Galley Gossip: Snacks on the plane

“Diet Coke,” says the passenger after I ask him what he’d like to drink. While I’m filling a plastic glass full of ice, he asks the question I hoped he wouldn’t ask, “Can I get a sandwich?”

“Oh…ummm…I’m sorry.” I make a face, the I’m-sorry face, because I am sorry. Really, I am. I’m sorry I have to say I’m sorry all day long. “We ran out,” I continue, and before I can tell him that we actually ran out of anything and everything edible on the airplane, he asks “What else do you have?”

I take a deep breath, because I really don’t want to tell this guy we have nothing, not one thing, so I make the face again, the I’m-sorry face, and decide to make light of the situation. “Diet Coke. Sprite. Diet Sprite. Pepsi. Diet Pepsi. Orange juice. Apple Juice.” He’s looking at me like I’m crazy, so I make the face again, oh you know the one, and say, “I’m sorry, but we ran out of everything. There’s no more food.”

“What do you mean there’s no more food!”

“We ran out of food,” I say again, as I oh so gently place a can of Diet Coke and a glass of ice on his tray table. What I don’t say is that we ran out of food hours ago, due to the fact the passengers were starving because of the hour and a half weather delay we took on the ground. What this passenger and I do not know, and will not know for another hour, is we’re going to have another hour and a half delay in flight because the airport in New York is closed due to more bad weather . “Sorry,” I say again, and I am, sorry I’m forced to say sorry all day long.

“This is ridiculous!”

I agree, it is ridiculus, but that’s the way it is.

Last week Iva Skoch wrote about Passengers Revolting on a flight out of Beijing that was canceled due to weather. Fifty-two pasengers refused to leave the aircraft, so they slept on the plane for over twelve hours. “The biggest irony,” Iva wrote, “And something I can’t see happening on America’s cash-strapped airlines, the flight attendants kept serving food and drinks to the protesters.”

Well there are two reasons you won’t see flight attendants in America serving drinks and food to “protesters” onboard a canceled flight throughout the night until the wee hours of the morning, when the airline is finally able to get people onboard another aircraft.

  1. No food. At least there’s not enough to serve to everybody onboard. Sorry. These days flights aren’t catered full. Why? Don’t ask me. I’m just the messenger. But I’m sure it has something to do with those silly fuel prices. But who wants to eat airplane food that’s been sitting on an airplane for hours anyway? We’re talking astronaut food, people! We’re talking there’s a reason the fruit in first class doesn’t turn brown by the end of the flight.
  2. No money. Flight attendants aren’t making a dime until the aircraft door has been shut and the airplane has backed away from the gate. Now keep in mind we’ve already worked the first hour of our day for free, which is by far the most chaotic part of flight – boarding. And you’re right, we did agree to work that first hour for free when we took the job, but there’s no way, no freakin way, we’ll work one hour more. Would you?

Which brings me to the point of this post (there is one, I promise) – snacks. I’m talking food. You should bring some the next time you travel. At least something. Anything! An apple, a cereal bar, instant oatmeal, whatever.

I know exactly what you’re thinking. Why should you have to bring your own food when you paid for a ticket? Because you paid for a seat. That’s it. And as soon as you realize that, the better your flying experience will be. I’m sorry (always sorry) but that’s the reality of the situation. Unfortunately traveling today is like a real life episode of Survivor. You never know what’s going to happen next and you never know when you’re going to eat again.

Oh I know it’s inconvenient to pack food. Trust me, I’m right there with you, carrying a white plastic grocery bag full of Jiffy peanut butter to-go, a brown banana, two slices of multi-grain bread, and an old package of instant oatmeal, as I undress my way through security and make my way through the terminal – Just in case! Forget the clothes, the books, the DVD – pack the food! Mechanicals, weather delays, and cancellations do happen, and they happen often.

Take my five hour flight yesterday that turned into seven and a half hours of starvation for the people onboard who didn’t bring food, or purchase food when they had the chance. Me, I had a chorizo and egg breakfast burrito from La Salsa at the San Diego airport early that morning and I was STILL starving by the end of that flight! I actually got down on my hands and knees and dug through a dirty first class cart looking for something, anything, to get me through the last hour. But there was nothing – not one thing to be had. Which is why most flight attendants I know always – ALWAYS – bring their own from home.

Oh hold on a sec, my cell is ringing… “Hello?”

“Flight Attendant Poole?” asks the stern voice on the other end.

Oh no. The company. What now? “Yes, this is flight attendant Poole.”

“Your flight to San Francisco tonight has been delayed.”

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

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: Flight Attendant Pet Peeve #1: Answer please!

I’m working the very last leg of a three day, three-leg-a-day, trip.

Still with me? Good.

I’m rolling down the aisle behind a 150 pound cart loaded with ice, soda, beer, liquor, and snacks for sale, along with inserts on top filled with cups, napkins, juice, water, and a couple of hot pots of coffee and tea. Nine times out of ten, I’ll probably reach your row and ask the question of the day: “Would you care for something to drink?”

And three times out of five the response will be, “Wha?” And that’s a wha without the T.

Normally when faced with this type of situation, I force a smile, grab a napkin, and wave it while eyeing the tray table locked in the closed position in front of you. “Something to drink?” I’ll ask again, and while I ask this question I find myself wondering why you haven’t taken off the Ipod or those giant Bose noise cancellation headsets covering your ears when you see me standing at your row.

“Wha?” you ask again, scrunching your eyebrows together, because, for some reason, you’re not understanding what I’m saying, even though I’ve been standing behind a beverage cart for the last fifteen minutes slowly inching my way towards you.

I try again, “Drink, something to drink?” now playing a game of charades as I put a pretend cup to my lips and tilt my head back, repeating the word, “Drink? Drink?”

Finally the headset comes off, you smile, and I actually hear, “I’m sorry what?”

This is not a Saturday Night Live parody. This is a real life conversation that happens more often than not on flights each and every day. It happens over and over and over. In fact, it happens so often that I can no longer bring myself to ask the question – again. So I just hand you a can of Coke with a cup of ice and move the cart to the next row. I’m sorry, but three strikes you’re out! Other people are waiting.

Lately flight attendants have gotten a bad rap. Trust me, I’ve heard the horror stories. And I know they’re out there, the bad flight attendant, because I, too, have had to work with a few of those flight attendants. It’s not fun for either of us. But keep in mind there are also good flight attendants out there who really do enjoy their job. Like me. But even I get annoyed and a little short when I encounter a passenger like the one above. Remember I have now asked the question, “would you care for something to drink?” which has been shortened to “something to drink?” and shortened again to just “drink!” AT LEAST 960 times in the last three days. And that doesn’t count the number of times I’ve been ignored, causing me to ask the same person the same question three times in a row. It’s the kind of thing that could make a flight attendant go a little crazy. Or maybe a lot crazy. So crazy she may actually rip a piece of paper off the cart, grab a strip of tape, scribble a barely legible note, tape it to her airline ID and wear the thing around her neck as she rolls down the aisle behind the heavy cart.

“Something to drink?”

“Wha?”

I grab the ID around my neck, the one with the scribbled note that reads, Drink? Please answer! and hold it up with a smile.

The passenger nods, and asks, “What do ya have?”

I take a deep breath. “Coke. Diet Coke. Pepsi. Diet Pepsi. Sprite. Diet Sprite. Dr. Pepper. Diet Dr. Pepper. Ginger Ale. Diet Ginger Ale. Club Soda. Apple Juice. Cranapple Juice. Orange Juice. Tomato Juice. Grapefruit Juice. Coffee. Tea. Water. Tonic Water.”

“Umm…I’ll take a Coke.”

Still with me?

Good.

Airline mistakenly carries passenger on outside of plane

Passengers have recently complained about their seat assignments and being bumped from first class, but this story just may put everything in perspective.

It seems that 26 year-old Christopher Griffin was taken for the ride of a lifetime while trying to be a good Samaritan. Griffin worked for the Big Creek Fish Company in Egegik, Alaska when a MarkAir Express Cessna 207 landed on the beach near the fish processing plant.

Griffin jumped in his truck to meet the airplane and offload any supplies it may have brought. After unloading about a dozen boxes from the airplane, the pilot started up the single engine Cessna and taxied to the end of the beach.

The plane struggled to turn around the in the muddy sand and the nosewheel became stuck. The pilot then asked for help. It seemed his plan was for Griffin to push down on the horizontal stabilizer at the back of the airplane, which would raise the nosewheel, while the pilot added enough power to get out of the sticky situation.

“Take your hat off, it’s going to get pretty windy!” Griffin recalled the pilot saying. That turned out to be understated a bit.
Griffin obliged and pushed down on the front of the airplane’s stabilizer while facing towards the back of the plane. This effort paid off and the airplane began to move. The stabilizer–the small wing at the back of an airplane–caught him in the abdomen, but he figured the pilot would stop once he was able to get out of the muddy area.

Amazingly, the pilot continued to accelerate until lifting off the ground. Griffin considered letting go even after the airplane was in the air, but decided against it since the “water was too shallow near the beach.”

The plane leveled off and turned back to another beach before landing again. The pilot, who no longer works for MarkAir, jumped out of the airplane and asked Christopher why he didn’t let go.

“Why didn’t you stop?” Chistopher asked.

The pilot then flew Griffin back to his truck–this time inside the plane. The pilot asked him to keep it between the two of them.

FAA spokeswoman Joette Storm said she wasn’t sure what regulation the pilot may have violated. “There’s no safety provisions for a human on the outside of an aircraft. I don’t think it would fall under our regulations.”

The CEO of MarkAir Express, Neil Bergt, tried to play down the hype. “I don’t think it was that much of an incident. No one was hurt and the airplane wasn’t damaged.” Bergt said.

I wonder how many frequent flyer miles would be appropriate for Christopher Griffin when he submited his letter complaining about his treatment. Or did MarkAir Express insist on charging him for the round trip flight?

Cockpit Chronicles: Miami Closed? You’re pulling my leg!

Occasionally international pilots at our company will fly domestic trips, and a Miami turn I had on my schedule last week is a good example of that. Fly down and an hour later, come back to Boston. When you live somewhat close to the airport, these trips are a great way to avoid being away from home so much.

It would also give me a chance to fly with a domestic captain, Frank, who I had never flown with before. This can be good or bad, since you have no idea what kind of personality you’ll be sitting next to for the next 7 hours. Most captains I’ve flown with can be grouped into five different personalities:

The quiet type – who manages a few words an hour.

The thinker– who engages you with conversation about the industry or politics and keeps you pondering the future, asking questions like, “Do you think people are genetically predisposed to favor monarchies over democracies?”

The grump– who can’t come up with anything positive to say about the day.

The comedian– who keeps you smiling for the entire trip.

Or

The control freak– who makes sure that his method of flying becomes YOUR method of flying.

Fortunately in our base we have very few grumps or control freaks. I’m not sure if that ratio holds up at the other bases or not.

For this one-day trip to Miami, I really lucked out. Captain Frank is a comedian. There wasn’t anything subtle about his sense of humor, as this example shows:

Often a captain will turn to ask at some point in the preflight what leg a co-pilot prefers. That is to say, which leg of a flight would they wold like to fly the aircraft while the other pilot talks on the radio. Once this is decided at the beginning of a trip, we usually trade off the flying duties for the rest of the legs. The decision as to who starts off is really up to the captain — as is the choice of meals — but if the he has no preference he may defer the choice to the co-pilot. Frank’s method of asking this question is by pulling out a plastic leg from what I presume was a very chubby doll and saying, “Whose leg is this?” with a puzzled look.

I couldn’t think of a better way to start off a trip than this. It tends to break the ice and makes for a fun day. And a fun day we had.

Halfway into the flight, I was coming back to the cockpit after using the restroom when Frank announced, “The Miami Airport is closed.”

“Yeah, Right.” That Frank is pretty funny, I thought.

“No, it really is. It’s completely fogged in,” he said, pointing to the ATIS (the current airport weather report) that we can print up inflight.

Sure enough, Miami was socked in. The second picture above shows the visibility in feet at the touchdown, midfield and roll out areas on each runway. We commented on how rare of an event this was, since neither of us had actually seen fog in Miami in our careers. It’s so rare, in fact, that the Miami airport doesn’t have an approach system called a CAT III ILS which would allow us to land by using the airplane’s autopilot down to visibilities as low as 500 feet.

So we had to enter yet another holding pattern just abeam Fort Lauderdale while we waited for the fog to clear. Fortunately we had plenty of fuel and we could literally see the FLL airport next to us, which was clear.

We did some quick calculations to figure that we could hold for more than 50 minutes given our current fuel before we would be burning into the reserve needed to go to our furthest alternate airport, fly the approach and still have 45 minutes to play with.

The next calculation was if this extra flight time was going to cause me to exceed 30 hours of flight time in 7 days, which would cause me to lose the three day London trip scheduled the next day. I might have been able to find another trip to pick up, but I had already made plans for the long layover in England. It took just a little bit of adding to discover that I wasn’t going to lose any flying the next day.

The Miami airport opened up after thirty minutes. By the time it was our turn to land, the fog had completely lifted and we were sure that passengers would question the reason for the late arrival. While that wasn’t the case, we did have a couple of people complain, one even saying, “I refuse to say thanks since you got us here late.”

I couldn’t help thinking that we could have certainly got him on the ground on time, only it would have been at the Fort Lauderdale airport.

After this trip, I’ve added Frank to my list of captains that I’ll go out of my way to fly with. Thanks, Frank, for making the day such a pleasure. And thanks to the passengers who understand that we don’t really have much control over the weather.

Cockpit Chronicles takes you along on each of Kent’s trips as a co-pilot on the Boeing 757 and 767 out of Boston.