Galley Gossip: Traveling with children: a few suggestions…

by Heather Poole on

There he is, the little monster. Yes, he’s an adorable little monster, but a monster nonetheless. Whether he’s traveling with you or he’s headed toward you, either way, he’s on the flight with you. Near you. I feel for you. Really, I do.

Traveling sucks, most of you will agree, but what’s even worse than traveling is traveling with children, even when it’s your own kid you’re traveling with. Why? Because the people around you give you the please-don’t-sit-by-me look. Because you’ve only got two hands. That’s it. One. Two. It’s not easy carrying the kid, the car seat, the stroller, the diaper bag (that’s been stuffed full of fun things things to do, causing it to weigh more than the kid and the car seat alone) while you’re doing whatever it is you have to do in order to keep the kid happy – and quiet – on-board an aircraft, surrounded by all those people giving you that look.

Like I said, traveling can suck, but you don’t have to let the stress of travel ruin your trip. Here are a few tips I’ve used when traveling with my own little two year-old monster who has flown once a month since he was three months old.

ARRIVE EARLY – The line at security just keeps getting longer now that summer is here, so give yourself a little extra time. And by God, check those bags, if you haven’t already, even if you have to pay that ridiculous bag fee. Why? Because it’s even more ridiculous struggling lug all that gear on the airplane where you’ll only end up even more frustrated and agitated when you find all those overhead bins full. So pack light, come early, and check the bags.

BE PREPARED – Don’t be surprised when TSA makes you toss that sippy cup full of milk and the bottle of water out of your diaper bag. No need to remind TSA the liquids are for your little princess. They already know. And yes, you AND the princess will need to remove your shoes – both of you – even if sweet pea is just four months old. Don’t get angry. It’s a waste of time. Just be ready when it happens. That means leave the liquids at home and start taking off those shoes and collapsing that stroller before it’s your turn to walk through the metal detector. No one likes standing in line behind the person who is not ready to go when it’s their time to go. So go! And after you pass through security, please don’t forget to purchase milk and water (and snacks if you didn’t bring any food from home) in the terminal before you board the flight. Chances are the flight attendants will run out of bottled water and food before they even reach your row.

TRAVEL TIME – Whatever you do, do not take the all-nighter when traveling with your perfect little angel who may not be so perfect on a flight at night. There’s nothing worse, or more stressful, than traveling with a screaming child, especially when everyone around you is trying to sleep. Me, I always book my flights during the day, during nap time. That way the kid can run around and wear himself out at home, before we have to head to the airport. Nine times out of ten my little cutie patootie will fall asleep on taxi out, allowing me (and whoever is seated in front of me) a few hours of quiet time. What parent doesn’t need a little quiet time?

DIAPER BAG – Oh sure I spent WAY too much on a designer diaper bag before my son was born, only to use the messenger style Diaper Dude my husband bought every single time we traveled – and didn’t travel. You’d be shocked at all I can fit in that one bag. All I can say is the style of the Diaper Dude makes traveling easy. Why? Because the messenger bag leaves hands free! That means your hands are available to do what they REALLY need to do – like take care of the child.

BABY SLING / WRAP – The Baby Bjorn made going through airport security completely do-able when I had to go it alone. With the kid attached to me, all I had to do was slide off my shoes (slip-ons when traveling with the kid) and throw them, along with the Diaper Dude, on the conveyor belt without asking a stranger for help, which is something you may not feel inclined to do when the stranger behind you is looking kind of…well…strange. Once on-board, use the sling when baby falls asleep. In other words, let the carrier hold the baby while your hands hold a book. NOTE: The sling cannot be worn on take-off or landing or anytime when the fasten seat belt sign is on.

SIT-N-STROLL – Best invention known to mankind – mankind with kids that is. Once through security, sit baby in the chair and start strolling to the gate. Baby rides like a king in his first class seat. When it’s time to board, roll the little prince onto the airplane and straight to your seat while passengers already seated oooh and ahhh at your precious bundle of joy. Once at your seat, retract the wheels and VOILA – the stroller is now a car seat! After the flight deploy the wheels and you’re off and rolling to baggage claim (you did check the bags, didn’t you?) and then it’s off to the car where once again you retract the wheels and VOILA – car seat again! NOTE: The SIT-N-STROLL does not fit down the aisle of a narrow body aircraft (S80, 737, 757), so if you’re traveling alone leave the SIT-N-STROLL at home, or just ask for help from the strange looking person behind you.

CARES (Child Aviation Restraint System) – The second best invention ever! If your child is at least one year-old and weighs 25 lbs, you can leave the car seat at home and use these simple straps that easily fit around the back of a seat and attach to the seat belt to keep your child safe.

RIDE ON CARRY ON – The third best invention ever! Would you believe the genius behind this was a flight attendant! Oh yeah. Who else but a flight attendant would come up with something so amazing? If you’ve got a roller-board and prefer traveling light, this is the contraption for you – and me! (Of course I already own one.) Just attach the “lawn chair” to the back of your rolling bag and off you go, as simple as that. Once on the flight the chair folds flush against your suitcase and fits perfectly into the overhead bin. Use the chair with CARES and your little one travels safe and sound while you’re off and running. NOTE: Be prepared for pointing and laughter as you sprint through the terminal with your little one attached to your bag.

DVD PLAYER – Never – I repeat – NEVER leave home without the DVD player. And don’t forget the charger. Pack it in your bag, the one that is going under the seat in front of you. Charge the DVD regularly. There are outlets in every airport. Oh and DVDs. Don’t forget to pack the DVDs, too! All I can say is thank God for the Teletubbies. La-La and friends have gotten us through over 35 flights – calm and peaceful flights.

BRING SOMETHING FUN TO DO: Coloring books, crayons, stickers, books, bring it all! Years ago a flight attendant told me that when she traveled with her son she always made sure to give him a small present each hour of flight in return for good behavior. Sure, you’re buying good behavior from a kid, a kid who should be well behaved to begin with, but sometimes kids act out, even the well behaved ones. Hey, kids are kids. And good behavior is worth every penny. Just ask the guy seated in front of you.

DON’T FORGET ABOUT THE PASSENGER IN FRONT OF YOU – I know you’re going to find this very hard to believe, but the person seated in front of you is not at all thrilled to be seated in front of you and your adorable child, no matter how cute the little munchkin is. Remember, it’s your job as a parent to be aware of what the little monkey is doing, so don’t let those feet kick the back of that chair, please! And stop those little hands from banging on the tray table, please! Sure, kids will be kids and can’t always be controlled, but you can try, can’t you? Please try. For the sake of the passenger in front of you. The passenger in front of you who is begging you. The passenger in front of you who is now begging me.

IGNORE THE ANGRY PASSENGER. Hey you, angry guy, they’re trying their best to keep the kid quiet, okay! Maybe those little ears hurt from the pressurization of the airplane, who knows. Don’t forget, you, too, were once a kid, and you were probably just as annoying as the crying kid seated behind you. Probably more so, based on the way you’re behaving now. Look, you’re not the only one who thinks traveling sucks. Just ask the little stinker stuck sitting behind you. The one that’s acting just like you!

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Galley Gossip: Flight attendant vacation – Venice (Cannaregio)

by Heather Poole on

You’ve thought about going to Venice. Come on, admit it. Don’t deny it. Of course you immediately talked yourself out of it, considering you absolutely detest crowds and tourist traps. Yet Venice, you must admit, does look magical, like the kind of tourist trap you should see at least once in your life. But the problem is you can’t stand crowds and tourist traps. And that’s a problem. A very big problem.

For me, too!

When a flight attendant takes a vacation, the flight attendant will do everything possible to avoid anything that resembles a layover. Layovers equate to work. Yeah, I know, work ain’t so bad when you’re laying over someplace nice, but at the same time, laying over somewhere nice usually means you’re at a chain hotel surrounded by chain restaurants, not too far from the airport. Of course, life could be worse, I know. But when you’ve been doing the layover-chain-thing for thirteen years, it doesn’t matter where you are – New York, Paris, Rome – it all starts to look the same. Which is why a flight attendant looks for something different, someplace unusual, somewhere special, when it comes to a vacation – wherever that vacation may be.

When I went to Venice in May, I stayed in Cannaregio, otherwise known as the Jewish Ghetto. You don’t have to be Jewish to stay in the ghetto. And don’t let the word “ghetto” fool you, because this ghetto, is unlike any other ghetto. It’s amazing. And quiet. And tourist free. Okay fine, as tourist free as a tourist trap can be.
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I knew Cannaregio was the place for me when I read in Frommer’s Italy 2008 the following…
“It’s outer reaches are quiet, unspoiled, and residential (What high season tourist crowds, you may wonder?) One third of Venice’s ever shrinking population of 20,000 is said to live here…”
So where, exactly, did I stay in Cannaregio? See that picture on the right? That’s where. At the hotel Ai Mori D’Oriente, a small Turkish hotel located on a quiet canal, just a fifteen minute walk from the Rialto Bridge. Where did I eat? When we weren’t enjoying the complimentary breakfast of fresh fruit and salami and ham on a crusty roll at the hotel (the husband was in heaven), or the pizza, anywhere pizza could be found, which was pretty much everywhere, we’d go wherever Guido, the concierge at the hotel, suggested.
“You want something rustic, some place not too much money, someplace I’d go?” he asked, looking at my heavy travel book with disdain.
The husband and I nodded frantically, as I placed the 2008 edition of Frommer’s Italy back in my bag. It was a big bag.
Not once did one of Guido’s recommendations let us down. Especially the night we visited Osteria Ai 40 Ladroni (right down the street/canal from the hotel) where I found myself sitting at a candlelit table under the stars, beside a quiet canal, surrounded by other tourists looking for something not-so-touristy, immersed in a small plate of heaven – gnocchi with crab smothered in a delicate tomato sauce.
Did I just use the word delicate? I did. It was delish!
I don’t need to remind you that Cannaregio is in Venice, not too far from everything you ever wanted to avoid. Yet won’t. Because even that is a must see. But then, as soon as you’ve had enough (which won’t take long), it’s back to the ghetto for you, where all of the other tourists who don’t like tourists find themselves. On your brisk walk back to the hotel, make sure to run into a loaf of crusty bread, a bottle of olive oil, a hunk of cheese, and half a pound of salami at the local grocery store, the store where you see that little yappy dog staring intensely into the window. Trust me, this will be one of the best (and cheapest) meals you’ll ever experience. In your room. Away from the crowds. Don’t worry about all those calories, you’ve already burned them off walking from San Marco Square back to the peace and quiet. And yes, you really do need to experience Venice. At least once in your lifetime. For the gnocchi alone.

Galley Gossip: Plane Crazy

by Heather Poole on

Okay where’s crazy?

That’s what I’m thinking to myself while boarding a flight dressed in navy blue polyester. I’m standing at the rear of the aircraft keeping an eye on bags and overhead bins as I smile and say, “hello, how are you, welcome,” to passengers who look upset as soon as they see just how far back they’re seated. (Hey, someone has to sit there) While I’m explaining to a passenger that yes, his seat does recline, even though he’s in the last row, I find myself wondering if this is crazy. Because crazy is here. Somewhere. I just don’t know where.

Yet.

In Jeff White’s post, Drunk American Airlines passenger grabs flight attendant butt…in front of wife, he asked the question, “Can somebody out there please tell me what is with these people going crazy on flights?”

Yeah, and after you tell Jeff, could you please tell me? Because if anyone needs to know it’s me! The flight attendant. The one who has to deal with crazy.

Oh hold on a second, a passenger is flagging me down…

“Excuse me, ma’am,” A young woman hands me a boarding pass. “Someone is in my seat.”

I look at her seat, 35E, and she’s right, there is a passenger occupying her seat, which is a little weird, considering it’s the second worst seat on the aircraft, right in front of the worst seat on the aircraft – the middle seat in the last row. And what’s even more strange, it turns out, is the person sitting in the seat actually shows me a boarding pass for another seat, which is a very good seat – an aisle seat at the front of the aircraft.

“I’m not moving,” says the preppy woman who is not moving from the second worst seat on the airplane.

Hmm…could this be crazy? I wonder, as the woman explains the reason she’s not moving is because she wants to sit in the back, so she can see the movie, even though there’s a movie screen near her seat up front.

While she’s explaining this to me, a man sporting a handlebar mustache approaches, looks at the woman who is still talking, and says, “I think you’re in my seat, Ma’am.” Of course he does not have a boarding pass to prove that this is, in fact, his seat, that he “thinks” she’s in.

I sigh. And while I’m asking the woman to go back to her seat so I can figure out exactly who is supposed to be in this freakin seat, Mr. sweet stache walks to the back of the airplane and plops down on the floor, placing an overstuffed backpack between his long legs.

“Don’t worry,” he calls from the floor. “I’ll just camp out here during the flight.” And he smiles.

I turn around, not smiling, because he has said this as if he means it, which leads me to wonder, could this be crazy? Because it’s kind of crazy he thinks he’s going to sit there. On the floor. In front of the lavatory. Beside my jumpseat. Yeah. I think not.

While I turn my back from the woman sitting in the wrong seat, I try to explain to the man now on the floor that he can not sit there during flight, that he has to actually sit in a seat because of the little metal thing that goes click, that thing we call a seat belt, and while I’m trying to get through to this guy, he gets to his feet and starts walking up the aisle, like he knows exactly where he’s going, which is not to a seat.

Oh no.

From the back of the airplane I watch as he briskly walks up the aisle, through business class, all the way up to first class, where I’m told he stopped in the middle of the cabin and said, and he said this very loudly, “Okay fine I’ll eat your crappy first class food now!”

Umm…what? Now? Opposed to when? Yeah, this is definitely crazy. We’ve got crazy on the plane. And if he doesn’t settle down, we’ll be walking crazy off this airplane.

Later on in the flight, I’m standing in the business class galley when a passenger from coach whips the curtain back and asks if she can buy a business class entree. She holds up a wad of crumpled bills. I ask her if they ran out of food in coach and she tells me no, as she stares at my cheese panini lying on the counter, the one I brought from home. While I’m telling her that we don’t SELL business class food, due to the fact that people traveling in business have already paid for the food, and actually eat the food, she interrupts with, “Can I just buy a roll or something!”

I don’t even have time to figure out what to say to that, because as she’s straightening out a crumpled bill, the man with the stache walks out of the lavatory. His pants are undone. And he’s headed this way.

I gulp. Turn around. Grab a rock hard roll. And pray he’ll keep walking. Please keep walking!

“Water,” he says, pushing past the woman who wants a roll, and enters the galley where he decides that this is the place to zip up the pants.

O-kay. Water it is. As I reach for a plastic cup, I see out of the corner of my eye a brown leather belt whip into the air. Oh god. My heart is pounding. I pray he’s not too crazy, just a little crazy, because I really don’t want him strangling me over the second worst seat he could not sit in or the the crappy first class food he did not eat.

“Here ya go,” I say, eyeing the belt in his hand.

The belt is placed next to my panini and he downs his drink. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, looking at the belt that is still lying next to the panini as he leans up against the counter. He’s making me nervous. Very nervous. As we both stare at the belt.

“Coffee?” he says.

“Sure!” Happy for the distraction, I turn around and peek into the empty coffee pot. Great. I smile. “I’ll brew a new pot and bring it to you.”

“Forget it!” He grabs the belt, loops it around his waist, and disappears.

For now.

I sigh. Because that was crazy. Or am I crazy? I can’t tell anymore.

“Yeah, umm, can I get that roll?” asks a voice from behind me.

Galley Gossip: Flight Attendant Pet Peeve #2: Back to your seat, please!

by Heather Poole on

Socks on the airplane have been the subject of many conversations in the galley. As well as the cause of a flight attendant nightmare or two. Personally, I don’t care what you wear – shoes, socks, even no socks – but it’s where those shoes (socks and even no socks) are headed that bothers me. Why? Because they’re wandering up and down the aisle and into the lavatory. And…umm…you do realize that’s not water on the bathroom floor, right?

The socks have just exited the bathroom and have now entered the galley.

“Excuse me, miss, can I get a glass of water?”

“Of course,” I say, as I place my lunch on the counter and try not to flinch when I see the socks. I reach for a plastic cup and a bottle of water as you inch your way closer to me. I smile. You smile. We’re both smiling as you slowly bounce up and down on the toes, jangling loose change in the pocket.

“Here you go,” I say, handing you the glass, but before I can even twist the cap back on the bottle of spring water, you say, “A little more, please.”

“Oh sure.” I untwist and pour. Hey, you don’t have to explain it to me. The glass is small. You’re thirsty. I get it. That’s fine.

But now you’re peeking inside an insert. I imagine you’re thinking to yourself, hmm…what do we have in here? Just orange juice and dry ice, I want to say, but don’t, because that’s when I notice you’re eyeing a cup of lemons and limes with a little too much intensity. I’m just about to ask you if you’d like one, when I watch in horror as a hand reaches inside and takes a few.

You smile at me, so I smile back at you, even though I no longer feel like smiling due to the fact you’ve just stuck your hand in there without asking, a hand that recently exited the lavatory before entering the galley. I make a mental note to toss the lemons and limes as soon as you leave. Then I find myself wondering if you’re ever going to leave, because you’ve just placed your empty cup on the counter and you’ve decided to enjoy the view outside by cupping your hands around the small port hole located on the other side of the galley. Now I can’t breathe. Why? You’re still in the galley. Don’t you know it’s against federal aviation regulation to loiter around the galleys and lavatories. Didn’t you hear the captain’s PA?

Guess not. Because you’ve just draped your arms over the other jumpseat, the one right beside me, resting your chin on your arms as you take in a view from the back of the cabin. I try to remain calm. Surely I won’t have to say anything because you’ll be taking your seat anytime now, right?

Wrong.

You bend over and touch your toes. You’ve decided this would be the perfect time to start doing those doctor recommended calisthenics. While you’re bending and stretching, I’m about to have a nervous breakdown. I’m sorry, but I do get a little claustrophobic from time to time. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because your butt is now in my face.

Look, unless you’ve actually been invited into the galley (it does happen), you do not – I repeat – you do not, for any reason, step onto the linoleum floor – for any length of time. And if you do, try to make it quick. Do not loiter. Do not help yourself to whatever you happen to see. And please do not bring your baby to the back to crawl around. It’s filthy in there. Not to mention, we break glass in there. And do you really need to do your exercising in the galley? Can’t you simply take a walk the length of the cabin to get the blood flow going when the seat belt sign is not on. I mean is Pilate’s really necessary?

Imagine I came to your place of work and peeked into your drawers and helped myself to all those little nicknack’s you have on your desk – ya know, the jelly beans, the picture of the wife and kids, the Rubik’s cube. What’s the problem? I just came by to say hi. To see what’s up. Don’t really care if you’re eating lunch or in the middle of a project. Not when I want to be near you. What’s the big deal? I’m just taking a break. Stretching the legs. Inviting whomever passes to join me in your tiny little office space. Mind if I do a few lunges in here? Right beside you. Rubbing up against you. Hey, you gonna eat that sandwich?

Admit it, you’d get a little annoyed, too. Now go back to your seat. The seat belt sign is on.

GALLEY GOSSIP: Oh stewardess!

by Heather Poole on

“Excuse me, stewardess – I mean flight attendant!” is something I actually still hear from time to time on the airplane, and that mistake is usually followed by a blush or a giggle, and if the person is elderly, an explanation as to why he or she had just called me stewardess, which usually begins with, “Back in my day…”

Well back in my day we actually served warm rolls in coach along with three entree choices. And we handed out a diverse selection of magazines before the flight even took off. And we could actually enjoy the layovers by eating, showering AND sleeping. We even had pillows and blankets for everyone! Though don’t forget, ticket prices were expensive. But that meant flights were empty, so there were window and aisle seats galore, resulting in smiling happy passengers! That was just thirteen years ago. Perhaps back in your day things were even more different, and by different you know I mean better, a whole heck of a lot better. My how things have changed. I’m not just talking about your flying experience, I’m talking about the stewardess and passenger alike, because the stewardess isn’t the only one that’s gotten a little older and crankier over the years.

When I think of a stewardess, I think of the glamour of days gone by, which are days I never got to see, the days of luxury travel, white gloves, pill box hats, and piano bars on a 747. So when someone calls me a stewardess, I am not offended. Not. At. All. In fact, just the opposite happens. I’m flattered! I mean who doesn’t want to be a stewardess? Trust me when I tell you that we – me, her, maybe even him, and perhaps you! – have dreamed about living the life of a stewardess. Minus the age, weight, and marriage restrictions of course! Yeah, I know, that life is long gone.

But a flight attendant can still dream, can’t she? If that doesn’t work, she can always go to a Broadway show, because on Broadway, this summer, that beautiful, yet unattainable dream still lives, regardless of high fuel prices.

Boeing Boeing is a play about an American living in Paris who is juggling three women, all of whom are his fiancée. How can one man juggle three women, you ask? Easy. You make sure each woman is a stewardess from a different airline. Then you consult a timetable as if it were a bible, marking each woman’s scheduled layover. But as most of you already know, schedules can change and flights get delayed, resulting in turbulent chaos.

I hear the play is hysterical. I’m dying to see it. Maybe you should too. So next time you find yourself fighting for the armrest, cramped in a middle seat, sitting in the last row of coach, as the cranky, sleep deprived, and hungry, flight attendant stops the beverage cart at your row, waves a napkin and barks, “Drink!” Do yourself a favor and go see this play. For me. And you, too, can relive the good ole stewardess days. I know I’d like to.