,” I took to mean as the regular crew. No wonder the replacements were so junior. Jeff spoke up revealing that he and Becky would be “dead heading” on the leg down to the Mexican capital. That was indeed fortunate for them I imagined and this fact just pissed me off even more. I envisioned them nestled nicely in the comfort of a First Class seat, sleeping, conserving their strength, only to be available to work the leg back to LAX the following morning. I was filled with envy over their cushy assignment. I assumed I was senior to most in this group of youngsters, why hadn’t Marlene, the flight scheduler reserved a dead-head position for me?
The tram made its way around the parked planes the night of October 30th, jet fumes heavy in the air, service vehicles scurrying about, personnel all around. The drop off point was a ramp that led down to the company’s operations center, the underworld of Terminal 5. Upon entering the flight lounge, I had already complained to two acquaintances of the burdens facing me once aboard Flight 605 as my miserable state of mind forced me to sit alone in the lounge, wishing I was elsewhere. Suddenly, a gleam caught my eye. It was coming from Gary Rollings' shoes. I gazed in complete bafflement because they were immaculate. In fact Larry’s total being epitomized perfection. I was clearly outclassed. Larry had taken his responsibilities to term on what I considered a piece of shit flight. This failing pile
d on my negative tally for that day.
It was Gary who herded the youngsters for the pre-flight meeting. As I grudgingly entered the doorway, Gary put a hand on my shoulder.
“Join the fun big fella.” My desire to isolate myself became even more critical as I sat at the end of the table, distancing myself from the others. I was physically present, but I resolved to escape this affliction mentally. I tried to be patient with my foul mood, one that without temperance would erupt.
All the riders from the tram were present. The adolescent looking young lady was introduced as Karen Smitt, 20 years old, fresh out of training. With dark satin hair, fair complexion, she was the all-American gal, the girl next door. I would learn years later that as a freshman in high school she once informed a senior classmate that she knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life.
“I want to be a Flight Attendant.” And here she was filled with enthusiasm wanting to embrace this dreadful all night voyage. The DC-10 flight would be her first flight into Mexico. Her joy was evident, smiling broadly like a child on her first excursion to Disneyland. I wondered how long that smile would remain once she worked the “slave ship” leg the following morning on the return with a full load and a full breakfast service. My spirits finally improved to some degree when I discovered that there would only be one hundred passengers on this first leg down to MEX. Gary announced that this night's flight would be his first in taking on the responsibility as a designated Senior/lead on the DC-10 and humbly asked for the entire crew's assistance in performing his task successfully. Everyone eagerly committed their support except one. Gary hesitated a bit in his next request. Since the crew was so junior, a volunteer was needed to work the downstairs galley knowing what was in store for them in the morning. Oh no, I had no desire to spend all night and the following morning wrestling with the nasty food carts. I instantly closed my eyes and pretended I did not hear the request, the actions of a scoundrel. If no one stepped forward, I was comforted by the bottom line. I had seniority among this band of joyful servants.
Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate Page 9