It's been COLD in the northeast, so working an easy two-day trip to Fort Lauderdale the other day seemed like a pretty good idea. However, the weather made for a very bumpy ride.
Since we couldn't start the service right away, I sat in the back galley and began to read "The Memory Keeper's Daughter," which I had picked up that afternoon from the stack of abandoned books in a variety of languages loftily referred to as the "Inflight Library".
Before I could even get into the plot, a muscle-bound dude with a deep tan, tattoo murals and spiky, over-styled hair came to the back because he just had to have a drink.
The other flight attendant, a very chatty, over-rung Southern belle said, "sure," and Muscles took that as an invitation to explain why he needed a drink so bad.
He was escaping his wife for the weekend in Miami. She had discovered him cheating and taken him with her to confront the other woman.
Belle was shocked, but delighted.
He continued, without a hint of genuine remorse, "I know, I'm scum...but I love them both."
In the corner I tucked my nose further into my book, but when she said, "Well, at least you are honest about it," I couldn't help looking up with arched eyebrow.
I think Muscles noticed his new audience was not completely sympathetic.
"I don't know what I was thinking, they are both gorgeous....and you know the worst part...my wife is pregnant."
Belle literally squealed.
He continued, "so I've just go to figure out what I really want. I know I've got issues."
He must have picked up on the disgust I was radiating because he looked over at me and said, "look, she's disgusted."
I didn't disagree.
He shook his head on his stump of a neck and added thoughtfully, "I'll just have to write about it...I use this stuff in my music."
Of course, a musician.
"You should check out my band. We have a MySpace page. We play around Jersey, in Hoboken and stuff. I have a few CDs in my bag."
Finally, he went back to his seat, having at least enough good taste to leave a $5 tip, and eventually we were able to do the regular beverage service.
But he didn't forget to drop off a CD and a flier.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, if that is the case, this one said "Jersey Band" about 500 times. It was a 5x7 soft-focus picture of Muscles looking seriously off into the distance with his bandmate, equally tacky but considerably younger, staring knowingly into the camera. All of this intertwinded with a wing and crown graphic similar to those found silkscreened on cheap tee-shirts.
I bit my lip and showed it to the third Flight Attendant who's eyes widened in horror.
I haven't listened to the CD yet so I can't give it a true review. I did use the card as a bookmark for a day or two, but honestly, it creeped me out a little and I was embarrassed to set it down while I read.
Now I think there's a yogurt coupon marking my place.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
That Toddlin' Town!
My mother has, among unquantifiable amounts
of receipts, magazines, mementos and junk mail, at least two years worth of pristine "Preservation" magazines, the journal of the National Trust for Historic Preservation.
I relate this, not to libel her housekeeping reputation, but simply to underscore that I have crossed the living room and ignored these particular periodicals literally thousands of times.
However, I've been on a bit of a history kick since reading Mayflower, by Nathaniel Philbrick (of which I found a copy in a Vegas hotel of all places), and so on my last visit I decided to flip through the back issues of "Preservation."
The beautiful buildings, the well-told adventures of renovation, and the urgency of rescuing threatened landmarks enthralled me. I was particularly struck by a lusty centerfold of a spectacularly frescoed grand hotel lobby: the Palmer House in Chicago.
The Palmer House??
As in the Hilton Palmer hotel that I've seen listed on pairing information for long ORD layovers??
No freaking way!
I rushed to the computer to confirm, and sure enough, my company actually puts us at one of the most glamorous and historic hotels in the Windy City. And not only that, but at that very moment a 4-day trip with a 30hr ORD layover was sitting right there in open time, one empty spot calling my name!
Being the fabulous line holder that I am (for November at least), I called scheduling and traded my trips around until I was Chicago bound.
I spent the next few days giddily flipping through maps and guide books. Inspired my the "Preservation" magazine, where some Chicago edifice seemed to be featured in every issue I themed my layover an architectural adventure and charged up my beloved Canon PowerShot Digital elph.
I arrived late on Wednesday night and had quite a time locating my room down the confusing but colorful halls decorated in a peacock motif an
d lined with glossy black and white photos of celebrities who had played the hotel's Empire Ballroom in its heyday.
Despite the luxuries room, I rose early the next day and rode the CTA to the University of Illinois at Chicago (UIC) campus to see Hull House, the original building from reformer Jane Addams famous "social settlement". I had read Twenty-Five Years at Hull House when I was in college.
The building was basically a turn of the century home, but I couldn't help thinking that even a soup kitchen or after school program must be more humanizing in a lovely brick structure with grand carved staircases.
It was a little sad for me however to realize that despite all her good work, Jane had some unsettling political objectives and that Hull House was so intentionally secular. It's sad that her work didn't give glory to God, especially since so many of her residents were immigrants that must have had strong religious backgrounds.
Of course there is always the bias of the museum curators, so I've dug up my copy of Twenty Five Years and I intent on rereading it soon.
Back downtown I headed to the Chicago Cultural Center, famed for it's Tiffany glass domes. Originally the city's public library, it now houses art exhibits, performances, and a visitors information center. It's free, open to the public and absolutely breathtaking!
The dome
s and mosaics were everything they promised to be, and after seeing them pictures so often, to actually stand in their sparking light was like meeting a celebrity.
In the lobby was an aromatic coffee shop and everywhere citizens were gathering to read, chat and soak up the setting. The building felt so alive.
And it continued like this the rest of the afternoon: turn corner, gasp, snap picture.
I walked for hours, down the "Miracle Mile", over the Chicago River, and through Millennium Park.
When it finally got too dark and chilly to continue (and I reminded myself I had a 4am van time the next morning), I went up to the third floor of the Border's bookstore and perched myself in the cafe window to reflect on the day.
A warm cup of decaf in hand and a stack of Chicago history books at my feet, I began to draft this post. Across the street, young ballerinas rehearsed on the upper floors of the Macy's building while below the animated and colorful holiday windows amused the many pedestrians. Occasionally an elevated train rattled by at my eye level.
I haven't been this enamored of a city in years.
I purchased City of the Century: the Epic of Chicago and the Making of America by Donald L Miller, the thickest and most highly recommended of the books I had browsed and dived in on my flight back to Houston.
It was such a wonderful layover, that I harbored no ill will to the driver who picked me up at 4am sharp. The only other people out were early morning delivery men and a couple stumbling back to the hotel from a very late night.
Maybe next time I'll get to see a little bit of their Chicago too.
of receipts, magazines, mementos and junk mail, at least two years worth of pristine "Preservation" magazines, the journal of the National Trust for Historic Preservation.I relate this, not to libel her housekeeping reputation, but simply to underscore that I have crossed the living room and ignored these particular periodicals literally thousands of times.
However, I've been on a bit of a history kick since reading Mayflower, by Nathaniel Philbrick (of which I found a copy in a Vegas hotel of all places), and so on my last visit I decided to flip through the back issues of "Preservation."
The beautiful buildings, the well-told adventures of renovation, and the urgency of rescuing threatened landmarks enthralled me. I was particularly struck by a lusty centerfold of a spectacularly frescoed grand hotel lobby: the Palmer House in Chicago.
The Palmer House??
As in the Hilton Palmer hotel that I've seen listed on pairing information for long ORD layovers??
No freaking way!
I rushed to the computer to confirm, and sure enough, my company actually puts us at one of the most glamorous and historic hotels in the Windy City. And not only that, but at that very moment a 4-day trip with a 30hr ORD layover was sitting right there in open time, one empty spot calling my name!
Being the fabulous line holder that I am (for November at least), I called scheduling and traded my trips around until I was Chicago bound.
I spent the next few days giddily flipping through maps and guide books. Inspired my the "Preservation" magazine, where some Chicago edifice seemed to be featured in every issue I themed my layover an architectural adventure and charged up my beloved Canon PowerShot Digital elph.
I arrived late on Wednesday night and had quite a time locating my room down the confusing but colorful halls decorated in a peacock motif an
d lined with glossy black and white photos of celebrities who had played the hotel's Empire Ballroom in its heyday.Despite the luxuries room, I rose early the next day and rode the CTA to the University of Illinois at Chicago (UIC) campus to see Hull House, the original building from reformer Jane Addams famous "social settlement". I had read Twenty-Five Years at Hull House when I was in college.
The building was basically a turn of the century home, but I couldn't help thinking that even a soup kitchen or after school program must be more humanizing in a lovely brick structure with grand carved staircases.
It was a little sad for me however to realize that despite all her good work, Jane had some unsettling political objectives and that Hull House was so intentionally secular. It's sad that her work didn't give glory to God, especially since so many of her residents were immigrants that must have had strong religious backgrounds.
Of course there is always the bias of the museum curators, so I've dug up my copy of Twenty Five Years and I intent on rereading it soon.
Back downtown I headed to the Chicago Cultural Center, famed for it's Tiffany glass domes. Originally the city's public library, it now houses art exhibits, performances, and a visitors information center. It's free, open to the public and absolutely breathtaking!
The dome
s and mosaics were everything they promised to be, and after seeing them pictures so often, to actually stand in their sparking light was like meeting a celebrity.In the lobby was an aromatic coffee shop and everywhere citizens were gathering to read, chat and soak up the setting. The building felt so alive.
And it continued like this the rest of the afternoon: turn corner, gasp, snap picture.
I walked for hours, down the "Miracle Mile", over the Chicago River, and through Millennium Park.
When it finally got too dark and chilly to continue (and I reminded myself I had a 4am van time the next morning), I went up to the third floor of the Border's bookstore and perched myself in the cafe window to reflect on the day.
A warm cup of decaf in hand and a stack of Chicago history books at my feet, I began to draft this post. Across the street, young ballerinas rehearsed on the upper floors of the Macy's building while below the animated and colorful holiday windows amused the many pedestrians. Occasionally an elevated train rattled by at my eye level.
I haven't been this enamored of a city in years.
I purchased City of the Century: the Epic of Chicago and the Making of America by Donald L Miller, the thickest and most highly recommended of the books I had browsed and dived in on my flight back to Houston.
It was such a wonderful layover, that I harbored no ill will to the driver who picked me up at 4am sharp. The only other people out were early morning delivery men and a couple stumbling back to the hotel from a very late night.
Maybe next time I'll get to see a little bit of their Chicago too.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Training, Tulsa
Ok everyone, join me in a collective sigh of relief......
I passed my annual recurrent training and am qualified to pass out peanuts for another year! Woo-hoo!
But serisouly, recurrent training is actually about everything other than passing out peanuts and opening cokes. This year the program included hours of computer modules that had to be completed before testing day, a review of the FAA manual to make sure it is current and complete, a written test, hands-on drills evacuting each of the aircraft in our fleet, then more playtime with the fire extinguishers, life vests, Automatic External Difbulator (AED), etc.
It wasn't entirely unfun, and it is refreshing to get a little job performance feedback other than a customer complaints because you didn't hang some coach lady's overstuffed garment bag in the first class closet (please people....write a customer compliement if you are able, it makes a big difference).
Recurrent training is a good reminder of our top priorities: safety and security. It make me proud to wear the navy blue polly-wool.
The day is also an excellent reminder of why I don't have a regular job: getting up early every morning, having to pick out different business causal attire each day, spending hours in the same office/classroom setting with the same people. I have so much respect for you who can do it, and your labors are truly appreciated, but I couldn't do it.
So, with renwed enthusiasm for my chosen professssion and a pair of sexy new shoes (if I'm required to wear unadorned black heels in the terminal, they should at least be heels) I preared to end this month as i began it...with a long layover in Tulsa, OK.
In the past, the best thing I've had to say about Tulsa was that the beds were comfortable and they layovers short. So you can imagine my delight when I was assigned 30hrs at a new hotel.
Oh what a hotel it was!
We entered at ground level and ascended a steep escalator to the newly remodeled lobby. Done in huge undulating glass chandiliers, black laquered end tables, zebra print ottomans of dramatic, oversized proportions and freakish flower arrangments held hostage in low geometric vases, it sparkled with a sort of Ikea-meets-brothel modern opulence.
And just in case you wondered how all this opulence came to be exisit in the Oklahoma prairie, framed picture of an oil rig hung in my bathroom.
Classy.
But if you would prefer to ride with not those not coasting on oil profits, then you should have joined me for a trip on Tulsa Transit.
The bus in Oklahoma is a unique oppurtunity to encounter a highly concentrated assortment of bedragled humanity. They spanned ages, represented many races, and lacked an assortment of limbs and teeth. In general they were friendly however, and those not concersing boisteriously with themselves were delighted to tell me all about what brought them to Tulsa (and it generally wasn't a shiny 737)
I had taken the bus to visit a local yarn store in the posh Uttica Square shopping district.
"Loops"' was spacious and inviting, with beautifully displayed yarns, good lighting, big comfy couches and slick Mac Pros to ring up your order and manage their online business. The owners wre friendly professionals and refreshingly down-to-earth amid the high-end, big-named retailers in Uttica Square, where Tulsans came to despoit thier oil money.
And as I sat there, the store filled up with customers who had come to just sit and knit. We exchanged stories and talked about knitting projects. I bought some super-soft alpaca blend in shages of orange and brown with some vauge Thanksgiving project in mind.
On that same visit, back at the hotel, I completed all my computer modules for recurrent training, and struck up a conversation with a conferenece attendee in the computer room. Together we raided the display booths of some enviornmental engineering meeting for candy, pens, post-it notes, letter openers and chapstick.
I considered it a pretty productive trip.
I passed my annual recurrent training and am qualified to pass out peanuts for another year! Woo-hoo!
But serisouly, recurrent training is actually about everything other than passing out peanuts and opening cokes. This year the program included hours of computer modules that had to be completed before testing day, a review of the FAA manual to make sure it is current and complete, a written test, hands-on drills evacuting each of the aircraft in our fleet, then more playtime with the fire extinguishers, life vests, Automatic External Difbulator (AED), etc.
It wasn't entirely unfun, and it is refreshing to get a little job performance feedback other than a customer complaints because you didn't hang some coach lady's overstuffed garment bag in the first class closet (please people....write a customer compliement if you are able, it makes a big difference).
Recurrent training is a good reminder of our top priorities: safety and security. It make me proud to wear the navy blue polly-wool.
The day is also an excellent reminder of why I don't have a regular job: getting up early every morning, having to pick out different business causal attire each day, spending hours in the same office/classroom setting with the same people. I have so much respect for you who can do it, and your labors are truly appreciated, but I couldn't do it.
So, with renwed enthusiasm for my chosen professssion and a pair of sexy new shoes (if I'm required to wear unadorned black heels in the terminal, they should at least be heels) I preared to end this month as i began it...with a long layover in Tulsa, OK.
In the past, the best thing I've had to say about Tulsa was that the beds were comfortable and they layovers short. So you can imagine my delight when I was assigned 30hrs at a new hotel.
Oh what a hotel it was!
We entered at ground level and ascended a steep escalator to the newly remodeled lobby. Done in huge undulating glass chandiliers, black laquered end tables, zebra print ottomans of dramatic, oversized proportions and freakish flower arrangments held hostage in low geometric vases, it sparkled with a sort of Ikea-meets-brothel modern opulence.
And just in case you wondered how all this opulence came to be exisit in the Oklahoma prairie, framed picture of an oil rig hung in my bathroom.
Classy.
But if you would prefer to ride with not those not coasting on oil profits, then you should have joined me for a trip on Tulsa Transit.
The bus in Oklahoma is a unique oppurtunity to encounter a highly concentrated assortment of bedragled humanity. They spanned ages, represented many races, and lacked an assortment of limbs and teeth. In general they were friendly however, and those not concersing boisteriously with themselves were delighted to tell me all about what brought them to Tulsa (and it generally wasn't a shiny 737)
I had taken the bus to visit a local yarn store in the posh Uttica Square shopping district.
"Loops"' was spacious and inviting, with beautifully displayed yarns, good lighting, big comfy couches and slick Mac Pros to ring up your order and manage their online business. The owners wre friendly professionals and refreshingly down-to-earth amid the high-end, big-named retailers in Uttica Square, where Tulsans came to despoit thier oil money.
And as I sat there, the store filled up with customers who had come to just sit and knit. We exchanged stories and talked about knitting projects. I bought some super-soft alpaca blend in shages of orange and brown with some vauge Thanksgiving project in mind.
On that same visit, back at the hotel, I completed all my computer modules for recurrent training, and struck up a conversation with a conferenece attendee in the computer room. Together we raided the display booths of some enviornmental engineering meeting for candy, pens, post-it notes, letter openers and chapstick.
I considered it a pretty productive trip.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
It's the Most Marketed Time of the Year
Flying for a living has made me very sensitive to the weather...and cycling daily even more so.
The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is look out the window for a meteorological assessment...and not just to chose my attire. My day hinges on the forecast.
But while wind or rain pretty much anywhere in the nation can impact my immediate actions, in macrocosm it is nearly impossible for me to follow the weather. I don't spend enough time in any one place to see a storm from start to finish, or watch the landscape evolve seasonally.
It is disorienting to say the least. I've already given up on knowing what day of the week it is, I'm not ready to let go of seasonal awareness too.
Thankfully there are cultural cues that keep me on track: holidays.
Or at least holiday marketing.
Sun or snow, I can depend on retailers to remind me where we are in the year, whether I like it or not.
Piles of orange and black decor and specially packaged candy tell me that Halloween is imminent, and according to at least one euphemistic banner at the local Marshall's "Holiday 2008" has already arrived (by the red, green and gold orbs I am assuming they mean Christmas).
Thankfully for me and my calendar confusion, the upcoming holiday marketing is not only aggressive, but distinctive. For months we've glided through the days in a general haze of BBQ themed patio decor and vaguely patriotic commemorations.
"Is that red, white and blue banner for Memorial Day or 4th of July?"
"Is my mattress on sale for President's Day or Rosh Ha Shana?"
The ten-foot inflatable jack-o-lantern playing a "spooky sounds" track on repeat and suddenly crowding the sidewalk where I bike to the bookstore is a firm announcement of Halloween (I'll note happily that they have not yet created the blow-up union worker to celebrate Labor Day, but I don't want to give anyone any ideas).
But lest I appear cynical, let me just say that I sincerely love the holidays. I adore Christmas and all the music, parties, decorations and celebrations that honor the Incarnation of the Lord.
And even though I always send exponentially more cards and gifts than I receive, and our family's annual attempts at picturesque domesticity are dependently anti-climactic,* I refuse to be disappointed or feel inadequate. There's far too much happiness to share.
I enjoy the preparations and the process, not just the day itself. Pardon the blatant metaphor, but I'm not overly focused on the destination, I'm all about the flight.
Since I'm knitting many gifts this year, I've been planning for Christmas already. Plus I've got a bunch of cards that I bought on clearance last year...and I actually know where they are in my house!
So even though it will still be about a month before the airport starts bustling with holiday travelers, I'm ready when they are.
The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is look out the window for a meteorological assessment...and not just to chose my attire. My day hinges on the forecast.
But while wind or rain pretty much anywhere in the nation can impact my immediate actions, in macrocosm it is nearly impossible for me to follow the weather. I don't spend enough time in any one place to see a storm from start to finish, or watch the landscape evolve seasonally.
It is disorienting to say the least. I've already given up on knowing what day of the week it is, I'm not ready to let go of seasonal awareness too.
Thankfully there are cultural cues that keep me on track: holidays.Or at least holiday marketing.
Sun or snow, I can depend on retailers to remind me where we are in the year, whether I like it or not.
Piles of orange and black decor and specially packaged candy tell me that Halloween is imminent, and according to at least one euphemistic banner at the local Marshall's "Holiday 2008" has already arrived (by the red, green and gold orbs I am assuming they mean Christmas).
Thankfully for me and my calendar confusion, the upcoming holiday marketing is not only aggressive, but distinctive. For months we've glided through the days in a general haze of BBQ themed patio decor and vaguely patriotic commemorations.
"Is that red, white and blue banner for Memorial Day or 4th of July?"
"Is my mattress on sale for President's Day or Rosh Ha Shana?"
The ten-foot inflatable jack-o-lantern playing a "spooky sounds" track on repeat and suddenly crowding the sidewalk where I bike to the bookstore is a firm announcement of Halloween (I'll note happily that they have not yet created the blow-up union worker to celebrate Labor Day, but I don't want to give anyone any ideas).
But lest I appear cynical, let me just say that I sincerely love the holidays. I adore Christmas and all the music, parties, decorations and celebrations that honor the Incarnation of the Lord.
And even though I always send exponentially more cards and gifts than I receive, and our family's annual attempts at picturesque domesticity are dependently anti-climactic,* I refuse to be disappointed or feel inadequate. There's far too much happiness to share.
I enjoy the preparations and the process, not just the day itself. Pardon the blatant metaphor, but I'm not overly focused on the destination, I'm all about the flight.
Since I'm knitting many gifts this year, I've been planning for Christmas already. Plus I've got a bunch of cards that I bought on clearance last year...and I actually know where they are in my house!
So even though it will still be about a month before the airport starts bustling with holiday travelers, I'm ready when they are.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
A-PEAR-antly it's Autumn
Thanks so much to everyone who called, texted, and commented to see how I was during the hurricane. Your concern and well wishes meant a lot....especially because scheduling forgot about me.
But I was merely inconvenienced by Ike. There were flight attendants stuck in much worse situations, let alone residents of Houston and Galveston. It's not on CNN anymore, but they are still recovering and will be for a while.
I have to hand it to the grounds crew at IAH and my company for getting things up and running so quickly. We were shut down completely, big sections of the airport were trashed, and yet just two days later, almost all the flights were running (relatively) on time.
Which meant that I was back to work as well. I was called for a decent three-day trip.
The first night was a short layover in Seattle near the airport. The hotel is beautiful, and I went for a drizzly walk in the surrounding neighborhood.
I blogged previously about this area in May, how spring was just starting, far behind NJ and MD. Now it felt much the same, cool air scented with woodsmoke, but this time it was the result of an of an early and plentiful fall. A foreshadowing for my east coast existence.
Even strips of land near the roads were heavy with foliage, wildflowers, blackberries and fruit trees. Despite a few odd looks, I couldn't help having my own little harvest festival, tossing apples and pears into my purse with purple stained fingers from blackberries eaten on the spot.
The next day I carefully padded my produce and endured a few more strange looks from TSA (I'm almost immune to them now).
I still had to overnight in Cleveland, so I lighted my load by sharing with my crew, and enjoyed their looks of gratitude and admiration. "You picked them yourself?"
Normally I would be delighted to layover in Cleveland, but we changed hotels. Now we are much closer to the airport, but much farther from the parks...and without bicycles. I went for a walk anyway to soak in the Midwest sunset.
I ended up in Berea, apparently a small college town and there was a football game going on with all the accompanying festivities, so I got my dose of autumnal Americana in Ohio.
Continuing on I saw a sign for St. Adalbert's Roman Catholic Church, so I strolled in that direction. Across from the church and school a charming fixer-upper on a large plot of land was for sale. It was unoccupied, so I sat on the front steps for a few moments gazing at the landscape and imagined myself living here with a thriving garden, a few children, a few chickens and the chance to attend daily mass.
Being in Ohio triggers some dangerous nesting instinct in me. I stopped just short of calling the realtor for a little more info.
The flight of the trip was from Ft. Lauderdale back to Newark. During boarding an older Hispanic woman was struggling to lift her bag into the overhead. The other flight attendant tried to assist, but it was too heavy for him too. He offered her a plastic bag so she could remove some items and the suitcase manageable, but she spoke no English. She grew more flustered, and he grew more frustrated, so motioned her to the back galley and put much sketchy Spanish to work.
At last a look of relief spread across her face and she happily took the plastic bag from me and unzipped her suitcase. Out came some flip flops, a shirt or two, followed by about eight whopping avocados the size coconuts. And there were still half a dozen in her suitcase.
I couldn't help but laugh out loud. To her credit, she smiled apologetically and responded with something I interpreted as "These are very good and you can't get them in New Jersey."
Thinking of the bag full of pears and apples wrapped in a hotel towel and slowing making their way across the country in my carry-on, I assured her I understood.
But I was merely inconvenienced by Ike. There were flight attendants stuck in much worse situations, let alone residents of Houston and Galveston. It's not on CNN anymore, but they are still recovering and will be for a while.
I have to hand it to the grounds crew at IAH and my company for getting things up and running so quickly. We were shut down completely, big sections of the airport were trashed, and yet just two days later, almost all the flights were running (relatively) on time.
Which meant that I was back to work as well. I was called for a decent three-day trip.
The first night was a short layover in Seattle near the airport. The hotel is beautiful, and I went for a drizzly walk in the surrounding neighborhood.
I blogged previously about this area in May, how spring was just starting, far behind NJ and MD. Now it felt much the same, cool air scented with woodsmoke, but this time it was the result of an of an early and plentiful fall. A foreshadowing for my east coast existence.
Even strips of land near the roads were heavy with foliage, wildflowers, blackberries and fruit trees. Despite a few odd looks, I couldn't help having my own little harvest festival, tossing apples and pears into my purse with purple stained fingers from blackberries eaten on the spot.
The next day I carefully padded my produce and endured a few more strange looks from TSA (I'm almost immune to them now).
I still had to overnight in Cleveland, so I lighted my load by sharing with my crew, and enjoyed their looks of gratitude and admiration. "You picked them yourself?"
Normally I would be delighted to layover in Cleveland, but we changed hotels. Now we are much closer to the airport, but much farther from the parks...and without bicycles. I went for a walk anyway to soak in the Midwest sunset.
I ended up in Berea, apparently a small college town and there was a football game going on with all the accompanying festivities, so I got my dose of autumnal Americana in Ohio.
Continuing on I saw a sign for St. Adalbert's Roman Catholic Church, so I strolled in that direction. Across from the church and school a charming fixer-upper on a large plot of land was for sale. It was unoccupied, so I sat on the front steps for a few moments gazing at the landscape and imagined myself living here with a thriving garden, a few children, a few chickens and the chance to attend daily mass.
Being in Ohio triggers some dangerous nesting instinct in me. I stopped just short of calling the realtor for a little more info.
The flight of the trip was from Ft. Lauderdale back to Newark. During boarding an older Hispanic woman was struggling to lift her bag into the overhead. The other flight attendant tried to assist, but it was too heavy for him too. He offered her a plastic bag so she could remove some items and the suitcase manageable, but she spoke no English. She grew more flustered, and he grew more frustrated, so motioned her to the back galley and put much sketchy Spanish to work.
At last a look of relief spread across her face and she happily took the plastic bag from me and unzipped her suitcase. Out came some flip flops, a shirt or two, followed by about eight whopping avocados the size coconuts. And there were still half a dozen in her suitcase.
I couldn't help but laugh out loud. To her credit, she smiled apologetically and responded with something I interpreted as "These are very good and you can't get them in New Jersey."
Thinking of the bag full of pears and apples wrapped in a hotel towel and slowing making their way across the country in my carry-on, I assured her I understood.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Escape from LA
After one week with two trips totaling 4 1/2 nights in Los Angeles I had found a local yarn shop, learned to use public transit and was even recoginzed at the Catholic church where I attend mass on Sunday layovers here.
As much as I LOVE not having to repack every morning, three days of watching hurricane Ike trash Texas, no word from my company and running into more and more stranded crew members around the hotel I started to feel a little bit like I had gone missing in action.
I tried to get on the phone with crew coordinations, but was literaly on hold for hours. A LOT of our flights go through Houston (it's our main base), so they certainly had their hand full. I felt a little bad calling because I know they were swamped, but I also didn't want the hotel to kick me out because they didn't get their fax.
After one final visit to the Viva Fresh burrito place, I logged on to my schedule and saw that scheduling had come up with a clever plan to bust me out of California.
At 11pm Sunday, under cover of night, I stepped into a black towncar with and was whisked onto the freeway.
We drove an hour east of the city to the small Ontario Airport where I met up with a Houston crew that had been stranded there for three days (let me just say I lucked out on places to go MIA). We worked a short red-eye to Houston, arriving about 5:30am and we were one of the first planes cleared to land that since the airport reopened that morning.
I was pretty tired by that point, and the lead flight attendant drove me crazy because she was so chatty. It was 4am and she would not shut up. There were hardly any passengers, and they were fast asleep anyway, so all I wanted to do was hide in the galley, but she kept talking about every topic that floated into her brain.
As we were preparing to land, she pulled out her totebag to stow something and happened to show me that it was full of food. She laughed a little nervously and said that her family had been stuck at the house for 4 days without power because of the storm and they needed some provisions. She looked out the little jumpseat window and urged me to do the same. I'd never seen it look so dark there. She sighed again and said, "OK, let's land and I'll get back to reality".
Reality was, I felt like a colossal jerk for getting grouchy with her.
I can't imagine what it must be like to be miles away from home and not knowing what you'll find when you get there.
Our section of the airport looked OK, but there was a lot of damage to other terminals, the interterminal shuttle train, and all of the roads that lead to the airport.
I was supposed to deadhead right away to Newark, but that flight was cancelled, so I went down to the crewroom. Once again it was impossible to get a scheduler on the phone, so I just put in my earplugs and passed out in the "quiet" room for a few hours.
It was a restless rest, so eventually I just got up and listened to the other flight attendants tell their storm stories. It was very crowded, but the place had an emergency shelter comradarie (and dank smell because of flooding) and everyone was in fairly good spirits, considering.
I was finally deadheaded out at 5:30pm. It was surreal to see a flight from Houston to Newark with only 50 people (about a third of them deadheading crewmembers). As further proof that things were crazy, I was upgraded to first class. The movie was something starring Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz, and, craziest of all, I actually enjoyed it.
LA must have gotten to my brain.
As much as I LOVE not having to repack every morning, three days of watching hurricane Ike trash Texas, no word from my company and running into more and more stranded crew members around the hotel I started to feel a little bit like I had gone missing in action.
I tried to get on the phone with crew coordinations, but was literaly on hold for hours. A LOT of our flights go through Houston (it's our main base), so they certainly had their hand full. I felt a little bad calling because I know they were swamped, but I also didn't want the hotel to kick me out because they didn't get their fax.
After one final visit to the Viva Fresh burrito place, I logged on to my schedule and saw that scheduling had come up with a clever plan to bust me out of California.
At 11pm Sunday, under cover of night, I stepped into a black towncar with and was whisked onto the freeway.
We drove an hour east of the city to the small Ontario Airport where I met up with a Houston crew that had been stranded there for three days (let me just say I lucked out on places to go MIA). We worked a short red-eye to Houston, arriving about 5:30am and we were one of the first planes cleared to land that since the airport reopened that morning.
I was pretty tired by that point, and the lead flight attendant drove me crazy because she was so chatty. It was 4am and she would not shut up. There were hardly any passengers, and they were fast asleep anyway, so all I wanted to do was hide in the galley, but she kept talking about every topic that floated into her brain.
As we were preparing to land, she pulled out her totebag to stow something and happened to show me that it was full of food. She laughed a little nervously and said that her family had been stuck at the house for 4 days without power because of the storm and they needed some provisions. She looked out the little jumpseat window and urged me to do the same. I'd never seen it look so dark there. She sighed again and said, "OK, let's land and I'll get back to reality".
Reality was, I felt like a colossal jerk for getting grouchy with her.
I can't imagine what it must be like to be miles away from home and not knowing what you'll find when you get there.
Our section of the airport looked OK, but there was a lot of damage to other terminals, the interterminal shuttle train, and all of the roads that lead to the airport.
I was supposed to deadhead right away to Newark, but that flight was cancelled, so I went down to the crewroom. Once again it was impossible to get a scheduler on the phone, so I just put in my earplugs and passed out in the "quiet" room for a few hours.
It was a restless rest, so eventually I just got up and listened to the other flight attendants tell their storm stories. It was very crowded, but the place had an emergency shelter comradarie (and dank smell because of flooding) and everyone was in fairly good spirits, considering.
I was finally deadheaded out at 5:30pm. It was surreal to see a flight from Houston to Newark with only 50 people (about a third of them deadheading crewmembers). As further proof that things were crazy, I was upgraded to first class. The movie was something starring Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz, and, craziest of all, I actually enjoyed it.
LA must have gotten to my brain.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
And the Burritos aren't bad either!
I don't know what the world is coming to, but in just one week I've discovered two things I love about Los Angeles. If I'm not careful, I might start to get the warm fuzzies for this place.Then again, that might be a bad thing. Without quite realizing it, I may have moved here.
Friday morning at about 10am my phone rang, but thanks to caller ID and custom ring tones, I determined it safe to ignore. When I woke up for real about noon and checked my voicemail (as you may have guessed) there was a message from scheduling. I called back, apologizing profusely and explained my confusion because of the unknown number.
With patronizing articulation, the scheduler explained that they were at a different number because they were in a different place. Because of hurricane IKE, operations are in the emergency bunker (a real bunker some rich paranoid built during the cold war). He added magnanimously, as if he had converted my death sentence to 30 days in rehab, that he hadn't given me a UTC (unable to contact), but to check my schedule on the computer right away.
From the looks of my trip, the warning only was less a show of mercy than the result of mass confusion. Houston is completely closed, all flights in and out are cancelled and all the planes have been moved to out stations. I've been sent to LA for two nights to wait it out.
I was in the LAX area just a few days ago, but my spot amongst the sprawl this time is different, Culver City to be exact. I've stayed here often, the hotel is near a mall and a great hole-in -the-wall burrito place, so I could easily waste the day hanging out (I did bring all nine balls of yarn for Kimberly's wrap), but over coffee I browsed travel guides and opted to use my day off for adventure.
I don't care about celebrity houses or movie studios, but the Getty Center, a huge museum complex in the Santa Monica mountains, piqued my interest. Admission is free and it's open until 9pm on Saturdays so it seemed like the ideal outing. A few phone calls and some sketchy maps later I boarded the green Culver City bus and was underway.
LA is not known for it's public transit, but I've got to give those drivers credit. They were all the nicest, most helpful civil servants I've ever dealt with. I'm sure they found me a little quirky: I was clearly unfamiliar with the bus routes and knitted away while attempting to memorize the scenery, but they guided me to all my transfer spots and explained how to find my way back.
The whole trip took well over an hour, but it was so worth it!
I've never seen anything like this place. You take a little tram up to the mountain top, and in every direction there are breathtaking views of LA and the mountains. The museum's collection is housed in a series of building that are works of art in themselves. The architecture is modern, but so thoughtfully designed that it only enhances the beauty of the place. Among the structures are spectacular gardens.
Every time I turned around there was some fantastic new photo op and I happily clicked away with the abandon afforded by a fresh memory card. I just had to be careful not to stop in front of anyone elses' lens, as I was clearly not the only one moved by the surroundings.
The people watching was almost as good as the art: dozens of aspiring photographers and drawers, young lovers, families, visitors from all over the world. Even though the grounds were crowded, I was happy that people were taking advantage of it.
The ride back to the hotel seemed infinitely shorter, which is more than I can say for this layover. I was supposed to go to Houston today, then deadhead to Phoenix for another two nights, but everything is cancelled again today, so I'm on standby.
I've been checking the computer every few minutes for updates, and I spent over an hour on hold with crew cooridinations, but to no avail. I wonder how long before they start making me pay state income tax...someone has to pay for the "free" museums and friendly bus drivers.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Priorities
I know I still haven't delivered on part two of my little coming of age saga, but I had to break from that narrative to blog about my current trip.
It's September, and that means I'm back on reserve.
To celebrate, Crew Scheduling assigned me a spectacular combination of my least favorite conditions: a short overnight in Las Vegas, early check-ins, a 14-hr duty day, and the red-eye to Cleveland, topped off with a four-hour sit before being deadheaded back to Newark.
The one redeeming circumstance was 24 hrs in Marina del Rey in Los Angeles, and I intended to make it count.
After a good sleep-in to recover from the first two days, I roused myself and grabbed my knitting to work on as I sipped coffee leisurely nearby Starbucks then tried a little exploration. I had heard that the hotel had bikes, so I was really looking forward to the day out.
The hotel did have bikes, and they intended to keep them at the hotel unless I forked over the $15 rental fee! And there wasn't even a crew discount! I deliberated for a while, but, feeling thrifty (and slighted insulted) I decided against it.
Before heading out of the lobby I hopped on the computer to Google possible local yarn stores. I found that the "A Mano Yarn Center" was a very walkable 1.5 miles away and I clicked on the store's website. It looked like a nice place and seemed to have lots of "sit and knit" nights. Oh, and every other Tuesday morning they had a breakfast group. The next one was Sept 9th. September 9?
I glanced at my phone......."Today!!" And I was out the door.
Twenty-eight minutes later I walked into what could have been the set for one those gentle girl-power movies. The ones with a ensemble cast and a gathering gimmick....in this case the neighborhood yarn shop.
Among the eclectic group there was a mother and daughter duo who played off each other's stories with hilarious perfection, a young woman my age who designed "Sabrina the Teenage Witch" comic books and had lived all over the country, and Shanitta, the beautiful store owner and hostess who supplied the good coffee made sure everyone was content.
They welcomed me right away and insisted I pick up LAX layovers from now on. At one point, a particular car parked out front and there was a communal sound of displeasure and a few choice words. Shanitta laughed and said, "Stop! Geneveive's going to think we are terrible.!" I assured them that I wouldn't....so long as they gave me the back story. They happily obliged and added many others. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, in breezed another woman bearing homemade yogurt and granola (yes...granola) to share.
I found the perfect black mohair I needed for a current project and was repeatedly tempted by a seductively soft and ruffled wrap knit in babykid mohair. I wore it for much of the morning, but just couldn't justify the $13 each for the six skeins I would need.
After a few hours in the sunny window, several cups of strong Peet's coffee, and quite a bit of progress on my cabled scarf for Laura, I was ready to pay and part ways. Foolishly I had brought the soft babykid yarn over to my spot at the table, and my new artist friend and enabler argued that it would be the perfect souvenir of LA. I agreed, and added that it would also be perfect since it will soon be fall and the blend of blues and brown go with almost all my little sundresses. But I fought the urge to splurge.
Then, another customer dared to try on my shawl. I had a tangible pang of jealously.
The decision was made.
I brought my purchases to the register as Shanitta cracked up over how I had made up my mind. She must have seen me go pale at the total because out of the kindness of her heart she gave me a little wink and a discount for "coming all the way from NJ". She then generously punched a frequent shopper card, ensuring that I would be myself into more trouble later.
So with the makings of an $84 wrap to layer over $7 thrift store dresses (priorities!) I walked back to the hotel, exceedingly happy that I had saved the $15 rental.
The red-eye flight to CLE was fine. 98% of the passengers slept, the other flight attendant insisted on getting my number for one of his golf-pro buddies (Ohio boys! Yea!), and I made more progress on Laura's scarf.
At about 4am I had to go into the flight deck for a few moments. The pre-dawn Eastern horizon was just starting to brighten, and under the stars, above the city lights were a few bands of quiet blue and brown light.
The exact shades of my future shawl.
It's September, and that means I'm back on reserve.
To celebrate, Crew Scheduling assigned me a spectacular combination of my least favorite conditions: a short overnight in Las Vegas, early check-ins, a 14-hr duty day, and the red-eye to Cleveland, topped off with a four-hour sit before being deadheaded back to Newark.
The one redeeming circumstance was 24 hrs in Marina del Rey in Los Angeles, and I intended to make it count.
After a good sleep-in to recover from the first two days, I roused myself and grabbed my knitting to work on as I sipped coffee leisurely nearby Starbucks then tried a little exploration. I had heard that the hotel had bikes, so I was really looking forward to the day out.
The hotel did have bikes, and they intended to keep them at the hotel unless I forked over the $15 rental fee! And there wasn't even a crew discount! I deliberated for a while, but, feeling thrifty (and slighted insulted) I decided against it.
Before heading out of the lobby I hopped on the computer to Google possible local yarn stores. I found that the "A Mano Yarn Center" was a very walkable 1.5 miles away and I clicked on the store's website. It looked like a nice place and seemed to have lots of "sit and knit" nights. Oh, and every other Tuesday morning they had a breakfast group. The next one was Sept 9th. September 9?
I glanced at my phone......."Today!!" And I was out the door.
Twenty-eight minutes later I walked into what could have been the set for one those gentle girl-power movies. The ones with a ensemble cast and a gathering gimmick....in this case the neighborhood yarn shop.
Among the eclectic group there was a mother and daughter duo who played off each other's stories with hilarious perfection, a young woman my age who designed "Sabrina the Teenage Witch" comic books and had lived all over the country, and Shanitta, the beautiful store owner and hostess who supplied the good coffee made sure everyone was content.
They welcomed me right away and insisted I pick up LAX layovers from now on. At one point, a particular car parked out front and there was a communal sound of displeasure and a few choice words. Shanitta laughed and said, "Stop! Geneveive's going to think we are terrible.!" I assured them that I wouldn't....so long as they gave me the back story. They happily obliged and added many others. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, in breezed another woman bearing homemade yogurt and granola (yes...granola) to share.
I found the perfect black mohair I needed for a current project and was repeatedly tempted by a seductively soft and ruffled wrap knit in babykid mohair. I wore it for much of the morning, but just couldn't justify the $13 each for the six skeins I would need.
After a few hours in the sunny window, several cups of strong Peet's coffee, and quite a bit of progress on my cabled scarf for Laura, I was ready to pay and part ways. Foolishly I had brought the soft babykid yarn over to my spot at the table, and my new artist friend and enabler argued that it would be the perfect souvenir of LA. I agreed, and added that it would also be perfect since it will soon be fall and the blend of blues and brown go with almost all my little sundresses. But I fought the urge to splurge.
Then, another customer dared to try on my shawl. I had a tangible pang of jealously.
The decision was made.
I brought my purchases to the register as Shanitta cracked up over how I had made up my mind. She must have seen me go pale at the total because out of the kindness of her heart she gave me a little wink and a discount for "coming all the way from NJ". She then generously punched a frequent shopper card, ensuring that I would be myself into more trouble later.
So with the makings of an $84 wrap to layer over $7 thrift store dresses (priorities!) I walked back to the hotel, exceedingly happy that I had saved the $15 rental.
The red-eye flight to CLE was fine. 98% of the passengers slept, the other flight attendant insisted on getting my number for one of his golf-pro buddies (Ohio boys! Yea!), and I made more progress on Laura's scarf.
At about 4am I had to go into the flight deck for a few moments. The pre-dawn Eastern horizon was just starting to brighten, and under the stars, above the city lights were a few bands of quiet blue and brown light.
The exact shades of my future shawl.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Are You Sure You're Old Enough to Work Here?
......a posting so epic it must be told in two parts*........
_____________________________________
At least once a trip someone says something along the lines of, "Are you sure you're old enough to work here?"
The short answer is "Yes, I'm quite sure."
Butwith my 27th birthday on the near horizon (late twenties...yikes!),this questionis increasing less annoying and considerably more flattering.
Witha youthful appearance and a tendency to laugh often and at random, I'musuallycontent to assume the role of neophyte and then impress with unexpectedcompetence. After two years of flying, I'm comfortable enough in my abilityto do myjob that I'm having more fun than ever, which only makes me seeyounger.
But a recent trip solidfidyed my conviction that I am "quite sure" that I am an adult.
Ipicked up this trip because it was fairly productive and had a nice layoveratthe Seattle airport hotel about which I've previously blogged.
WhenI got on board I discovered that my 3-day trip was actually the lastpartof a scheduled 4-day, and the rest of the crew had just spent 24 hoursinMontego Bay, Jamaica.
I met the captain first. He struck me as very good-natured and professional, and about the biggest nerd I had ever met.
Asif to illustrate the full spectrum of personality possibilities, therewasthe first officer, who was very young, very attractive and very awareof it. I was curious about the fact that he was wearing a long-sleeved shirtinAugust, but carefully worded my inquiry as as not to say "aren't you hot?",andendure his smirking response.
The first class girl was even younger,22,from Kentucky and had only been flying four months. The woman workingbackgalley had been flying for many years. She commuted from Seattle, but wasorigianally from Tahiti and had a lovely accent and a classic beauty.
Offically,I was the lead, but hey had already established a repoire, soI tried notto barge into the crew vibe. Especially since it was quicklyapparent thatKentucky had Sleeves in her sights.
The first nightin the hotel Iwas invited over to hang out and "havea few drinks" the othergirls and theFO. I don't drink, but I do "hang out", so I headed downthe hall withmy iPod ( the hotel had those cool radio-clocks where you couldplug in yourmp3 player).
I learned that the first officer's exessiveuniform wasdue to full-arm tatoos and that he was an aspiring musician whopacked histravel guitar on trips.
What a bizarre career I havewhere four near-strangersages 22-42 are drinking in a Florida Hilton, theOlympic games on mute, whilea mediocre flyboy howls Radiohead covers.
What was not strange, butinfinatley sadder, was watching a smitten younglady get progressivley drunkerand more flitatious. Like I said, they hadjust been in Jamaica together,so I didn't know their status, but it wasvery clear that he was more interestedin his guitar than her affections.
Suddenly I felt like I was at alame college party. I wanted to shake herto her senses as her eyes startedto swim, but instead I just excused myselfaround 2am and said I would seeeveryone at work the next day.
___________________________________________________
*or....an attention span so short I have to break up this story**
** mine or yours??
_____________________________________
At least once a trip someone says something along the lines of, "Are you sure you're old enough to work here?"
The short answer is "Yes, I'm quite sure."
Butwith my 27th birthday on the near horizon (late twenties...yikes!),this questionis increasing less annoying and considerably more flattering.
Witha youthful appearance and a tendency to laugh often and at random, I'musuallycontent to assume the role of neophyte and then impress with unexpectedcompetence. After two years of flying, I'm comfortable enough in my abilityto do myjob that I'm having more fun than ever, which only makes me seeyounger.
But a recent trip solidfidyed my conviction that I am "quite sure" that I am an adult.
Ipicked up this trip because it was fairly productive and had a nice layoveratthe Seattle airport hotel about which I've previously blogged.
WhenI got on board I discovered that my 3-day trip was actually the lastpartof a scheduled 4-day, and the rest of the crew had just spent 24 hoursinMontego Bay, Jamaica.
I met the captain first. He struck me as very good-natured and professional, and about the biggest nerd I had ever met.
Asif to illustrate the full spectrum of personality possibilities, therewasthe first officer, who was very young, very attractive and very awareof it. I was curious about the fact that he was wearing a long-sleeved shirtinAugust, but carefully worded my inquiry as as not to say "aren't you hot?",andendure his smirking response.
The first class girl was even younger,22,from Kentucky and had only been flying four months. The woman workingbackgalley had been flying for many years. She commuted from Seattle, but wasorigianally from Tahiti and had a lovely accent and a classic beauty.
Offically,I was the lead, but hey had already established a repoire, soI tried notto barge into the crew vibe. Especially since it was quicklyapparent thatKentucky had Sleeves in her sights.
The first nightin the hotel Iwas invited over to hang out and "havea few drinks" the othergirls and theFO. I don't drink, but I do "hang out", so I headed downthe hall withmy iPod ( the hotel had those cool radio-clocks where you couldplug in yourmp3 player).
I learned that the first officer's exessiveuniform wasdue to full-arm tatoos and that he was an aspiring musician whopacked histravel guitar on trips.
What a bizarre career I havewhere four near-strangersages 22-42 are drinking in a Florida Hilton, theOlympic games on mute, whilea mediocre flyboy howls Radiohead covers.
What was not strange, butinfinatley sadder, was watching a smitten younglady get progressivley drunkerand more flitatious. Like I said, they hadjust been in Jamaica together,so I didn't know their status, but it wasvery clear that he was more interestedin his guitar than her affections.
Suddenly I felt like I was at alame college party. I wanted to shake herto her senses as her eyes startedto swim, but instead I just excused myselfaround 2am and said I would seeeveryone at work the next day.
___________________________________________________
*or....an attention span so short I have to break up this story**
** mine or yours??
Saturday, August 30, 2008
My Room is Haunted....
Ok, not really.
But it has it's quirks, and in my exhausted stupor last night it seemed pretty goulish.
The bathroom door keeps closing immediatley behind me and it handle is somehow not intuitive, so in the middle of the night I swore I was locked in (but I was also half asleep and almost laid down a towel to just wait unitl morning). The toilet paper keeps rolling long after I've torn off a sheet, so it looks like a bored cat making a statement, and the air conditioner is having a complete idenity crisis, alternating between cool and hot air.
But I don't care because this morning I'm well rested here in Oakland, CA, and when I opened my window shades I saw trees.
Bonafide green, lush, living, breathing vegetation.
Yesterday we were in Tuscon, Arizona for just 10 short hours, but I nearly went insane.
It's a dessert.
There is sand.
Sand and subvisions.
Subdivisions the color of sand.
I have no idea how people live there.
And it's hot.
For about two hours is the wee morning it's pleasant. I know this because I woke up at about 4am and couldn't go back to sleep (thus the stupor yesterday), but then it's just hot.
People out there always say with a chuckle, "yeah, but it's a dry heat." Which might make a difference below two thousand degrees, but when your flipflops are melting into the pavement, you don't really care about a little ambient moisture.
And anyway, it's monsoon season.
We landed yesterday and the ground was actually slick with water.
Ironically enough, I was in Seattle last week and it was sunny and gorgeous.
Weather, go figure.
I've just begun day three of a four-day trip. Sadly, my last trip as a lineholder.
I'm back on reserve for September.
Suddenly, four days is very long. All this month I was thouroghly contente wiht two and three day trips, but I picked up a four-day that stretched as far into the September bid month as possible to delay the inevitable.
It's been a wonderful month I have so many good stories and pictures.
I offically decided that I love my job.
I think I'll be doing some retro-posting of my adventures, so stay tuned!
But it has it's quirks, and in my exhausted stupor last night it seemed pretty goulish.
The bathroom door keeps closing immediatley behind me and it handle is somehow not intuitive, so in the middle of the night I swore I was locked in (but I was also half asleep and almost laid down a towel to just wait unitl morning). The toilet paper keeps rolling long after I've torn off a sheet, so it looks like a bored cat making a statement, and the air conditioner is having a complete idenity crisis, alternating between cool and hot air.
But I don't care because this morning I'm well rested here in Oakland, CA, and when I opened my window shades I saw trees.
Bonafide green, lush, living, breathing vegetation.
Yesterday we were in Tuscon, Arizona for just 10 short hours, but I nearly went insane.
It's a dessert.
There is sand.
Sand and subvisions.
Subdivisions the color of sand.
I have no idea how people live there.
And it's hot.
For about two hours is the wee morning it's pleasant. I know this because I woke up at about 4am and couldn't go back to sleep (thus the stupor yesterday), but then it's just hot.
People out there always say with a chuckle, "yeah, but it's a dry heat." Which might make a difference below two thousand degrees, but when your flipflops are melting into the pavement, you don't really care about a little ambient moisture.
And anyway, it's monsoon season.
We landed yesterday and the ground was actually slick with water.
Ironically enough, I was in Seattle last week and it was sunny and gorgeous.
Weather, go figure.
I've just begun day three of a four-day trip. Sadly, my last trip as a lineholder.
I'm back on reserve for September.
Suddenly, four days is very long. All this month I was thouroghly contente wiht two and three day trips, but I picked up a four-day that stretched as far into the September bid month as possible to delay the inevitable.
It's been a wonderful month I have so many good stories and pictures.
I offically decided that I love my job.
I think I'll be doing some retro-posting of my adventures, so stay tuned!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
I'm Too Tired to be Properly Disappointed (but I'm not too sleepy to justify my spending habits!)
In the face of a 13 hour work-day, three hours of sleep is just as useless as two.
No matter how tired I am, or what aids I've ingested (save Ambien, which I haven't had a prescription for in years, and quite frankly I'm scared to take alone on a layover) my body refuses to sleep before 1am, and the very latest I could possibly have slept was 4:30.
I figured since I was going to be exhausted anyway, better not to feel exhausted and fat. Thus I was up at three to workout.
The combination of exercise-induced endorphins and nourishment from the kind hotel breakfast mistress, who set out a few items for bleary eyed crews working before 5, had me feeling pretty good until about 10am.
We got out of Miami a few minutes early, and the passenger loads were mercifully light. As we approached storm-wracked Texas however, the ride got bumpier and bumpier.
The real turbulence hit when we landed in Houston and got out into the terminal.
The departure boards blinked with delays and cancellations. The lines at the service center wrapped back and forth like a pack of disgruntled Ramen noodles. Hurricane Dolly was getter revenge for being downgraded to "Tropical Storm" by backing up our entire route map.
We were among the luckier crews, and only delayed two hours.
Our plane, ironically enough, was late coming in from Washington DC, where I hoped to be headed tonight.
Once we got out of Houston, it was a quick 27 min flight to Austin (yet we still pulled out the barcart and did a full service). Then it was an even quicker turnaround, where we somehow managed to load up a full 737 and get out one minute before our scheduled wheels-up time, which if we had missed Air Traffic Control would have moved us to the end of the line.
By now I was running strictly on our mediocre coffee and a protien bar I bought yesterday.
We landed, waited for a gate, and eventually made it off by 6:25pm. I scurried to the board and saw that the 4:14 to Baltimore was delayed until 6:30. I was tempted to run for it, but I really wanted to go to my car and switch out my trip stuff for going home stuff and it looked like the 7:15 to Washington was on time.
So, waiting for the bus to employee lot I called scheduling to block in from my trip and be released to my days off.
I'm usually on hold for some time waiting to speak to a scheduler, but once you get through, he or she is usually pretty brisk. Today however, it was taking a suspiciously long time and an awful lot of computer key clicking to just let me go home.
Because they didn't.
They rolled my day off (yes that's legal), and I have an Orlando turn tomorrow.
So now, instead of Friday through Monday off, I've got Saturday through Tuesday. I'm supposed to be cohosting a Murder-Mystery party on Saturday, I'm not at all prepared, and now I'm not even sure I'll be in town until Saturday afternoon!
My trip tomorrow is scheduled to be over at 7:18. So that leaves me the (mostly likely delayed) 7:15 to DCA, an 8:30 to BWI and the questionable 9:30 to DCA on a little Regional Jets operated by our ezxpress carrier and that gets cancelled if someone sneezes too hard.
Still, I'm just glad I hadn't run for the Baltimore flight and got this news out on the runway.
So I made the best of being grounded for the night, and went for a bike ride.
According to my calculations, with gas averaging $4 a gallon, and my car getting about 21 miles per gallon in stop-and-go-then -stop local driving, to recoup my expenditure, I would need to bike instead of drive approximately 709 miles.
If you consider the defrayed wear and tear on the car and the cost of routine upkeep (and what better time to consider such costs than when justifying luxury spending), the necessary milage could even drop into the 690s.
On my layover, I had Googled the distances to my "Holy Trinity" (the bookstore, the gym and the grocery) as well as Peggy's house and Church, and discovered thatSunday alone I had biked, not driven, over 7 miles.
I think I'll keep a record of my driving diet for encouragement.
I also researched some alternative routes to the avoid the busy Garden State Parkway traffic circles and test rode them tonight to Target.
Riding at night convinced me I needed a headlight for safety. So I picked one up and then found a little bell that I thought would be good to avoid sneaking up on pedestrians. I also came across a handy stopwatch-like object that computes speed and trip distance, which I thought would be terribly useful to maintain my cycling journal and see how quickly I paid myself back for the cost of the bike.....which is now about $32 more than it was yesterday.
Oh well, I'm getting killer quads.....and that's priceless.
No matter how tired I am, or what aids I've ingested (save Ambien, which I haven't had a prescription for in years, and quite frankly I'm scared to take alone on a layover) my body refuses to sleep before 1am, and the very latest I could possibly have slept was 4:30.
I figured since I was going to be exhausted anyway, better not to feel exhausted and fat. Thus I was up at three to workout.
The combination of exercise-induced endorphins and nourishment from the kind hotel breakfast mistress, who set out a few items for bleary eyed crews working before 5, had me feeling pretty good until about 10am.
We got out of Miami a few minutes early, and the passenger loads were mercifully light. As we approached storm-wracked Texas however, the ride got bumpier and bumpier.
The real turbulence hit when we landed in Houston and got out into the terminal.
The departure boards blinked with delays and cancellations. The lines at the service center wrapped back and forth like a pack of disgruntled Ramen noodles. Hurricane Dolly was getter revenge for being downgraded to "Tropical Storm" by backing up our entire route map.
We were among the luckier crews, and only delayed two hours.
Our plane, ironically enough, was late coming in from Washington DC, where I hoped to be headed tonight.
Once we got out of Houston, it was a quick 27 min flight to Austin (yet we still pulled out the barcart and did a full service). Then it was an even quicker turnaround, where we somehow managed to load up a full 737 and get out one minute before our scheduled wheels-up time, which if we had missed Air Traffic Control would have moved us to the end of the line.
By now I was running strictly on our mediocre coffee and a protien bar I bought yesterday.
We landed, waited for a gate, and eventually made it off by 6:25pm. I scurried to the board and saw that the 4:14 to Baltimore was delayed until 6:30. I was tempted to run for it, but I really wanted to go to my car and switch out my trip stuff for going home stuff and it looked like the 7:15 to Washington was on time.
So, waiting for the bus to employee lot I called scheduling to block in from my trip and be released to my days off.
I'm usually on hold for some time waiting to speak to a scheduler, but once you get through, he or she is usually pretty brisk. Today however, it was taking a suspiciously long time and an awful lot of computer key clicking to just let me go home.
Because they didn't.
They rolled my day off (yes that's legal), and I have an Orlando turn tomorrow.
So now, instead of Friday through Monday off, I've got Saturday through Tuesday. I'm supposed to be cohosting a Murder-Mystery party on Saturday, I'm not at all prepared, and now I'm not even sure I'll be in town until Saturday afternoon!
My trip tomorrow is scheduled to be over at 7:18. So that leaves me the (mostly likely delayed) 7:15 to DCA, an 8:30 to BWI and the questionable 9:30 to DCA on a little Regional Jets operated by our ezxpress carrier and that gets cancelled if someone sneezes too hard.
Still, I'm just glad I hadn't run for the Baltimore flight and got this news out on the runway.
So I made the best of being grounded for the night, and went for a bike ride.
According to my calculations, with gas averaging $4 a gallon, and my car getting about 21 miles per gallon in stop-and-go-then -stop local driving, to recoup my expenditure, I would need to bike instead of drive approximately 709 miles.
If you consider the defrayed wear and tear on the car and the cost of routine upkeep (and what better time to consider such costs than when justifying luxury spending), the necessary milage could even drop into the 690s.
On my layover, I had Googled the distances to my "Holy Trinity" (the bookstore, the gym and the grocery) as well as Peggy's house and Church, and discovered thatSunday alone I had biked, not driven, over 7 miles.
I think I'll keep a record of my driving diet for encouragement.
I also researched some alternative routes to the avoid the busy Garden State Parkway traffic circles and test rode them tonight to Target.
Riding at night convinced me I needed a headlight for safety. So I picked one up and then found a little bell that I thought would be good to avoid sneaking up on pedestrians. I also came across a handy stopwatch-like object that computes speed and trip distance, which I thought would be terribly useful to maintain my cycling journal and see how quickly I paid myself back for the cost of the bike.....which is now about $32 more than it was yesterday.
Oh well, I'm getting killer quads.....and that's priceless.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Benvinedo a Miami
If Cleveland is the setting for the wholesome family film about commercial aviation, then Miami is the cheesy, b-rate beach version.
This afternoon we circled a few times and nearly diverted because of thunderstorms on the runway. After a long wait on the tarmac and an even longer drive we made it to the hotel.
Independently owned, built in 1947 and apparently still clinging to it's teenage glory years, the sprawling complex now caters exclusively to airline crews, which only adds to the surreal accumulation of kitsch here.
Anywhere among the mass produced oil paintings circa 1966, the resin statues of mermaids or the shaggy potted palms you'll spot clusters of a few ladies, one or two fabulous gay men and two gray-haired guys exchanging stories over drinks and chips.
At any given moment the lobby could swell with crews in exotic and colorful uniforms chattering away in a variety of languages, and, thanks to the time change, usually ready for a drink.
It may not be our most glamorous layover, but it certainly is the most bizarre.
In all fairness the accommodations aren't uncomfortable, the workout room is decent, we're right on the beach, and there is (if you are luckier than we, and don't have to check out before 5am) an expansive free breakfast. So I won't complain.
When we first got in it was too humid and gross to do anything other than nap. After the heat of the day had passed, I ventured out. Unfortunately, the promised hotel bikes were out of commission, so I took to the strip on foot.
For about a mile I wandered past a questionable assortment of souvenir shops, liquor stores, well-known franchises that still sported the dated version of their company logo and hit-or-miss dollar stores, all housed in shades of dirty pink and turquoise, embellished with neon signage.
In one of these I found an utterly irresistible deal on bagged Starbucks coffee and squashed specimens of my favorite protein bars (they'll be squashed in my suitcase by the time I need emergency sustenance anyway!) and splurged.
As is too often the case, my eyes were bigger than my suitcase, and I now dread lugging my additional cargo through security....and the imminent teasing from my crew.
As I hinted above, tomorrow is going start early and fly us hard. But if all goes well, we'll get in early enough for me to catch an evening flight to Washington or Baltimore, and I can start my four day weekend at home as soon as possible.
This afternoon we circled a few times and nearly diverted because of thunderstorms on the runway. After a long wait on the tarmac and an even longer drive we made it to the hotel.
Independently owned, built in 1947 and apparently still clinging to it's teenage glory years, the sprawling complex now caters exclusively to airline crews, which only adds to the surreal accumulation of kitsch here.
Anywhere among the mass produced oil paintings circa 1966, the resin statues of mermaids or the shaggy potted palms you'll spot clusters of a few ladies, one or two fabulous gay men and two gray-haired guys exchanging stories over drinks and chips.
At any given moment the lobby could swell with crews in exotic and colorful uniforms chattering away in a variety of languages, and, thanks to the time change, usually ready for a drink.
It may not be our most glamorous layover, but it certainly is the most bizarre.
In all fairness the accommodations aren't uncomfortable, the workout room is decent, we're right on the beach, and there is (if you are luckier than we, and don't have to check out before 5am) an expansive free breakfast. So I won't complain.
When we first got in it was too humid and gross to do anything other than nap. After the heat of the day had passed, I ventured out. Unfortunately, the promised hotel bikes were out of commission, so I took to the strip on foot.
For about a mile I wandered past a questionable assortment of souvenir shops, liquor stores, well-known franchises that still sported the dated version of their company logo and hit-or-miss dollar stores, all housed in shades of dirty pink and turquoise, embellished with neon signage.
In one of these I found an utterly irresistible deal on bagged Starbucks coffee and squashed specimens of my favorite protein bars (they'll be squashed in my suitcase by the time I need emergency sustenance anyway!) and splurged.
As is too often the case, my eyes were bigger than my suitcase, and I now dread lugging my additional cargo through security....and the imminent teasing from my crew.
As I hinted above, tomorrow is going start early and fly us hard. But if all goes well, we'll get in early enough for me to catch an evening flight to Washington or Baltimore, and I can start my four day weekend at home as soon as possible.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
This is Huge.
I HAVE A LINE!!!!
I don't know how or why it happened, but for the month of August at least, I am a lineholder.
I know where I am going and when I will be there. Scheduling cannot call me whenever they want, and (with the cooperation of Air Traffic Control and the weather, of course) I have control over my life!
I've been riding around Rahway for the last hour trying to think of an extreme, amusing, yet appropriate metaphor, but I'm at a complete loss.
Making the jump from reserve flight attendant to lineholder is the extreme metaphor one would use to amsuingly describe some colossal life transformation.
Or at least one could use, if one understood the full illustrative value of such a scenario.
Right now that's my only problem. While I'm still in blissful shock over my good fortune (and still trying to decode the cryptic mess pictured above), I just don't feel that family and friends are fully grasping my joy.
Although I believe they are truly happy for me, civlilans can't entirely empathize, and I don't want to be too euphoric around my flight attendant friends because they are still on reserve.
While my mother congratulated me, the overarching gist of her comments were, "How does this effect the trip we were planning."
So, tonight I'll just send out happy vibes over the internet and go to sleep dreaming of trip trades.
Of course I better get to that dreaming part pretty soon. As for tonight, scheduling still owns me....and they've got me early tomorrow morning.
The Adventrure Rides on........
Well, my stint as a Cleveland reserve turned into a four-day paid vacation.
It's funny how I quickly fell into a nice routine.
In the morning, wake up and bike over to the bookstore for coffee a read (gotta love a magazine selection that includes Hobby Farms, with glamour shots of pigs and produce), a quick stop at the market for munchies, then off to the airport to chill out in the crew room for four hours.
Each day I was scheduled to deadhead back to EWR, and each day when I called to be released, I felt like I had just anted up in some high-stakes poker game:
I'm here, I'm in. What you got?
Computer keys clicking.
"We're going to need you stay one more night."
JACKPOT!
So back to the hotel for a nice evening bike ride through the park.
I got myself one of those demographic-gathering, key chain-clogging cards for the local grocery store and started sitting in the front seat of the hotel shuttle so the driver and I could catch up better between airport runs.
And actually, I did hit the jackpot, because the whole adventure was pretty profitable. As an Airport Alert I watched movies from the random selection of VHS tapes under the crew room TV (the Truman Show, High Fidelity) and got four hours of pay for four hours of "work". What a concept! Plus, since I was technically away from my base, I was still getting non-taxable per diem and someone else cleaned my room every day!
The only stressful event was when I realized that I had only one knitting project packed...and that I had lost the last page of the pattern! Tragedy was averted when I discovered a Pat Catan's (the Ohio equivalent of Jo-Ann's or AC Moore) on my last night's ride and slipped in at closing to grab a big skein of cotton yarn to keep my fingers busy.
Eventually I did have to fly, so Friday I worked three legs, had a short overnight in Boston and was back in Jersey by 9:30am Saturday.
Since I had some free time, I decided to spend a couple hundred dollars.........
I bought a bike!
Actually, it was only $109 at Target, plus taxes and a snappy little lock chain, and it was worth every penny! I am now the proud owner of a red and white Schwinn Legacy Cruiser. It looks as cute as it sounds, and I look even riding it (wait until I get a little basket!).
Seriously though, riding around Ohio, I realized that most of the places I go in NJ on a regular basis are all within a few miles and it really is possible to bike around.
So yesterday I pedalled to church, over to the Barnes and Noble for coffee and knitting, to my Bally's for a (probably unnecessary) workout and to Peggy's house where we met up for Colleen's farewell BBQ. From there we took the train and walked to the park, so I didn't use my car the entire day!
It really was a perfect summer Sunday.
I got to spend some time with God, good friends, and the more scenic parts of New Jersey. I felt good about the environment and my health, gorged myself on rip watermelon and made it home before the thunderstorm.
Content, but completely exhausted I plopped down on my couch only to hear my phone singing the signature ring for Crew Scheduling.
Since it was my day off, I didn't have to answer, but I knew that it probably meant a "courtesy call" because I would have a VERY early check in the next day.
Cautiously, I answered, and my fears were confirmed: 6:20am report time for a 14 hour duty day. Yuck.
The scheduler apologized and added, "But you have a long downtown layover the next day."
"Oh yeah? Where?"
Computer keys clicking.....
"Cleveland, Ohio."
It's funny how I quickly fell into a nice routine.
In the morning, wake up and bike over to the bookstore for coffee a read (gotta love a magazine selection that includes Hobby Farms, with glamour shots of pigs and produce), a quick stop at the market for munchies, then off to the airport to chill out in the crew room for four hours.
Each day I was scheduled to deadhead back to EWR, and each day when I called to be released, I felt like I had just anted up in some high-stakes poker game:
I'm here, I'm in. What you got?
Computer keys clicking.
"We're going to need you stay one more night."
JACKPOT!
So back to the hotel for a nice evening bike ride through the park.
I got myself one of those demographic-gathering, key chain-clogging cards for the local grocery store and started sitting in the front seat of the hotel shuttle so the driver and I could catch up better between airport runs.
And actually, I did hit the jackpot, because the whole adventure was pretty profitable. As an Airport Alert I watched movies from the random selection of VHS tapes under the crew room TV (the Truman Show, High Fidelity) and got four hours of pay for four hours of "work". What a concept! Plus, since I was technically away from my base, I was still getting non-taxable per diem and someone else cleaned my room every day!
The only stressful event was when I realized that I had only one knitting project packed...and that I had lost the last page of the pattern! Tragedy was averted when I discovered a Pat Catan's (the Ohio equivalent of Jo-Ann's or AC Moore) on my last night's ride and slipped in at closing to grab a big skein of cotton yarn to keep my fingers busy.
Eventually I did have to fly, so Friday I worked three legs, had a short overnight in Boston and was back in Jersey by 9:30am Saturday.
Since I had some free time, I decided to spend a couple hundred dollars.........
I bought a bike!
Actually, it was only $109 at Target, plus taxes and a snappy little lock chain, and it was worth every penny! I am now the proud owner of a red and white Schwinn Legacy Cruiser. It looks as cute as it sounds, and I look even riding it (wait until I get a little basket!).
Seriously though, riding around Ohio, I realized that most of the places I go in NJ on a regular basis are all within a few miles and it really is possible to bike around.
So yesterday I pedalled to church, over to the Barnes and Noble for coffee and knitting, to my Bally's for a (probably unnecessary) workout and to Peggy's house where we met up for Colleen's farewell BBQ. From there we took the train and walked to the park, so I didn't use my car the entire day!
It really was a perfect summer Sunday.
I got to spend some time with God, good friends, and the more scenic parts of New Jersey. I felt good about the environment and my health, gorged myself on rip watermelon and made it home before the thunderstorm.
Content, but completely exhausted I plopped down on my couch only to hear my phone singing the signature ring for Crew Scheduling.
Since it was my day off, I didn't have to answer, but I knew that it probably meant a "courtesy call" because I would have a VERY early check in the next day.
Cautiously, I answered, and my fears were confirmed: 6:20am report time for a 14 hour duty day. Yuck.
The scheduler apologized and added, "But you have a long downtown layover the next day."
"Oh yeah? Where?"
Computer keys clicking.....
"Cleveland, Ohio."
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Do Paralell Universes Use Three-Letter Airport Codes?
Occasionally, while going about my daily business I'll pause and realize that I am thousands of miles away from home, or that just a few hours earlier I had entirely different plans.
Sometimes it makes me laugh, sometimes it frustrates me, but what really surprises me is how unsurprising it is to find myself in such situations.
I guess that's why yesterday's adventures so deeply affected me. I felt like I had not only traveled across state lines, but right through to some other state of mind.
I'll call it Ohio.
Scheduling called me on Monday, just as I was wrapping up a wonderful, if exhausting, four days at home in Annapolis filled with the places, people and activities of my pre-airline life. I was to sit airport alert at 5:30 the next morning.
Somehow I made it to EWR on time and settled into my preferred Airport Alert position: earplugs, eye mask, by body supported in the uneven curves of the Lazy Boy filled in by airplane-issue pillows scrounged from the other couches. Just as I began to drift off the phone rang and my name was called. I was to be deadheaded to CLE (our smallest base) to sit airport alert there.
Now, I slept pretty hard on the deadhead flight (the flight attendant had to physically shake me awake when be landed), but wouldn't I have noticed if we slipped through some time-space continuum?
I sleepily stumbled down the CLE crew room and while I certainly recognized it as our crew room: the same institutional furniture, the same bank of dated computers, their screens glowing with the login page of our company network; everything seemed smaller, cleaner brighter. Like the set for a Disney movie about flight attendants.
Four hours later another girl and I were released to the hotel and on our way out of the crew room we spotted a flier for the "Employee Appreciation Ice Cream Social". They were literately giving away Ben and Jerry's just for working in Cleveland!
En route to the Holiday Inn the driver gave us a detailed summary of all the local amenities and suggested that we borrow bikes and head over to the trails down the streets.
After a solid nap I did just that, and soon found myself on the banks of the Rocky River, legs tingling from the leisurely three-mile ride, borrowed bike leaning against a lovely stone wall. Around me families with fathers picnicked and fished, pets and wildlife frolicked*, and ahead to my right a blissful young couple giggled as they staged kisses for their engagement announcement photos (and snuck real ones between shots).
Later in the evening, completely satisfied from my day and filled with the desire to share my delight with the online world, I biked over the the Border's bookstore to polish off my blog entry.
Journal and decaf coffee in hand (and knitting stashed in the bag under my arm), I decided to take a quick peek at the knitting books before putting pencil to paper. As I turned the corner the shelves parted to reveal a group of women happily knitting away in the comfy chairs by the window.
I stood speechless.
Of course that only lasted a few seconds, and I instantly made four new friends and a standing date to knit any Tuesday I was in town.
We knit, chatted and admired each other's work. Occasionally I would just shake my head in wonder at my day and the other ladies would laugh at how stunned I was by my good fortune. The apparent ringleader of this group (whose husband happened to be a pilot and who she couldn't wait to tell about this flying stranger) commented, "You should buy a lotto ticket before you leave town!"
This morning I woke up to the urgent ring of the hotel phone and the scheduler informed me that I was needed back to for another round of Airport Alert. She also mentioned that they just needed one reserve to stay the night, so she gave me option to stay in Clevland another night or go back to Newark.
Stay another night?!?! I'm ready to put in my transfer!
____________
* I apologize for the gratuitous use of the term "frolic", but the animals mentioned were in fact illustrating the exact defination of the word.
Sometimes it makes me laugh, sometimes it frustrates me, but what really surprises me is how unsurprising it is to find myself in such situations.
I guess that's why yesterday's adventures so deeply affected me. I felt like I had not only traveled across state lines, but right through to some other state of mind.
I'll call it Ohio.
Scheduling called me on Monday, just as I was wrapping up a wonderful, if exhausting, four days at home in Annapolis filled with the places, people and activities of my pre-airline life. I was to sit airport alert at 5:30 the next morning.
Somehow I made it to EWR on time and settled into my preferred Airport Alert position: earplugs, eye mask, by body supported in the uneven curves of the Lazy Boy filled in by airplane-issue pillows scrounged from the other couches. Just as I began to drift off the phone rang and my name was called. I was to be deadheaded to CLE (our smallest base) to sit airport alert there.
Now, I slept pretty hard on the deadhead flight (the flight attendant had to physically shake me awake when be landed), but wouldn't I have noticed if we slipped through some time-space continuum?
I sleepily stumbled down the CLE crew room and while I certainly recognized it as our crew room: the same institutional furniture, the same bank of dated computers, their screens glowing with the login page of our company network; everything seemed smaller, cleaner brighter. Like the set for a Disney movie about flight attendants.
Four hours later another girl and I were released to the hotel and on our way out of the crew room we spotted a flier for the "Employee Appreciation Ice Cream Social". They were literately giving away Ben and Jerry's just for working in Cleveland!
En route to the Holiday Inn the driver gave us a detailed summary of all the local amenities and suggested that we borrow bikes and head over to the trails down the streets.
After a solid nap I did just that, and soon found myself on the banks of the Rocky River, legs tingling from the leisurely three-mile ride, borrowed bike leaning against a lovely stone wall. Around me families with fathers picnicked and fished, pets and wildlife frolicked*, and ahead to my right a blissful young couple giggled as they staged kisses for their engagement announcement photos (and snuck real ones between shots).
Later in the evening, completely satisfied from my day and filled with the desire to share my delight with the online world, I biked over the the Border's bookstore to polish off my blog entry.
Journal and decaf coffee in hand (and knitting stashed in the bag under my arm), I decided to take a quick peek at the knitting books before putting pencil to paper. As I turned the corner the shelves parted to reveal a group of women happily knitting away in the comfy chairs by the window.
I stood speechless.
Of course that only lasted a few seconds, and I instantly made four new friends and a standing date to knit any Tuesday I was in town.
We knit, chatted and admired each other's work. Occasionally I would just shake my head in wonder at my day and the other ladies would laugh at how stunned I was by my good fortune. The apparent ringleader of this group (whose husband happened to be a pilot and who she couldn't wait to tell about this flying stranger) commented, "You should buy a lotto ticket before you leave town!"
This morning I woke up to the urgent ring of the hotel phone and the scheduler informed me that I was needed back to for another round of Airport Alert. She also mentioned that they just needed one reserve to stay the night, so she gave me option to stay in Clevland another night or go back to Newark.
Stay another night?!?! I'm ready to put in my transfer!
____________
* I apologize for the gratuitous use of the term "frolic", but the animals mentioned were in fact illustrating the exact defination of the word.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Tellin me about a party up in OKC. And can I make it? Damn right! I'll be on the next flight. Payin cash, first class, sittin next to Vanna White!*
Woo-hoo, I'm in Oklahoma!
My first time in Oklahoma City to be specific.
Allegedly it's a different city than Tulsa. It's considerably west, and I vaguely remember an NPR piece about how Tulsa tends to vote and act like deep south Arkansas and Oklahoma City has more of a wild West persona.
But it's a lot like Tulsa.
Maybe it's just my East Coast eyes and ears, but the airport looks the same, the people talk the same, and there's about the same amount of nothing to do.
No matter, this is the kind of layover where my suitcase full of fun proves itself despite curious eyebrow lifts from TSA every time I go through the x-ray. Good books, knitting projects, stationary and (of particular importance here in cattle country) vegetarian provisions.
And I have the leisure time to update my blog.
There hasn't been much to write about lately. I had a tremendously ordinary four-day trip last week (I actually layed over at LaGuardia in NYC, just minutes from my home base of Newark), and then made it home for a few days.
I came back to NJ a day early and on Wednesday saw Colleen receive her doctoral robes from Rutgers. She looked beautiful (and smart!), her parents were beaming, and the rain held off until everyone cleared the lawn. In all, a beautiful day.
That night, even though Colleen is the math professor, I was the one geeking out to a good game of Risk with the newlyweds. I held my ground for most of the night, but it's hard to take over the world from Iceland.
I'm not sure that I'd fare much better at global domination based here in Oklahoma City, so I guess I'll just stay on this trip and end up in Miami tonight.
_______________________
*My crew is fun and they appreciated my late night improvements on early 2000's Nelly raps. It's going to be a good trip. Now if I could only pimp my suitcase.
My first time in Oklahoma City to be specific.
Allegedly it's a different city than Tulsa. It's considerably west, and I vaguely remember an NPR piece about how Tulsa tends to vote and act like deep south Arkansas and Oklahoma City has more of a wild West persona.
But it's a lot like Tulsa.
Maybe it's just my East Coast eyes and ears, but the airport looks the same, the people talk the same, and there's about the same amount of nothing to do.
No matter, this is the kind of layover where my suitcase full of fun proves itself despite curious eyebrow lifts from TSA every time I go through the x-ray. Good books, knitting projects, stationary and (of particular importance here in cattle country) vegetarian provisions.
And I have the leisure time to update my blog.
There hasn't been much to write about lately. I had a tremendously ordinary four-day trip last week (I actually layed over at LaGuardia in NYC, just minutes from my home base of Newark), and then made it home for a few days.
I came back to NJ a day early and on Wednesday saw Colleen receive her doctoral robes from Rutgers. She looked beautiful (and smart!), her parents were beaming, and the rain held off until everyone cleared the lawn. In all, a beautiful day.
That night, even though Colleen is the math professor, I was the one geeking out to a good game of Risk with the newlyweds. I held my ground for most of the night, but it's hard to take over the world from Iceland.
I'm not sure that I'd fare much better at global domination based here in Oklahoma City, so I guess I'll just stay on this trip and end up in Miami tonight.
_______________________
*My crew is fun and they appreciated my late night improvements on early 2000's Nelly raps. It's going to be a good trip. Now if I could only pimp my suitcase.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Best Layover Ever.....but the day after SUX
I arrived in Baltimore Wednesday at about 10pm, and since my mom only got lost once, I was home in Annapolis before the midnight Frasier reruns on Lifetime.
Thursday morning I did a double session of Jazzercise, repacked my little lunchbox with Boca burgers and (much to the appreciation of crew and passenger alike) threw my uniform in the wash. All in all, a perfect layover.
Thoroughly refreshed, I headed back to BWI to finish my trip. With the previous two days being so nicet, I should have anticipated the fallout.
Friday was already scheduled to be a kicker: a barely legal nine hours of crew rest in Dallas, then a three and a half hour flight to EWR, two and a half hours of sit time, followed by a Detroit turn.
Knowing that I could take a little nap later in the day, I managed to get up at 4am and stay awake during the flight to EWR. I actually fell asleep in the crew room (hooray for earplugs and eye masks!) and made it to the plane for DTW.
I knew we got a new lead flight attendant for the Detroit turn (once you are a line holder, you can do amazing things with your schedule like drop trip segments if there is reserve coverage), but I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was, Mandy, a girl I had flown with over a year ago.
I was happy for me, but I felt bad for her because she commutes out of Detroit, and going there just to come right back is a terrible tease.
Of course when I say "come right back", that doesn't include the three-hour delay.
But we made the best of it.
We wandered the terminal which, aside from our gate, was full of little prop planes destined for places like Sioux City, Iowa and Kalamazoo, Michigan. We speculated what those airport codes could be (and who exactly wanted to go there). We hit every gift shop and took pictures of each other donning Paparazzi-proof sunglasses and Michigan souvenirs.
At one point we struck up a conversation with a young pilot from Mesaba Airlines (a regional carrier for Northwest) who was also trying to kill a few hours. He told us tales from the sketchy world of local aviation and I dazzled them with obscure honeybee facts I had just learned from the book Peggy gave me for Christmas ("Robbing the Bees" by Holley Bishop).
We were all pretty punchy, and sat there at the mini-Fuddruckers with a pile of french fries and eight dipping sauces regally lined up between us, cracking up at everything until we could no longer stand the evil stares from other customers coveting our table.
ATC finally let us go because our pilots were about to go illegal and we made it back to EWR around 10pm (that makes for a 16hour day).
I didn't get my personal drop for Saturday. Instead, scheduling had a Fort Lauderdale turn lined up for me that got back just in time for me to miss the last flight back to DCA and really mess up my Mother's Day plans.
But it was great to see Mandy again and we had fun with our Mesaba buddy.
It was really an enlightening afternoon. He informed us that the airport code for Sioux City is SUX, and that poor man will forever think of a certain crazy Newark flight attendant whenever there is mention of a honeybee.
Thursday morning I did a double session of Jazzercise, repacked my little lunchbox with Boca burgers and (much to the appreciation of crew and passenger alike) threw my uniform in the wash. All in all, a perfect layover.
Thoroughly refreshed, I headed back to BWI to finish my trip. With the previous two days being so nicet, I should have anticipated the fallout.
Friday was already scheduled to be a kicker: a barely legal nine hours of crew rest in Dallas, then a three and a half hour flight to EWR, two and a half hours of sit time, followed by a Detroit turn.
Knowing that I could take a little nap later in the day, I managed to get up at 4am and stay awake during the flight to EWR. I actually fell asleep in the crew room (hooray for earplugs and eye masks!) and made it to the plane for DTW.
I knew we got a new lead flight attendant for the Detroit turn (once you are a line holder, you can do amazing things with your schedule like drop trip segments if there is reserve coverage), but I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was, Mandy, a girl I had flown with over a year ago.
I was happy for me, but I felt bad for her because she commutes out of Detroit, and going there just to come right back is a terrible tease.
Of course when I say "come right back", that doesn't include the three-hour delay.
But we made the best of it.
We wandered the terminal which, aside from our gate, was full of little prop planes destined for places like Sioux City, Iowa and Kalamazoo, Michigan. We speculated what those airport codes could be (and who exactly wanted to go there). We hit every gift shop and took pictures of each other donning Paparazzi-proof sunglasses and Michigan souvenirs.
At one point we struck up a conversation with a young pilot from Mesaba Airlines (a regional carrier for Northwest) who was also trying to kill a few hours. He told us tales from the sketchy world of local aviation and I dazzled them with obscure honeybee facts I had just learned from the book Peggy gave me for Christmas ("Robbing the Bees" by Holley Bishop).
We were all pretty punchy, and sat there at the mini-Fuddruckers with a pile of french fries and eight dipping sauces regally lined up between us, cracking up at everything until we could no longer stand the evil stares from other customers coveting our table.
ATC finally let us go because our pilots were about to go illegal and we made it back to EWR around 10pm (that makes for a 16hour day).
I didn't get my personal drop for Saturday. Instead, scheduling had a Fort Lauderdale turn lined up for me that got back just in time for me to miss the last flight back to DCA and really mess up my Mother's Day plans.
But it was great to see Mandy again and we had fun with our Mesaba buddy.
It was really an enlightening afternoon. He informed us that the airport code for Sioux City is SUX, and that poor man will forever think of a certain crazy Newark flight attendant whenever there is mention of a honeybee.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
You heard me right...I love them (and my job).
Yesterday I started composing an unhappy account of my treatment from scheduling. Unfortunately, my internet connection kept cutting out (that's a whole different unhappy account), so I was unable to tell the world how badly I am abused and envoke sympathy from across the blogosphere.
The complaint was accurate, well-written and I'm sure will be quite appropriate in the future, but right now, I LOVE SCHEDULING!
My trip isn't too exotic, but remember, this is my job, and I have a near-perfect working trip with a special bonus....I get to go home!
They called me at a respectable 9am for a 1pm check-in, so I wasn't too rushed (which is good because I was on the phone with Verizon tech-support for an hour this morning). It's a four-day trip, so that means lots of tax free per diem (the real way to make money), and it's worth over 25 flight hours.
Tonight I'm in Seattle.
It's right by the airport, but let me just say that if it looked like this right by EWR there would be a lot fewer Jersey jokes.
I went for a nice long walk, though I looked a little silly in my little summer polo dress, white sneakers and my uniform sweater (perhaps I packed a little too lightly, anticipating my Baltimore/ANNAPOLIS! layover tommorrow).
The landscape has so much texture and color. The trees are a mix of pointy firs and shaggy pines in every shade of green then spotted with the brightest pinks and white from flowering fruit trees and shrubs. The cloudy gray sky seems to make all the colors a little more intense, and because it is so hilly the view changes with almost every step.
It's still very early spring here. In the cool evening, I could see and smell woodsmoke drift from quite a few chimneys. In Maryland and New Jersey the lusty lilacs have been wide open and fragrant for weeks already, but here they are still dense buds, waiting for the right moment to burst. I wish I could be here when they open.
I took a ridiculous amount of pictures for a walk through SeaTac suburbia, but I was just so happy to be out in the fresh air, I wanted to capture it all. I even picked up pine cones and interesting leaves to press. I don't know if they'll make it into any of my art projects, but I have them should inspiration strike.
Sadly, this ancient computer in the Marriott lobby doesn't have a slot for my camera's memory card, so I can't share any of those pictures now. You'll just have to use your imagination.
May I add that the computer may be ancient, but this hotel is spectacular. It has a modern/rustic Northwestern feel and a gorgeous atrium filled with plants and good lighting. In fact, this Marriott is so gorgeous that Best Western Hotel Group is holding a corperate event here. Imagine that.
I will end for now and head back to my room to read while sipping a cup of delicous in-room Starbucks coffee.
This is Seattle after all.
The complaint was accurate, well-written and I'm sure will be quite appropriate in the future, but right now, I LOVE SCHEDULING!
My trip isn't too exotic, but remember, this is my job, and I have a near-perfect working trip with a special bonus....I get to go home!
They called me at a respectable 9am for a 1pm check-in, so I wasn't too rushed (which is good because I was on the phone with Verizon tech-support for an hour this morning). It's a four-day trip, so that means lots of tax free per diem (the real way to make money), and it's worth over 25 flight hours.
Tonight I'm in Seattle.
It's right by the airport, but let me just say that if it looked like this right by EWR there would be a lot fewer Jersey jokes.
I went for a nice long walk, though I looked a little silly in my little summer polo dress, white sneakers and my uniform sweater (perhaps I packed a little too lightly, anticipating my Baltimore/ANNAPOLIS! layover tommorrow).
The landscape has so much texture and color. The trees are a mix of pointy firs and shaggy pines in every shade of green then spotted with the brightest pinks and white from flowering fruit trees and shrubs. The cloudy gray sky seems to make all the colors a little more intense, and because it is so hilly the view changes with almost every step.
It's still very early spring here. In the cool evening, I could see and smell woodsmoke drift from quite a few chimneys. In Maryland and New Jersey the lusty lilacs have been wide open and fragrant for weeks already, but here they are still dense buds, waiting for the right moment to burst. I wish I could be here when they open.
I took a ridiculous amount of pictures for a walk through SeaTac suburbia, but I was just so happy to be out in the fresh air, I wanted to capture it all. I even picked up pine cones and interesting leaves to press. I don't know if they'll make it into any of my art projects, but I have them should inspiration strike.
Sadly, this ancient computer in the Marriott lobby doesn't have a slot for my camera's memory card, so I can't share any of those pictures now. You'll just have to use your imagination.
May I add that the computer may be ancient, but this hotel is spectacular. It has a modern/rustic Northwestern feel and a gorgeous atrium filled with plants and good lighting. In fact, this Marriott is so gorgeous that Best Western Hotel Group is holding a corperate event here. Imagine that.
I will end for now and head back to my room to read while sipping a cup of delicous in-room Starbucks coffee.
This is Seattle after all.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
It's called "Business First" Because You Don't Need Any Class
One can of Bloody Mary Mix, unopened, a cup of ice and three pieces of lime.
One coffee, skim milk and six sugars.
Sprite Zero with a splash of orange juice, no ice.
On Monday I was lead on a full flight back from Cancun, trying to fill the more creative drink
orders while maintaining an imagine of the sunrise from my balcony. After all, ten short hours in Cancun is better than ten short hours in Tulsa.
As a girl who enjoys a Venti half-caff coffee with a dollop of soy milk foam on top, I'm pretty tolerant of special orders. And I appreciate when people just tell me what they want ins instead of ordering coffee and expecting me to instinctively know if they would like cream or sugar.
But back to me on the bar cart.
A tap on the shoulder made me turn around and hear the first class flight attenant explain that the "gentleman" in 1E would like to speak to her "supervisor" because he can't open the milk for his cereal.
Milk from Latin America is always the shelf-stable, ultra-pasteurized stuff packaged like the little juice boxes kids pack in their lunchbags. She had explained to him that you simply poke the little bendy straw through the little foil covered hole, but apparently this engineering challenge was much too complex and required immediate attention from a qualified crew member.
I dutifully responded and graciously demonstrated the proper technique.
Alas, 1E was still confounded by the situation and urgently gestured at his dry conflakes.
"But how do I get it on my cereal?"
No help from his wife, who incidently was munching an a moist spoonful and avoiding eye contact.
So, in a rather loud and throughly innocent voice I asked, "You want me to pour your milk on your cereal for you, sir?"
Ten pairs of "business-first" eyes pivoted up to see who exactly need breakfast assistance (Mrs. 1E still gazed out the window). With an audible pout he proceeded to messily quirt milk into his bowl and I returned to fetch my limes and count out sugars.
"BusinessFirst" is the official name for the cabin formerly known as first-class. Turns out that many companies will only pay for their employees to fly "business-class", not "first", so brilliant airline marketers simply renamed the product. Problem solved.
Well, that problem anyway. I guess they couldn't do anything about opening milk or the ridiculously loud (though I believe good intentioned) couple on the way down to to Cancun the day before. I, along with the entire BusinessFirst cabin heard every detail of their romance, their intentions never to marry and the lyrics to every song that popped into their tone-deaf heads during the 3 and half hour flight. It was almost cute, though completely inappropriate when he began massaging her feet. However, when he put her toes in his mouth that was my cue to head to the main cabin.
The really silly part is that if these characters didn't pay so much for their reclining seat, the rest of us couldn't afford the cheaper fares that allow us to get from point A to B. So I'm never upset. And remember, the most annoying passengers are probably just calcium deprived because they don't always have a flight attendant to open their milk.
One coffee, skim milk and six sugars.
Sprite Zero with a splash of orange juice, no ice.
On Monday I was lead on a full flight back from Cancun, trying to fill the more creative drink
orders while maintaining an imagine of the sunrise from my balcony. After all, ten short hours in Cancun is better than ten short hours in Tulsa.As a girl who enjoys a Venti half-caff coffee with a dollop of soy milk foam on top, I'm pretty tolerant of special orders. And I appreciate when people just tell me what they want ins instead of ordering coffee and expecting me to instinctively know if they would like cream or sugar.
But back to me on the bar cart.
A tap on the shoulder made me turn around and hear the first class flight attenant explain that the "gentleman" in 1E would like to speak to her "supervisor" because he can't open the milk for his cereal.
Milk from Latin America is always the shelf-stable, ultra-pasteurized stuff packaged like the little juice boxes kids pack in their lunchbags. She had explained to him that you simply poke the little bendy straw through the little foil covered hole, but apparently this engineering challenge was much too complex and required immediate attention from a qualified crew member.
I dutifully responded and graciously demonstrated the proper technique.
Alas, 1E was still confounded by the situation and urgently gestured at his dry conflakes.
"But how do I get it on my cereal?"
No help from his wife, who incidently was munching an a moist spoonful and avoiding eye contact.
So, in a rather loud and throughly innocent voice I asked, "You want me to pour your milk on your cereal for you, sir?"
Ten pairs of "business-first" eyes pivoted up to see who exactly need breakfast assistance (Mrs. 1E still gazed out the window). With an audible pout he proceeded to messily quirt milk into his bowl and I returned to fetch my limes and count out sugars.
"BusinessFirst" is the official name for the cabin formerly known as first-class. Turns out that many companies will only pay for their employees to fly "business-class", not "first", so brilliant airline marketers simply renamed the product. Problem solved.
Well, that problem anyway. I guess they couldn't do anything about opening milk or the ridiculously loud (though I believe good intentioned) couple on the way down to to Cancun the day before. I, along with the entire BusinessFirst cabin heard every detail of their romance, their intentions never to marry and the lyrics to every song that popped into their tone-deaf heads during the 3 and half hour flight. It was almost cute, though completely inappropriate when he began massaging her feet. However, when he put her toes in his mouth that was my cue to head to the main cabin.
The really silly part is that if these characters didn't pay so much for their reclining seat, the rest of us couldn't afford the cheaper fares that allow us to get from point A to B. So I'm never upset. And remember, the most annoying passengers are probably just calcium deprived because they don't always have a flight attendant to open their milk.
Friday, April 25, 2008
11 Mintues?? That Would Be the Real Suprise.
As of right now, my flight from DCA back to EWR is only delayed 11 minutes.
There's no one around to start a pool, but I'd wager that will increase, the only question is by how much.
I'm here in Annapolis, and before I shut down my dad's computer I thought I'd sneak in a little blog entry.
They didn't use me the day after airport alert, so I was able to sneak home on a 5pm flight Tuesday. The weather has been absolutely gorgeous and I love all the dogwood and lilacs in bloom.
Last Sunday was my little sister's 22nd birthday, and I haven't seen her in a few weeks so I was hoping to help her celebrate a little this weekend.
My mother, in an unforeseen fit of coolness, booked a hotel room for Saturday so that Laura and her friends from college could come to Annapolis get gleamed up together, hit downtown, then crash at the suite for the night.
As Annie suggested, the hotel party birthday is definitely only celebrated by the youngest sibling.
But I harbor no resentment, and I was even planning to personal drop for Saturday so that I could help set up munchies and decorate for the girls.
Unfortunately, I wouldn't know if I actually got the day off on Saturday (tomorrow) until 6pm Friday (today) meaning that I would have already had to have been at the airport by the time the good news came.
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I thought about just risking it and calling out sick if I didn't get the day off, but I've got to save my sick days for when Brandon Flowers calls to say his wife left him because he converted to Catholicism and so it's a good time for us to run away.
Just to make the personal drop plan even more futile, the last flight out of DCA on Saturday is 5pm, so I still wouldn't have time to get festive.
So, instead I made a fabulous menu of munchies, including a decadent "Coconut Hummingbird Cake", complete with vases of lilac blossoms and decorated labels to make choosing among the deleciousness easier. In my absence, my mom has PROMISED to display everything as I described. I'm a little anxious about that, but I guess if Claire can trust her to do the flowers for her wedding, I can let her plate up my oatmeal cookies.
In theory, my sister still knows nothing of all this, but I'm not too concerned about ruining the suprise. As far as I know, she's only read my blog once...because I was at her apartment...reading it out loud to her.
But no resentment for me, remember.
There's no one around to start a pool, but I'd wager that will increase, the only question is by how much.
I'm here in Annapolis, and before I shut down my dad's computer I thought I'd sneak in a little blog entry.
They didn't use me the day after airport alert, so I was able to sneak home on a 5pm flight Tuesday. The weather has been absolutely gorgeous and I love all the dogwood and lilacs in bloom.
Last Sunday was my little sister's 22nd birthday, and I haven't seen her in a few weeks so I was hoping to help her celebrate a little this weekend.
My mother, in an unforeseen fit of coolness, booked a hotel room for Saturday so that Laura and her friends from college could come to Annapolis get gleamed up together, hit downtown, then crash at the suite for the night.
As Annie suggested, the hotel party birthday is definitely only celebrated by the youngest sibling.
But I harbor no resentment, and I was even planning to personal drop for Saturday so that I could help set up munchies and decorate for the girls.
Unfortunately, I wouldn't know if I actually got the day off on Saturday (tomorrow) until 6pm Friday (today) meaning that I would have already had to have been at the airport by the time the good news came.
.jpg)
I thought about just risking it and calling out sick if I didn't get the day off, but I've got to save my sick days for when Brandon Flowers calls to say his wife left him because he converted to Catholicism and so it's a good time for us to run away.
Just to make the personal drop plan even more futile, the last flight out of DCA on Saturday is 5pm, so I still wouldn't have time to get festive.
So, instead I made a fabulous menu of munchies, including a decadent "Coconut Hummingbird Cake", complete with vases of lilac blossoms and decorated labels to make choosing among the deleciousness easier. In my absence, my mom has PROMISED to display everything as I described. I'm a little anxious about that, but I guess if Claire can trust her to do the flowers for her wedding, I can let her plate up my oatmeal cookies.
In theory, my sister still knows nothing of all this, but I'm not too concerned about ruining the suprise. As far as I know, she's only read my blog once...because I was at her apartment...reading it out loud to her.
But no resentment for me, remember.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
A Complete Analysis of the Benefits and Disadvantages of the Spring Season
DISLIKES:
I cannot go grocery shopping on my way to the airport and leave frozen foods in my trunk for the duration of my trip.
LIKES:
Everything else.
I cannot go grocery shopping on my way to the airport and leave frozen foods in my trunk for the duration of my trip.
LIKES:
Everything else.
(Even the turnpike is Pretty!)
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
A Return, A Rant and a Ride
We got back yesterday from Las Vegas without incident. The journey home tends to be more somber.
I'm used to people ignoring me during the safety demo, but when I look down the aisle and see ninety percent of the passengers passed out and drooling at 2pm on a Sunday, I know it's leaving Las Vegas.
Today I was assigned Airport Alert.
Also known as Airport Appreciation or Airport Arrest, it's when I get all dressed up with no where to go. Nowhere that is, except to sit for four hours in the crewroom just in case anyone calls out at the last minute, or an inbound crew misconnects.
The phone didn't ring once tonight, which was refreshingly different from when I had AA two weeks ago.
That night, only four days before the wedding, I was informed that duty was extended to six hours. In the distance I could hear already hear reserves arguing with scheduling.
Of course I didn't have to sit for 6 hours, because before long I was sent to London ( I fear I may have brought this on myself by casually joking with a scheduler that I had a snappy new passport cover).
When I tell this to non-flight attendants they always get that "wow, what a cool job you have" look. However, working to London is every reason I hate international rolled into one three-day extravganza that can cost more than it pays thanks to the weak dollar:
The sleep-deprived zombie state. Boredom for hours over the Atlantic. Petty seniority battles and inter-crew drama. Uncomforatable European beds and crappy coffee. Having to check bags and then wait in line at customs.
I'd been to London once last September, and I did get out and do the touristy thing (at least I think I did, the picutres evidenced this, though my mind was mush from exhaustion). This time however, we landed in a snowy mess that had sent Gatwick Airport into a total meltdown.
The trains stopped running and planes were grounded. I, who had just gotten back from San Diego the day before and not bothered to repack, had only a flimsy
skirt and flipflops. Additionally, the Olympic torch was being relayed through the city and protesters were doing their best to extinguish the flame. The games may go on, but all this certainly snuffed any desire I had to venture into London.
As for the crew, to put it diplomatically, there was way too much "personality". While they were all fine individuals I'm sure, stuck in a slender metal tube for 7 hours and forced to work through the night, you can imagine that things might get unpleasant. Maybe if I have a quiet day sometime I'll relate one of those tales in all it's gorey detail, but I just don't have the time time now.
I thank God for Kim, the girl I shared a jumpseat with, because she quite posibley kept me sane on that trip.
Although it wasn't her first overseas trip, it was her first since getting her transfer to the base and she had a constant look of "what have I gotten myself into?"
She was a lot of fun to fly with. She taught me how to play gin and we laughed at how surreal it was to be to spend the day in the airport hotel crewroom playing blackjack for sugar packets with a 5 ft. Puerto Rican flight attendant who was was not gay and trying to prove it with stories of how wasted he used to get in college with his buddies.
So, I certainly can't complain about Airport Alert tonight.
I didn't have to go anywhere, and I got to watch "Dancing with the Stars".
Even better, about an hour before I was supposed to go home, Kim from the London adventure showed up to serve her time (she is still international based, but has put in her transfer back to domestic).
I was released at 10pm, but since I had no big plans for the evening, I just stayed and played cards with her until midnight, when she was released. It was quite enjoyable.
Chatting happily, we headed out to the employee shuttle buses and headed to our respective lots. As the bus began it's bumpy route, I recieved a text message from a good friend in Annapolis and began settting up plans for my upcoming days off. When I glanced up from my phone we were passing an entirely unfamilar sign for the Turnpike.
Turns out I had gotten on the wrong bus and now had to go all the way back to the terminal and restart my journey!
The mistake only cost me a half hour and I had already hung out at the airport for an extra two hours anyway. At 12:30 am there weren't too many people around for me to embarassed, so the bus driver just had a good laugh as I swapped out my suitcases. To be honest, with the all the buses looking identical and the crazy hours when I tend to ride, it's really suprising I haven't made this mistake before.
At least I remebered where I parked my car.
I'm used to people ignoring me during the safety demo, but when I look down the aisle and see ninety percent of the passengers passed out and drooling at 2pm on a Sunday, I know it's leaving Las Vegas.
Today I was assigned Airport Alert.
Also known as Airport Appreciation or Airport Arrest, it's when I get all dressed up with no where to go. Nowhere that is, except to sit for four hours in the crewroom just in case anyone calls out at the last minute, or an inbound crew misconnects.
The phone didn't ring once tonight, which was refreshingly different from when I had AA two weeks ago.
That night, only four days before the wedding, I was informed that duty was extended to six hours. In the distance I could hear already hear reserves arguing with scheduling.
Of course I didn't have to sit for 6 hours, because before long I was sent to London ( I fear I may have brought this on myself by casually joking with a scheduler that I had a snappy new passport cover).
When I tell this to non-flight attendants they always get that "wow, what a cool job you have" look. However, working to London is every reason I hate international rolled into one three-day extravganza that can cost more than it pays thanks to the weak dollar:
The sleep-deprived zombie state. Boredom for hours over the Atlantic. Petty seniority battles and inter-crew drama. Uncomforatable European beds and crappy coffee. Having to check bags and then wait in line at customs.
I'd been to London once last September, and I did get out and do the touristy thing (at least I think I did, the picutres evidenced this, though my mind was mush from exhaustion). This time however, we landed in a snowy mess that had sent Gatwick Airport into a total meltdown.
The trains stopped running and planes were grounded. I, who had just gotten back from San Diego the day before and not bothered to repack, had only a flimsy
skirt and flipflops. Additionally, the Olympic torch was being relayed through the city and protesters were doing their best to extinguish the flame. The games may go on, but all this certainly snuffed any desire I had to venture into London.As for the crew, to put it diplomatically, there was way too much "personality". While they were all fine individuals I'm sure, stuck in a slender metal tube for 7 hours and forced to work through the night, you can imagine that things might get unpleasant. Maybe if I have a quiet day sometime I'll relate one of those tales in all it's gorey detail, but I just don't have the time time now.
I thank God for Kim, the girl I shared a jumpseat with, because she quite posibley kept me sane on that trip.
Although it wasn't her first overseas trip, it was her first since getting her transfer to the base and she had a constant look of "what have I gotten myself into?"
She was a lot of fun to fly with. She taught me how to play gin and we laughed at how surreal it was to be to spend the day in the airport hotel crewroom playing blackjack for sugar packets with a 5 ft. Puerto Rican flight attendant who was was not gay and trying to prove it with stories of how wasted he used to get in college with his buddies.
So, I certainly can't complain about Airport Alert tonight.
I didn't have to go anywhere, and I got to watch "Dancing with the Stars".
Even better, about an hour before I was supposed to go home, Kim from the London adventure showed up to serve her time (she is still international based, but has put in her transfer back to domestic).
I was released at 10pm, but since I had no big plans for the evening, I just stayed and played cards with her until midnight, when she was released. It was quite enjoyable.
Chatting happily, we headed out to the employee shuttle buses and headed to our respective lots. As the bus began it's bumpy route, I recieved a text message from a good friend in Annapolis and began settting up plans for my upcoming days off. When I glanced up from my phone we were passing an entirely unfamilar sign for the Turnpike.
Turns out I had gotten on the wrong bus and now had to go all the way back to the terminal and restart my journey!
The mistake only cost me a half hour and I had already hung out at the airport for an extra two hours anyway. At 12:30 am there weren't too many people around for me to embarassed, so the bus driver just had a good laugh as I swapped out my suitcases. To be honest, with the all the buses looking identical and the crazy hours when I tend to ride, it's really suprising I haven't made this mistake before.
At least I remebered where I parked my car.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Season One is a Wrap! No Honeymoon in Vegas, thank you.
Ok, I'm back.
With the happy couple off to Italy for a blissful three and a half week honeymoon, I'm no longer best supporting actress on this season of the Claire and Aaron show, but just your average Maryland-to-Jersey-transplanted-knitting-obsessed-jazzercising-conservative-catholic-reserve flight attendant and inconsistent blogger.
With the happy couple off to Italy for a blissful three and a half week honeymoon, I'm no longer best supporting actress on this season of the Claire and Aaron show, but just your average Maryland-to-Jersey-transplanted-knitting-obsessed-jazzercising-conservative-catholic-reserve flight attendant and inconsistent blogger.
It is far beyond the scope of this entry to describe the wedding and it's preparations in any way that does justice, so I will just say that it was the most beautiful wedding I've ever experienced and it was an absolute blessing to be involved.
It was a sincere joy to witness family and friends come together to make the entire event a success, and an even greater joy the way this couple's love for each other and the Lord glorifies the sacrament of marriage and will do so for the rest of their lives.
Seeing them gives me great hope for marriage in general, and being the maid of honor taught me more than I could have imagined about the logistics of planning a wedding. (Let me mention that I wasn't exactly diving for the bouquet!)
The wedding and it's preparations have been pivotal to my life these past few months, but amid throwing showers, outfitting myself and assisting the bride-to-be as needed, I have managed to eek out a living as a reserve flight attendant and even indulge in a few new hobbies.
I'm working on a truly comprehensive update to be posted at a later time, but for right now I'll just say I'm in the city embodying the opposite of all things good and holy from reverent wedding last week....Las Vegas.
In case you that don't know, I HATE Las Vegas.
Fly over Nevada and it's desert....desert.... desert.....golf-course! Even before you glimpse the strip, you know somethings is just not right.
I won't rant at length, but the only glimmer of hope for me is the slim possibility I'll meet Brandon Flowers of the Killers in first class (they are from Henderson, NV, a Vegas suburb). No such luck this time.
Thankfully, the crowd last night was pretty tame for a Saturday to Vegas. Usually we sell out of everything alcoholic, plusm 3-4 creepy guys assume that a flight attendant working a flight to Vegas is an aspiring showgirl, and comment accordingly.
While the passengers mostly slept, the lead flight-attendant thought he was an opening act and kept making cheesy announcements like "Flight 468, non-stop service to Lost Wages" and "Remember, what happens in Vegas goes on the Internet."
As I said, it was relativlely quiet, but about two hours into the 5-hour flight, while the first class galley girl and I sat up front reading scavenged magazines, some woman from coach came up and literately flung herself on the galley floor.
We tried to ask her what was wrong, but all she did was roll around clutching her stomach. She wouldn't answer our questions, and I was pinned between the forward door and this adult woman writhing like a four-year-old past naptime.
Our initial concerned shifted to annoyance. She gave us no information and it became apparent she was just some European drama queen (there are always tons of forgeiners going to Vegas, I long to shake them and scream..."THIS IS NOT AMERICA!") who probably didn't get enough attention as a child.
I had to physically step over her prone personage to call the lead flight attendant, who brought her uninterested husband up to assess the situation. As the weak invalid finally rose from the floor (I don't care how sick I am, I will NEVER lay on an airplane galley floor) and pawed at the bathroom door until I opened it for her, he asked in broken English for some fresh lemons.
Yes, fresh lemons.
Then they returned to their seats and we returned to our magazines once our eyes refocused from excessive rolling. We didn't mention the incident again until relating it through uncontrollable laughter to the pilots in the hotel shuttle.
So here I am, minutes from the strip, happily blogging, holding tight to all of my cash. While I really enjoy blackjack, I just can't stomach the idea of leaving any money here. I pack munchies so I don't even have to buy lunch.
But as much as I hate Las Vegas, I'm really glad that I have been able to work a few flights out here.
I just finished reading "Bringing Down the House," a book about the kids from MIT who counted cards and made millions. It was a entertaining, easy read and I would recommend it, but I enjoyed it even more because I've been all the places they described. Maybe not the high-roller suites, but I am a familiar with the general setting, something I couldn't have said two years ago. From my short trips I have also learned I will never vacation here on my own, so I've been saved a possibly disappointing personal trip.
I'll end here for now, realizing that I've fulfilled the prophecy
What happens in Vegas goes on the Internet.
It was a sincere joy to witness family and friends come together to make the entire event a success, and an even greater joy the way this couple's love for each other and the Lord glorifies the sacrament of marriage and will do so for the rest of their lives.
Seeing them gives me great hope for marriage in general, and being the maid of honor taught me more than I could have imagined about the logistics of planning a wedding. (Let me mention that I wasn't exactly diving for the bouquet!)
The wedding and it's preparations have been pivotal to my life these past few months, but amid throwing showers, outfitting myself and assisting the bride-to-be as needed, I have managed to eek out a living as a reserve flight attendant and even indulge in a few new hobbies.
I'm working on a truly comprehensive update to be posted at a later time, but for right now I'll just say I'm in the city embodying the opposite of all things good and holy from reverent wedding last week....Las Vegas.
In case you that don't know, I HATE Las Vegas.
Fly over Nevada and it's desert....desert.... desert.....golf-course! Even before you glimpse the strip, you know somethings is just not right.
I won't rant at length, but the only glimmer of hope for me is the slim possibility I'll meet Brandon Flowers of the Killers in first class (they are from Henderson, NV, a Vegas suburb). No such luck this time.
Thankfully, the crowd last night was pretty tame for a Saturday to Vegas. Usually we sell out of everything alcoholic, plusm 3-4 creepy guys assume that a flight attendant working a flight to Vegas is an aspiring showgirl, and comment accordingly.
While the passengers mostly slept, the lead flight-attendant thought he was an opening act and kept making cheesy announcements like "Flight 468, non-stop service to Lost Wages" and "Remember, what happens in Vegas goes on the Internet."
As I said, it was relativlely quiet, but about two hours into the 5-hour flight, while the first class galley girl and I sat up front reading scavenged magazines, some woman from coach came up and literately flung herself on the galley floor.
We tried to ask her what was wrong, but all she did was roll around clutching her stomach. She wouldn't answer our questions, and I was pinned between the forward door and this adult woman writhing like a four-year-old past naptime.
Our initial concerned shifted to annoyance. She gave us no information and it became apparent she was just some European drama queen (there are always tons of forgeiners going to Vegas, I long to shake them and scream..."THIS IS NOT AMERICA!") who probably didn't get enough attention as a child.
I had to physically step over her prone personage to call the lead flight attendant, who brought her uninterested husband up to assess the situation. As the weak invalid finally rose from the floor (I don't care how sick I am, I will NEVER lay on an airplane galley floor) and pawed at the bathroom door until I opened it for her, he asked in broken English for some fresh lemons.
Yes, fresh lemons.
Then they returned to their seats and we returned to our magazines once our eyes refocused from excessive rolling. We didn't mention the incident again until relating it through uncontrollable laughter to the pilots in the hotel shuttle.
So here I am, minutes from the strip, happily blogging, holding tight to all of my cash. While I really enjoy blackjack, I just can't stomach the idea of leaving any money here. I pack munchies so I don't even have to buy lunch.
But as much as I hate Las Vegas, I'm really glad that I have been able to work a few flights out here.
I just finished reading "Bringing Down the House," a book about the kids from MIT who counted cards and made millions. It was a entertaining, easy read and I would recommend it, but I enjoyed it even more because I've been all the places they described. Maybe not the high-roller suites, but I am a familiar with the general setting, something I couldn't have said two years ago. From my short trips I have also learned I will never vacation here on my own, so I've been saved a possibly disappointing personal trip.
I'll end here for now, realizing that I've fulfilled the prophecy
What happens in Vegas goes on the Internet.
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