Wednesday, November 16, 2011

The Jetway Surprise

I've just landed in location B, deplaning is complete, the plane looks like a war zone, my crew and I have packed up our shit, and have checked every seat back pocket for free magazines on the way off.

K, so now we're ready to exit the aircraft to change planes and head out to location C...often times after having to sit at an airport for an efficient 3+ hours. Don't get me started.

So there is often a jetway exchange that happens if there is a new crew waiting to come aboard our bird. Sometimes it stresses me out because you never know who you might be running into during one of these swaps. I could step off that plane and into a minefield. Senses are heightened, eyes peeled. Am I going to run into that bitch who almost got me fired last year? Yeah lady, I found out. Someone who's tried to bone me and a whole other slew of stewardesses perhaps? Yeah you married douchebag, we know. Maybe that freakshow who talked my ear off about her rambunctious cat for 6 HOURS on a transcon? Uuuuuuugh.

You never know...I cross my fingers every time and hope to run into a cool person but the chances of that happening are slim to none. BUT if this does happen, it's like you've won the lottery.  If you happen to run into a flight attendant you even somewhat remember remotely liking, there is cheering and clapping and jumping and hugging. It's ridiculously effusive. You'd think we'd just gotten off a deserted island or have been reunited with our conjoined twin by this rare display of happiness.  Then you're forced to catch up at cracked out speeds because you only have about 30 seconds before the agents are rolling their eyes and breathing down all our necks to turn the plane.  It's quite the scene. And God forbid, if another FA from your crew receives the coveted attention and you don't, there is jealousy, hair pulling, sometimes bitch slapping, and heavy heavy drinking at the hotel bar about it later on...

Friday, October 21, 2011

Pan Am

Ok listen up. I'm only gonna say this once.

No, I am not watching 'Pan Am'. Well, to be real, I did try to watch like 10 minutes of it last week to see what all the hype was about and I was sooooo bored I almost thought I would have rather been at the current time era. And that's lady balls crazy talk. I did enjoy the cute little hats and vintage luggage though. That's about it.

See, this is my beef about why this annoys me a little. Do you go to your doctor's appointments and ask your MD if they've seen Grey's Anatomy, House, or any other multitude of totally inaccurate medical drama shows? Prolly not. When you get pulled over for speeding, do you roll down your window and say, "Hey Mr/Mrs. Copper, before you get down to business, I gotta ask, have you seen Cops? Perhaps Hawaii Five-O?" Nope, you most certainly do not. And hey, how about when you go out to eat, "Excuse me chef, have you seen anything on the Food Network before?" Stop it. You do not.

The real job is drama enough. I don't need to watch a glammed up 1960s version of it. Guys, need I remind you that I eat my preservative ladden space meals next to people pooping. Remember that.

That's all.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Accompanied Minors

The situation: 2 UMs. Kids from hell: girl-5, boy-7, sister & brother. They clearly hate each other and are literally birthed by Satan.

UMs (unaccompanied minors) can be tricky. I don't know why flight attendants are innately trusted to act as babysitters. We receive no specific training of the kind and I'm personally super awkward around most kids unless they are infantile and I can thus pet their perfectly fine baby hair and coochie-coo them for the 10 seconds it takes for me to want to give them back to their birth vessel.

So check it - Grandma drops off the kids for the flight. Checks them in as UMs. They arrive on our plane. We brief them. We hate them. We throw snacks and soda and run away from them.

The flight takes off. Kids are immediately dinging call lights. HE'S TOUCHING ME! SHE'S TOUCHING MEEE! HE TOOK MY CHIPS! SHE SPILLED MY DRINK! I think about what I want to do to temper this situation but then I think to myself that I cannot go to jail right now. It's not a good time for me.

Passengers around these little toxins are becoming frustrated. One speaks up and makes us aware of the most fucked up situation ever.  She thinks she saw their parents in the boarding area having a little pow-wow with grandmama, the getaway accomplice....BUT also that those sly SOB parents are ON the plane as we speak. They're towards the back drinking Sutter Home merlot as if it were a beaujolais nouveau.

So basically, these dilusional 'parents of the year' paid the modest UM fee, had grandma drop them off as if they were traveling alone so that we, the lucky flight attendants, could babysit their freakishly unbehaved aliens during the flight while they sat in the back pretending not to know their own kind. Sick.

I gotta hand it to them for thinking outside the box, it was quite the clever scheme if it would've worked out...but c'mon. Sack up and parent your children as hard as I can imagine it to be. I have the luxury to imagine because I didn't make the choice to mash 'n smash irresponsibly only to ask Maury who the father was, & more than once.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Not Everyone Likes a Poke

Hole-y Fuck.
I swear, as proud as I am to wear my wings and roll my smooth TravelPro around the world, there are many, many, 'pretty much everyday I work' times when I want to position myself directly underneath someone stowing their oversized luggage hoping it will injure me on the job.

I experience this emotion often (as this blog would clearly indictate) but frequently during beverage cart set-up.

One would think that setting up the beverage cart for service would be a standard practice, especially with the dinosaurs being in the industry for centuries. I mean, how many fucking ways are there to arrange some juice boxes, water bottles, and coffee pots on top of a trolley? Is it really that big a deal if I put my orange juice box in front of the cranberry? The coffee pot on my left? Stir sticks placed on the outside of the cart as opposed to on the inside?  The cups stacked too high?

Apparently to Nazi Nancy (we'll call them), these are HUGE deals. You do not dare rearrange her set-up of the holy bevy cart. It's her creation, her first-born, her way of organization and control.  I have a sinking suspicion she's a cat hoarder in her personal life.

So we're assigned a set of standard duties during each flight and naturally, a bunch of control freak weirdos request beverage detail position like single Nancy does. Probably the biggest source of contention out there regarding this riveting subject is the poking of holes in the tops of juice boxes to create a faster and smoother flow.  Flight attendants either love it or hate it. Lovers think the smoother flow eliminates splashing and also allows you to get through the cabin faster since the liquids are pouring faster. Haters hate because it pours too fast and they overpour the miniature doll cups everytime. Whatthefuckever Gina! I don't give 2 shits if you wanna siphon your juice through a catheter because you prefer how it pours. It will pour. See I don't care either way, but if you dare stabbed your pen into the top of those juices boxes when 'ol Nance wasn't looking, you're screwed. She'll grab that pen and poke a hole in you.

Friday, September 9, 2011

The Super Stew

Rewind back to your school days and remember how there seemed to always be that one person in class who had their hand permanently raised? That kid who did extra credit when they didn't need to, the dummy who brought their teachers gifts on holidays, volunteered in soup kitchens after school and the 7 sports teams/marching band practices they juggled effortlessly...the ass-kissers of my youth. Now in my professional adult life, these goody goodies have transformed into adult monsters, into what I like to call the "Super Stews" of the airline industry. There's about a 95% chance that I will work with at least one of these over-achieving weirdos and with a modest 3-6 person flight crew, those odds are maddening.

Let me help you with the obvious.
I'm talking about a sect of super stews who actually piss people off because of their "niceities". For example, this one flight attendant I know (and call in 'dead' for whenever I find out I'll be working with him) meets as many fully capable passengers at the boarding door and asks them where their seat assignment is. They answer him in fear that their seat is about to be changed or something but no, Super Stew emphatically says "Oh, 30B! What a lovely middle seat close to the bathrooms you've got there! Follow me!" and proceeds to lift their heavy luggage over his head before fully capable lady/mister can say anything about it. When a call light dings, he actually sprints up and down the aisles making such a distracting scene to be of service, treating every beverage request as if it were as dire as a medical emergency. He won't let anyone (passengers and crew) do anything for themselves except use the lavatories. I once dropped my pen on the galley floor sitting next to him and he literally dove to pick it up before I even knew I had dropped it. Like for real, he was on the galley floor risking contracting hepatitis for my Bic. This is not being nice people, it's over-the-top coked out maddness if you witnessed it with your own eyes.

This phenomena of brown-nosing is annoying as hell. We're not in high school anymore dude. You're not gonna get the teacher's pet award for wearing your super stew cape to work. This behavior creates an expectation that cannot be met by the bare-minimalists such as myself...and it comes across as offensive and condescending to those who know how to fly. Make no mistake though, I do my bare minimum like a champ and have lovely comment cards to prove it thank you very much.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

TBTL with Luke Burbank, addressing the recent podcast interview.

Hi all. So my little blog seems to be getting a lot more hits than usual thanks in large part to being interviewed on the podcast 'TBTL with Luke Burbank' on August 8th. (

If you've heard it (and the following two follow-up podcasts to the feature) you'll see that for various reasons, it stirred up some mutha fuckin' emotions ya'll, and some bi-polar ones at that. I was widely hated and told to go fuck myself (they didn't get it), but then also loved and thanked by a second wave of peeps who are clearly fabulous (they got it). Basically, what I think is that a lot of stupid people whom are most likely the very passengers that inspire many of my rants drank the haterade instead of the coffee, tea, or me. This is probably because they are severely unhappy with their lives and need to get laid or take a laxative.  I'm fully aware now that in taking such an extreme stance, I gotta be ready to take on even more bullshit than I already do on the plane.

So bring it on general public. You inspire me with your stupidity and senseless humor. Without you, I'd have no material. Kisses!

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

We Do Not Have Pillows & Blankets...And For Good Reason.

Have I ever told you about the time I found jizz on an airplane blanket?

I have found jizz on an airplane blanket.

So the next time you didn't come prepared and ask your flight attendant for a jizz blanket that we no longer supply, don't huff through your shivers looking annoyed. You should be thanking us for this particular budget cut.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

I'm not a GPS.

Surprise, surprise. I have another inflight pet peeve.

Please, do not ask a flight attendant WHERE we are at 35,000 ft in the air. It doesn't matter and you know it. Look out your window. You're lucky if you see a few cloud bunnies on a nice day, maybe a pretty mountain range, a body of water quite possibly, a crop circle even, but most of the time, it's just vast boring, brown, sprawling expanse. You don't care. You're bored and didn't bring enough to do.

I'm not a GPS fools.
If you ask me this, I pull crap out of my b-hole (as I look intently out your window peep hole) confidently spouting stuff like, "I believe we're about to cross the Bible Belt, That's gotta be uh...the Snake River...The Bermuda Triangle...Mount Midwest"... Sometimes I've been known to say (with a smile of course), "I don't know where you are, but I'm in hell" as I trot away. It doesn't matter what I tell you guys, you buy it because I'm in a hot official uniform (ok, this is debatable). It's like because I wear wings on my lapel, I'm omniscient or something. I'm a flight attendant Yo!, not a Jesus GPS or a Ride the Ducks tour guide. I'm not flying the plane guys. I drive a trolley cart in only one of two directions. I don't mind if you ask me how much longer we have left in our flight because trust me, I've been counting down the seconds until I can blow this pop stand, but the 'where?' makes we want to "accidentally" spill tomato juice on your crotch.

And no, I will not call up the pilots to verify our coordinates in flight either, they are very busy button pushing, dad joking, and looking up where the nearest golf course is to the hotel.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Party of Six

You're out at dinner.

You look at the table to your left. You notice something. An odd party of 6.  Although out of earshot, their conversations seem to you very surface-level, virginal, forced, incredibly awkward.  Two of them (who have isolated themselves at the far end of the table) are old, balding, oldish dudes wearing golf shirts, Kirkland Sigs, and leather shoe-sandals, probably named Mike and Steve.  Another one, a member of the AARP- she's talking to the waitress about her discount and begging for separate checks. The next, a young & pretty 20 something reading the internet on her phone, texting her boyfriend. The fifth is too well-dressed for this business park chain eatery with his designer duds, flamboyant gestures, the unicorn of food modifications. The last, a married middle-aged man who (by body language and an incessant "my wife wife that...") seems to be screaming to the rest of the table (but especially to unicorn) that he is straight, straight, & staight.

Who are these people? Why are they sharing a table you wonder?

Well keen observer that you are...

                     We are the average laying over airline crew.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

A Bra Isn't Just for Boobs

So this flight attendant tells me her story. She's working a flight to Las Vegas...

Hold up. First thing I wonder when I work Vegas is how many jack and cokes I'll sell and how many rose boobie tattoos I might see. The count is UP THERE.  Las Vegas is a magical route. It's an escape from working on an airplane's like I'm working on a city bus packed with a collective Maury Povich audience. It's a riot. Shit always happens.

So back to the story, the flight attendant says bimbo in 23D rings her call button. She wearily approaches wondering if she's maybe popped an implant when fat-tard in front of her reclined his seat...or does she want another double vodka cran? Jack and coke (diet of course)?

No, chick wants a pillow. We don't have that lice spreading luxury anymore lady. She's got two on her chest but she's being high maintenance and doesn't want to lay that way. Flight attendant apologizes for the inconvenience and offers to help retrieve her hot pink, leopard print furry carry-on in hopes she may have a sweater in there to transform into what she wants. Barbie huffs and refuses. Flight attendant leaves. Looks back. Sees her rifling through the bag she didn't want. Lady seems to find what she's looking for.....wait for it.... she pulls out a ginormous brassiere. She literally chooses her underwear to form into a pillow, not a sweater, t-shirt, scarf, but a bra. Guess it's not surprising that this one would actually bring clothing materials to Las Vegas but c'mon. She lays down her tray table, folds the EE-sized fushia bra and conks the fuck out. No shame. Later, while doing the second beverage service, flight attendant sees that she's shifted positions and also the purpose of the bra

It's now an eye-mask.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Feed a Flight Attendant, We'll Save Your Life

Flight attendants get a bad rap.

I know it may seem like we are the bitchiest bitchy bitches in all of customer service land, but I swear for the most part, we are actually really nice people...we're just hangry.  "Real" food is scarce. Do you know how torturous it is to a flight attendant when you board a plane with a pizza box, the scent of pepperoni and cheese now wafting through the cabin? You're an asshole for the tantalizing scent - and for filing up our extremely limited garage space with your cumbersome cardboard box.

You're wondering why we don't just get off the plane and get our own shit...often times we aren't allowed or our connections are so tight we don't have the luxury of time for basic human needs, so we just waste away, surviving on crumbs we find in the seat back pockets until the cleaners get on and take those away from us too.

And now you're wondering, why we aren't all skinny bitches then if we're so malnourished? It's because we're so desperate for anything to put in our faces that we eat bag after bag of high-caloric beverage snacks to keep us alive. There may only be 5-pieces of snack mix inside each bag, but there are like 72 unrecognizable ingredients listed on the package. Ta-da, the illusion of short-term satiation.

You can help. You have a choice. If you're in First Class, say no to the meal offering. If you're in coach, don't buy the hot meal. This way, we can eat what's left over. That is often times, our only hope. Donate to the Feed a Flight Attendant Fund and bring an extra pizza or sandwich onboard next time. Together, we can save each others lives. Save us from hunger pains, and we'll save you in the unlikely event of a plane crash. Sounds more than fair to me...

Monday, March 28, 2011

I Heart Turbulence.

Turbulence. I request it. Yeah it's possible that the bumps you are experiencing on your next flight are not due to weather but well, me. I simply call up the pilots and say, "Yo, I'm tired of gross man in Tommy Bahama with no shoes on stretching his ass in my galley, can we get that seatbelt sign turned on so I can seem slightly less bitchy when I order him back to his seatbelt extension? Cool, thanks." And ta-da, bumps ensue while fearful eyes look to me for soothing. Sometimes I make myself look really scared which is always fun. Turbulence equals flight attendant power and control. Huge perk of the job. Sometimes we have to lie a little to gain it but trust me, I don't lose sleep over it.

I also love turbulence while working the beverage cart because we have a legitimate excuse to delay our sevice and sometimes not even do it at sorry, no ginger ale for you (see previous post). :-(

By my request.
Lastly, even when the bumps aren't severe enough to condone above laziness, I love them still because it's like I'm on a carnival ride and it challenges my balance and stability. It's like I'm wearing Shape-Ups without really having to wear small boats on my feet. It mixes things up and makes my ass look good.

So as you can see, turbulence is nothing to be alarmed about. We're not gonna drop out of mid-air and die or break apart into pieces. It's simply like driving over a speed bump or 2 or 13 or 1,000 while in your car. Relax, take your Xanax and pass out.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Ginger Ale Fail

Let me tell you something...I hate lots of things. Yah, I drink the haterade when it comes to things like meatless chili, vegans, chain wallets, in-flight sombreros, all other airlines, children between the ages of 2-21, Hawaiian print anything, stuffed animals toted by adults, Canadians, thumb rings, blue tooth headsets, Ed Hardy, & velvet....but working on airplanes has added something additional to this list...

Ginger fucking ale.

I just don't get it. Nobody drinks ginger ale at home. No one. Unless you're having a party and need the stuff for a mixer, I challenge you to name one person you know who keeps a stock of ginger ale at home in the fridge. You do not come home after a long days work, sit back in the recliner and say, "Man, I could sure go for a ginger ale right now."

So why do you do it on planes? It's weird to me. What is it about being at altitude that triggers this craving? And no, it's usually not due to nausea or airsickness. It's not. You know you've ordered it.  I'm constantly taking this poll amongst my friends about what they tend to order and ginger ale always comes up first. I don't know why it angers me to such a murderous rage, but every time the snowball effect of ginger ale orders starts to cascade down the rows, I loose my shit and envision the shake n' spray in the offenders face. I realize this is ridiculous and an over-reaction. Again, I don't know why it effects me so but it just does. I would have no problem serving it to you if you could prove it's a normal, consistent beverage choice in your daily life while on ground, in your car, or in any other mode of transportation.

I know I've got you. I'm right. You've never really thought about it until now. So if you notice your trolley dolly make a face or growl or spit while you've just ordered said beverage, think about the choice you just made. Your safe bet is to always, always order nothing.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Effective Time-Killing

I get bored at work.

Often. I should have majored in 'Effective Time-Killing' because that is what I do besides stewardessing. After my tedious, required duties have been completed, do you ever ever wonder what your flight attendants are doing? If I haven't found a juicy tabloid to marinate my mind in, here are some things I find myself doing to pass the time:

1. I bartend. For myself. Unfortunately, non-alcoholically. Screw the travel benefits, the real perk in being a flight attendant is the never ending (until you run out of what's catered) flow of your most basic FREE drinks!!  So I take advantage of this and the boredom to create new off-menu beverages. For example, 8 creamers + OJ w/ a splash of sprite = orange creamsicle!, or 6 creamers + rootbeer = rootbeer float!, or perforating a coffee bag and dripping hot water through = espresso that will eff you up! I feel very scientifically & brilliantly mad sometimes in conducting these beverage experiments...Me with my stir-sticks and various liquids & cups arranged methodically...and it's the only time I put on my apron, gloves, and glasses. I'm purposefully splashing around, making a mess of the galley, pouring things from unnecessarily great heights, hoping for passengers to witness this madness and want to try one of my cocktails.

2. I have contests with my crew to see who can drink the most water without breaking the seal first. This is especially hilarious and challenging on full flights with constantly occupied lavatories. My years as a sorority chick pay the fuck off with this one...

3. I use my "Fart Machine" app. Nuff said.

4. On the same note, I make poop. I wish it was the real stuff but we are constipated 95% of the I "overconstipate" by making prank poop out of used coffee grounds and a bit of saran wrap. The warmed grounds of brewed coffee slightly melt the saran wrap and TA-DA! I can form some pretty life-like turds which can then be strategically placed on the toilet seat when the pilots come out for their potty break.

5. I discretely try to place the end of a toilet paper roll on the bottom of another flight attendant's shoe as they walk up the aisle...especially if I hate them which is most likely the case.

6. I make fake cigarettes out of stir-sticks and masking tape.  When I see an unsuspecting passenger making their way back to use the lav in which there are ashtrays (yes, we have to have them on planes just in case), I grab a cup of coffee in one hand, my cig in the other, & ask (in my best raspy voice) for a light.

7. I eat. Everything that is left over. Just for something to do. I have eaten 20 times my weight in airplane cheeseburgers...last month alone. Thankfully I have limitless beverages to wash them down with.

8. I ignore call-light requests.  I pretend like I can't hear them so the other flight attendants will have to get it. I am busy being bored. I learned this one from a FA who brings a fake hearing aid to work to legitimize his laziness.

Wow, I could've used the time I spent writing this to make at least 5 coffee-poop turds. I gotta go. Bye.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

What is?...Electronic Devices for 200 please.

Pet Peeve. When a flight attendant lists off various types of electronic devices and their respective brand names to be turned off in order to secure the cabin.


I know when you fly as much as we space waitresses do, it may seem as if 99.9% of the flying public suffers from Fetal Alcohol Syndrome or 16 & Pregnant Disease...I may be reaching here but I still think they all know what an electronic device is. They may choose not to follow instructions but I really would like to believe that they can distinguish between an actual paper-paged book versus a Kindle. I can't stand it when the announcement goes like something as follows: "Ladies & Gentlemen, in order for us to close the forward aircraft door, please turn off your iPods, iPads, iPhones, Blackberry's, Blueberries, Raspberries, Kindles, Droids, Boise headsets, Gameboy's, DVD players, etc, etc, etc...."

We get it. You like to hear yourself over the PA. You're trying to be cute with different berry names. Aw. How Southwest of you...One of my favsies in particular is this one FA who says droid like 'DRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDD', like in the commercial. Yah.

So just stop. Put down the PA. Follow the script. No one is listening anyway. Ad lib elsewhere and get creative with things that how can we fuck with the uniform policy just enough to get people talking but still remain in complete compliance with the manual. One of my favorite drunk brainstorming activites as of late...