“Let the high school kid do it,” I thought to myself. I found disdain in her delightful manner. I wanted to politely sneer at her, give her a full dose of reality.
“This is not an enjoyable assignment” I wished to tell her, tell anyone. Cary Diller was a new acquaintance to me but I would soon discover what a fine lady lay in that wonderful spirit. She eagerly stepped forward to do her part in making this trip successful; she volunteered to be the galley person, thus sealing her own fate. The other face I had not recognized belonged to a wholesome looking lad with reddish brown hair. The name “Skip” was all I could recall.
“Eddy?” The calling of my name startled me.
“Asleep already?” Cary asked. The rest of the crew started laughing. The obvious being exposed, I was indeed bitter and not amused. I sat reflecting a look of puzzlement. A few seconds passed before I realized I was being asked which flight attendant jumpseat I would prefer thus dictating my duties on Flight 605.
“My own bed at home.” The thought remained in my head. I found it difficult to choose while also acknowledging that I indeed was on this appalling flight. Wanting to do the least amount of work, I chose door 1R in first class. I reasoned I would be required to serve the least amount of passengers on a full flight in the morning. Reina had been assigned as the Spanish Speaker which was fine with me, better her than me. There was an instant resolve to make sure that the other crew members did not discover that I too could communicate in Spanish, not this night. Reina Patricia Torres’ profile caught my attention as she sat content, those gorgeous black eyes still holding that paperback book. If I had been spooked by her stories previously, I was in no frame of mind now to even begin to address her nonsensical little dreams. Fatigue, anger and pettiness brushed aside any fears generated by her in the past.
“We’ll see you at Gate 58,” Gary concluded the meeting. I waited until all had departed, trying to somehow delay the inevitable. Exiting Operations, I carried my suitcase up the back stairs of the jetway at the assigned gate. No sooner had I arrived a maintenance man appeared, attired in the familiar red jumpsuit, to deject me further. The DC-10 Spaceship designated as our craft for Flight 605 had just arrived from Honolulu a few minutes earlier and the ground worker shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“Wait till you guys see the mess,” he shouted above all the jet noise of the busy airport. Upon crossing the threshold entering into the belly of the craft, I threw my bag down and stood in astonishment. I just wanted to cry at that point. The cabin section was in a complete squalor. Barf bags full and empty lined the aisles. Plastic cups, napkins, tissues and full baby diapers were what greeted our happy crew that evening. Gary Rollings was not defeated and he made every effort to try and rectify the problem, folding blankets and restoring pillows. I, on the other hand, planted my rear end in the galley full of disgust. The gate agent boarded the jumbo jet and asked the crew to deplane, wanting us to wait in the jetway. The captain had seen the mess and requested a replacement craft from the hangar. Of course, I recognized there was going to be a substantial delay while they prepped the new aircraft. I was sure the world was conspiring against me.
“This is worthless,” was all I could mutter as I huddled with the rest of the crew in the metal casing. The gate agent was upset because I believed she wanted to board the passengers and go
home. I was upset because there would be less time to do the service and I was stuck with the flight no matter how long the agent was destined to hang around LAX. But the rest of the flight attendants of 6-0-5 took the delay in stride, seeming to be enjoying one another, establishing an alliance. This contradictory attitude sickened me even more.
After some time we caught sight of another jumbo jet with the large red logo of our airline broad across the ship's side. The DC-10's numbers, NW903, could be read on its side during the laggardly moving journey to our gate. It always was an impressive view. I gazed down the left side of the craft as it was slowly positioned aside us. I was in wonder with the thought that in a short time this enormous vehicle would carry us miles into the heavens.
Once aboard, the crew worked quickly to prepare the cabin. Carts were properly stored. Emergency equipment was checked and double checked. Blankets and pillows were taken from the overhead cabinet area and placed onto the seats as the majority of passengers on this leg would soon try to get some sleep. Once I had secured my belongings and checked my station at 1R, I walked to the mid galley where a pot of coffee had been brewed. I drank the first cup quickly in hopes of remedying my fatigue and displeasure. I was pouring a second cup as Captain Carl Herbert Sr. boarded the craft, his craft this night, at door 2L.
“Need a cup of java, Captain?” My personality surfaced momentarily.
“Thanks partner,” stated the bigger than life figure in full dress uniform. Captain Herbert took a couple of sips and turned forward and headed to the cockpit.
The flight was already delayed by some time and the gate agents wanted to board the passengers as soon as possible. I returned to my station at 1R to find Gary and Karen Smitt waiting for me.
“Listen Eddy,” Gary became diplomatic. “As this is Karen’s first Mexico flight, I was wondering if you would switch positions with her so I could teach her the First Class Service.” The request only further confused me, then I felt my temper rise.
“What?”
“Switch with Karen, you go aft to door 4R.” Gary was doing what he felt would be of benefit to Karen and the company believing that I wished the same. He did not realize that this particular night he was wrong in the assumption.
“You want me to go aft into the smoking section?”
“Hey, it’s your call, but I know Karen would be grateful,” Gary reasoned.
“Please, please, please,” begged Karen. Finding myself cornered I grudgingly agreed and gathered my belongings and proceeded to the rear, to door 4R, whining every step of the way down the right aisle of the metal bird.
“Boarding.” Reina’s clear voice rang over the intercom, putting everyone on alert. After checking the emergency equipment in the aft I moved forward to where Cary was having a tough time with a stubborn trash cart at door 2R. Glancing across the mid galley I noticed Reina in a deep trance, gazing down holding a boarding card which the first passenger entering had handed her. He proceeded in and walked down the aisle while Reina retained his card.
“Hey, you okay?” I queried.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” She stated. “The flight numbers. I was just looking at the flight numbers.” Her voice registered a concern.
“6-0-5, what’s the big deal?” I asked.
“No. It’s changed. It’s now 2-6-0-5.” Her dark deep eyes locked on to the bold numbers. She raised her head and I saw fear in those lovely eyes.
“6-0-5, 2-6-0-5, who cares, this is still a piece of shit assignment.”
“Eddy!!” Reina was surprised by my lack of caring. Embarrassed, I quickly tried to justify my shallow statement.
“Well damn it. These passengers should be home, tucked warmly in their beds, fast asleep as I should be.” I grabbed the boarding pass from Reina's hand. 2-6-0-5 were indeed the numbers on the card and I started to think back to the flight I had worked with Reina to the Mexican capital many months ago. I pondered for a moment. “Our conversation, your premonition-that dream you said you have.” Then it became apparent to me. Whenever there is a switch of aircraft the airline must change the flight number. It is customary to just attach an extra digit in front of the original number. In this particular case, they happened to choose a 2.
“I've had the same dream ever since I was eleven,” she insisted.
“And what were the numbers you saw?” I challenged her. She looked away for a moment then replied.
“2-6-5.”
“Oh Christ,” I thought to myself. Here I was in the presence of Jeane Dixon, we were delayed, I was exhausted and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm had just confiscated my position in first class. I wanted to plead with Reina not t
o do this to me. “Was there a zero in your dream?” I asked the somber girl. She thought for a while then answered.
“No.”
“Then this is not the flight in your vision,” I logically stated. She remained silent for a moment then I saw a smile appear and she livened up.
“You're right, I'm being silly.” The bulk of the passengers began to arrive so I left her and hurried down the right aisle back to my post.
“God Reina, if you ever have the feeling you are going to be killed on a plane make sure I'm not on it with you.” I murmured to myself. How I wished I was somewhere else. The plane began to get organized. I saw the rear section as a refuge where I was determined to remain and do the absolute minimum involved in this stupid flight.
In the cabin of Flight 2605, the scene was normal, passengers fussing around, trying to get their luggage into the overhead cabinet, grabbing as many pillows and blankets as lay on the seats. They all wanted to sleep this flight away something I could not do. I slowly walked up the right aisle checking to make sure that the passengers I would be responsible for had their carry on luggage packed safely away. There would be plenty of open seats on this leg so I expected no difficulties. I noticed a Mexican man with a white cowboy hat. Two Hispanic women, possibly sisters, took seats in the rear section along the side of the fuselage and just a couple of rows forward door 4R, my jumpseat. A beautiful, dark haired, dark eyed young lady caught my eye but unfortunately she was sitting on the opposite side of the craft. The female gate agent came on the intercom and apologized for the lengthy hold up and hurriedly shut the door.
DC-10, NW903 suddenly lurched backwards. There were a few individuals still standing in the aisles but the action of the plane made it obvious that Captain Herbert and his cockpit crew had decided that our delay had been long enough. The young, LAX based F/As scurried to their assigned positions securing the doors and preparing for the safety demonstration.
“Welcome aboard Flight 2605, operating to Mexico City.” Gary’s voice took command.
“There are eight emergency exit doors on our aircraft, please locate the exit nearest you.” I could see that a great many passengers already had their eyes closed. I thought how confused they would be if a quick exit was required. I went through the motions of showing my aft section how to grab and place the yellow oxygen mask over their face if required. But as I had been explaining to Reina nothing was going to happen. The flight would be as typical as it was every other night so I could care less if the people were paying attention to my demonstration. Once Gary was done, the emergency information was then repeated in Spanish.
“Bienvenidos Senores y Senoras.” Reina’s announcement in Spanish was perfect. Her voice contained the confidence I hoped would remain considering our earlier discussion. I walked down the right aisle as Reina spoke, checking to make sure the seat belts were on, the seats were in the upright locked position and the tray tables were up and stored away.
“Yes, everything is going to be all right,” I whispered to myself. I wanted to feel it. I just wanted to get up in the air, get the service done as quickly as possible and tuck everyone to sleep for the duration of the three and one half hour flight. Cary had secured a liquor cart and a trash cart in the aft galley just to the rear of my jumpseat. In training it was always emphasized that these carts could be a real safety hazard on takeoff and landing if an emergency occurred. But in the real world, they would be sent up from the main galley below because it was more convenient and saved time in preparing for the service. I did a double check on them making sure they were locked and secured. The last thing I wanted was one of them to shoot forward and slam right into my face while I was banded to my jumpseat at 4R. Securing the aft galley I then strapped myself into my seat.
“Flight Attendants, prepare for take off.” The command came from the cockpit and the 10 rotated on the tarmac at the end of the runway. The Spaceship positioned itself and started to accelerate.
The fantasy was about to begin. I always found the feeling so ecstatic-a rocket to the stars and being taken away, at the mercy of a force beyond one’s control. With the sound and sensation amplified in the aft, I was aware that the craft was turning left as it rose higher into the heavens over the Pacific. This allowed me to see the jeweled brilliance of the Los Angeles Basin. On such a clear night, the stars vied for my attention.
With the DC-10 still ascending, the young crew rose to get organized and prepare for the beverage service. A portion of the passengers were already asleep and the F/As wanted to ensure that the rest would soon be.
“Let’s get this out of the way.” Finding myself rejuvenated I donned my blue regulation F/A apron with the company's logo dead center, middle chest. I re-pinned my flight wings onto the apron. My new attitude surprised my work mates as I energetically arrived in the service galley. I scanned the craft to see where everyone was. Gary and little Miss Karen were taking care of the first class cabin. Rod Dawn was at 3L and the guy I knew only as Skip was still aft at door 4L. They would be responsible for the service on the left side of the fuselage. Tamlyn, stationed at 3R and I would take care of the service on the right side. Reina who was stationed at 2L, assisted Cary and serviced the passengers located in “El Segundo.”
“Hey, Mexican Jumping Bean,” Cary said, “I have the menudo pot down below ready to go, you want to put it on your cart?” I was surprised at first then smiled as I realized she was poking fun at me.
“Only if you sit up front rolling and slapping fresh tortillas,” I responded. The counter statement pleased Cary. She could be seen still snickering as she rode the service elevator back down to the galley.
Tamlyn and I passed out the usual fare, Coke, coffee and peanuts. Extra napkins were given to a little Mexican man and woman, an obvious couple. The dark skin and aged hands testified to a life of hardship. No matter how foul a mood I may have been in, I was always humbled by the sight of such people who most likely had saved up their hard earned money for this trip. He was a laborer and she a maid or nanny perhaps. I envisioned them returning to their homeland, a rare opportunity to visit loved ones. I spent extra time with them making sure they had everything they needed and they assured me in Spanish that everything was just fine. Maneuvering the cart a few steps aft I encountered an aisle where the inhabitants were all asleep, requiring no assistance, yet I made sure that they still had their seat belts attached in case of turbulence. Making sure Tamlyn had finished with her passengers we again adjusted the cart and retreaded a bit more aft. I turned inward towards the center and was met with a bold request.
“Hey man, got any brew?” A young man with a prominent red-haired beard was ready to quench his awful thirst. Much later I would discover that his name was Ronald Daily. A handsome young Hispanic man sat next to him. I immediately assumed they were traveling together. I smiled and squatted down to check the bottom of the cart where the beer was kept with some dry ice, insuring that it was nice and cold. As I grabbed a bottle I was quite surprised.
“It's Bohemia,” I stated. “This is damn good stuff,”
“Good huh? Give us six,” the bearded lad requested. I began to laugh. These guys were dear to my own heart.
“How about I give you each two now and the others a little later?” The men were content with that arrangement. As the cart worked its way back, each encounter with the passengers of Flight 2605 began to focus me, when just a little while before I wanted to hide away. Now I was taking care to notice every little detail about everyone I saw and served. A slight scar on the forehead of a man, a mole on the cheek of a Mexican woman, the torn blue jeans of a young man and always, there was the distinct visage of the native Indian that was the foundation of the modern Mexican. The majority had dark, elastic skin, sun parched, the distinct nose and the deep pool of the dusky eyes. I knew the “sangre,” the blood of a rich heritage that ran in their veins also ran in mine. These were the same features my father carried not just outwardly but deep in his soul; the same spirit he carried
intimately inside. I felt as one with the Mexican nationals who often booked this late flight and who were the majority this night on the DC-10. Some were returning to visit family after long periods of grinding labor in the fields of California’s San Joaquin Valley. Some were traveling with forged documents, illegal while in the United States. The one thing they all had in common was that they were simple folk, the salt of the earth. The DC-10's belly was not occupied by sun worshipers on a fling down to one of the many hot spots on the Mexican Riviera. As I served them it became apparent that I understood these people and was touched by their almost religious kindness. These were the sort of people that were our neighbors while I was growing up in East Los Angeles and represented the very reasons my parents never moved out of the old neighborhood. My mother had taught me to respect and learn from such simplicity. On Flight 2605, I felt a special bond with them.
As the cart reached the aft of the craft, right before door 4R, I came upon the two Hispanic women I assumed were sisters.
“Ustedes quieren un refresco senoritas?” The woman smiled and blushed as I offered them a soft drink. They were obviously older woman who most likely were married, yet I addressed each of them as “Miss.” My mother had long ago instructed her son on the proper etiquette when addressing a woman I was meeting for the first time. In Hispanic Culture, it is presumptuous to assume that a woman unknown is married, no matter the age.
“Whiskey con agua sin hielo.” One sister requested a cocktail. I took my time and proudly served the water in a plastic cup and presented her with the miniature bottle containing the hard liquor.
“Dos dolares por favor,” I requested. The woman stared blankly. It soon became obvious to me that she was not a seasoned flier, and by her expression, did not realize that the alcoholic drinks had a price. I immediately acted to save her the embarrassment. “Me complaceria si me deja pagar.” I politely told her that it would please me greatly if she allowed me the honor of purchasing the drink for her. The older lady was deeply touched and extremely grateful and held-out her hand. I took it and held it graciously to the shock of Tamlyn on the other side of the cart but to the delight of the ladies. With the service concluded I stored the cart into the aft galley just feet away from my assigned jumpseat at 4R. As I turned and faced the cabin I was surprised to discover that a young Mexican family, which included two children, had relocated to the aft sector of the craft, to my section. The young family needed more room for their children to move about.
Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate Page 10