Anxiety-Sensing Machine Could Spot Terrorists at Security Checkpoints

by Josh Lew on

It sounds like something out of George Orwell’s classic 1984. Though it will be at least several years before there is any talk about installing them in airports, the Department of Homeland Security is hopeful that a new screening device could revolutionize airport security. The machine senses things like body temperature, pulse rate and breathing. It will work much like a lie detector, only without the wires. People’s vitals will be measured as they walk past a bank of cameras and sensors.

As you can imagine, some people are upset by the idea of these new machines. What about nervous travelers or people who are simply on edge because they know that their pulse and breath rates are being monitored so closely? What about someone who is agitated because their flight was delayed? Will they be carted off the the back room for interrogation?

Keep in mind, though, that the idea is in the very early stages of development. It is slated for at least three more years of testing before before the next step, which, if security officials decided to continue, would include more testing and, surely, more opposition to the idea.

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When in Rome…Keep an Eye on Your Purse

by Josh Lew on

If someone mentions Rome, a lot of things come to mind. You might think of museums, fountains, narrow streets, the pope, the history….the petty thieves. A recent post by Elizabeth Rosenthal on IHT’s Globespotters blog relates how Rome, while a great city and popular tourist destination, is not the idyllic spot some might expect. Pickpockets and bag snatching artists are out in full force in even the nicest of neighborhoods.

Rosenthal relates a story of a cell phone being plucked from a cafe table when the owner averted his eyes for mere seconds, and another about how she had her wallet taken out of her backpack…on two occasions…along the same street.

I recently posted about Cambodia seeing a rise in bag snatching. While the same kind of “wild west atmosphere” that some people think characterizes Phnom Penh is nowhere to be found in Rome, it does seem ironic that two cities with totally opposite images suffer from the same problem.

Novelty Item Causes Evacuation of JetBlue Terminal at JFK

by Josh Lew on

A suspicious devices that caused security personnel to order the evacuation of JetBlue’s terminal at Kennedy Airport turned out to be a pair of replica hand grenades that were meant to be used as paper weights. The novelty items were found in a man’s luggage during a security scan. Few flights were delayed because the evacuation happened during a slow time of day (7:50am ET). The whole thing amounted to little more than a 25-minute hiccup in JetBlue‘s schedule.

Security was extra tight because the UN General Assembly is currently in session. Was their heightened state of alert enough to set the events in motion or should people making the shame-on-you sign at the paperweight man? Most passengers seem to err on the side of caution when it comes to shaving kits, liquids and nail clippers. Therefore, it’s surprising that someone would bring something that so closely resembled at weapon into the airport. Why not opt for FedEx or the good old USPS when moving replicas of explosive devices from one place to another?

Galley Gossip: Vegas Baby! (It’s not the same)

by Heather Poole on

Due to short layovers, long work hours, multiple cities flown in a day, and the number of passengers aboard the aircraft, flight attendants can become very forgetful, particularly when it comes to you and something as simple as your drink order, even the one you just ordered.

“I’m sorry did you say orange juice?” I asked the man who had probably said just that, as half the cabin had already ordered exactly that. Orange juice.

Curtly the passenger nodded. I filled a plastic glass with ice, and that’s when I realized he may not even want ice, so I asked, “Ice or no ice?” even though I was fairly certain the answer would be no ice. Half the cabin had already requested no ice.

The passenger said something, his lips were moving, but I could not make out what it was he said, so I held up the gray plastic ice scoop and pretended to put ice into his clear plastic cup, and asked, “Ice? Ice?” just as I had done for several passengers before him.

Again the lips moved, yet I still could not figure out what he wanted, so I made a judgment call. I filled up the glass with orange juice. Just juice. No ice. Then I smiled and placed the glass on his tray table. He nodded, took a sip, and on to the next row I went.

Orange juice no ice. Tea. Tea with milk. Tea with milk and sugar. Strangely enough, these were the popular drink choices on my last flight. No, this was not a morning trip to Seattle. This was actually a flight, an evening flight, on a Saturday night of all nights, to Las Vegas, Nevada.

Flight attendants can usually guess what you’re drinking based on where you’re going. For example, Californians can’t get enough bottled water, sparkling water, and club soda, while Texans drink us out of Dr. Pepper, and our Senior Citizens enjoy tomato juice, so imagine my surprise when I constantly found myself running out of hot tea and OJ while serving a rather subdued crowd to Vegas last night. Not normal. Not at all. This was Vegas remember!

“You’re going to have so much fun!” said my hairdresser yesterday morning after I told her where I was flying later that evening.

“It’s a fun crowd, but a tough one. They keep you busy,” I laughed, and then I told her our layover was short, as in ten hours short, which is not enough time to have fun. The days of fun are long gone. I really miss those days. My how things have changed.

“I’m so jealous! I want to go with you!” said a woman with foils in her hair sitting beside me.

“Oh no you don’t. Our layover is really short,” I said again, and then I told her about the demanding Las Vegas crowd, the one that keeps you busy the entire flight.

Now I hadn’t flown to Vegas in over six months, but the last time I found myself behind the drink cart I couldn’t get out of the aisle. Nor could I keep the liquor drawer stocked. Yet strangely enough on my flight last night the beverage service not only went fairly smooth, it also went somewhat quick, which is a flight attendant dream. I think I may have sold one alcoholic beverage on the flight. That’s it. Not that there’s anything was wrong with that – just the opposite actually. But it was strange, very strange, running out of tea bags, not liquor, on a drama free flight.

Or is it strange, considering how weak the dollar is these days, I thought to myself, as I handed an 81 year-old Argentinian woman traveling with a group of eleven a stir stick.

Of course it was strange, at first, when all those well dressed passengers boarded the aircraft. “Hello. (Nice shoes.) How are you? (love the glasses.) Welcome aboard. (Beautiful blouse.)”

Can you say so long to the American traveling attire – tank tops, flip flops, and shorts, and hello …I like the way you’re dressed. Let me tell you, it is so nice when passengers actually wear clothes, nice clothes, on the airplane, especially when there aren’t any blankets on board anymore.

After filling up yet another pot of hot tea and serving a row of Germans, Jaime, my coworker on the other side of the cart, asked, “Is this what it’s like to fly international?

International passengers they were, an international service it was not. That’s what I thought to myself as I asked the Iranian gentleman near the front of the aircraft traveling with seven others, whose around the world trip was taking them from New York to Vegas to Los Angeles to Hawaii, “Would you care to purchase a snack?”

“Not free?” he asked, inspecting the turkey and cheese croissant sandwich wrapped in plastic.

Nor did it feel like an international flight, though they, the passengers, were international travelers from all corners of the globe, when I had to explain to the British man seated near the rear of the aircraft that yes, we really had run out of sandwiches on a five hour flight. “All we have left is a very large, but very good, chocolate chip cookie.”

“You mean to tell me this is the only food service you provide and you’ve already run out of food?” he asked.

I gulped. “Yes. I’m sorry,” I said, and that’s all I said, before moving on to the next row. I mean what else could I say?

Although sometimes it doesn’t look like it at first glance, this is a domestic flight within the US. Not a long haul international flight where most of your wants and needs are still being met after purchasing a higher priced fair.

After we had finished our service, Kim, the first class flight attendant, made her way to our cabin and said, “You are not going to believe what he said.” I don’t know why I automatically assumed Kim spoke of the popular actor from the 80’s wearing the SARS mask throughout the entire flight, but I was right to assume so. He rang his call light and wanted to discuss our security procedures on-board the airplane during flight. “He doesn’t approve of what we do. He thinks we should have something more advanced in place, especially in this day and age.”

“Like what?” I asked. Really, I wanted to know, what else could we do in this day and age of air travel?

There’s a saying, it takes money to make money. Therefore it takes money to put in place all those security measures you feel that are inadequate, and the amenities you still expect on-board the domestic flights, along with that extra flight attendant that is often needed to provide you with the service you’ve come to expect. Believe it or not, one extra flight attendant can make a huge difference in the type of service you receive, particularly when there are 166 passengers and only 2 flight attendants working the aisle in coach on a 757. Things have changed in the world of travel, that much is true, and it continues to change, whether we like it or not, for passengers and crew alike.

Galley Gossip: Barbie boot camp (recurrent flight attendant training)

by Heather Poole on

“I feel sick,” I said to my mother, also a flight attendant, as we sped down the highway. Each mile brought us closer and closer to the training facility.

“Relax,” said my mother, a woman who does not know how to relax, especially when it comes to flight attendant training. Trust me. You should have heard her three months ago. “You’re going to do just fine.”

I always do just fine. I’ve had thirteen years of just fine. Even so, I still felt sick.

“Think you can slow down!” I exclaimed as I glanced at the speedometer. We were going way too fast! Okay fine, so we were only ten, maybe five, miles over the speed limit, but that’s too fast for a person who doesn’t want to be where they have to be any sooner than they have to be there.

Did I happen to mention I felt sick? It was that bad.

I don’t know what it is about recurrent training that makes me feel this way, but every month of August is spent dreading these two inevitable days. In fact, I don’t know a flight attendant out there who doesn’t get all worked up before entering the big building where it all began. Which makes me wonder, what the heck did they do to us during those initial seven and a half weeks of training thirteen years ago? Seriously.

My mother slowed the car and stopped beside a yellow curb. “‘You’re going to do great.”

I looked out the window at the the big building looming before us. “I don’t know about great,’ I said, and as I said this I could feel my heart beating, and my palms were sweating, as I kissed my sleeping son goodbye, grabbed my flight manual, and slowly walked up the stairs. One. Step. At. A. Time. Class didn’t start for another ten minutes, so there was no rush to get inside now was there?

When I walked through the double glass doors and stood in front of the giant swimming pool containing a bright yellow floating raft, a smiling training instructor greeted me by asking to see my three pound flight manual. She flipped through the pages, checking to see if thing was up to date, scratched my name off a long list, and then told me we’d be meeting in Room # 1.

“Up the stairs and down the hall,” the instructor said, still smiling, as she eyed another flight attendant walking through the glass doors.

I walked into the “Welcome to recurrent training” class and sat near the front of room (it was the only place left unoccupied), next to a very calm looking woman wearing spectacles and reading a paperback Grisham novel. Who can read at a time like this, I remember thinking to myself, as I looked around the room for someone, anyone, I knew, but I did not recognize a face. There were about forty of us in total. That’s when I heard the woman sitting directly behind me mumble, “I feel sick.”

Me, too!” I turned around to take a look at the woman who would become my new best friend for the next two days. There’s nothing like bonding over feelings of anxiety and stress.

“I used to know a girl who’d throw up right before training every year,” she added matter of fact.

The flight attendant reading the novel continued to read the novel (must have been a REALLY good book), as I turned all the way around in my plastic chair and introduced myself to Cynthia. Cynthia, like me, was a college graduate, only her major was in marketing, not psychology. Later on I would find out that Cynthia, like me, is also a writer, only she writes for a well known home and design magazine, not a blog.

Cynthia laughed as she said, “I never even got this worked up in college. Or with the magazine.”

“Tell me about it! My regular non-flying friends totally don’t understand.” Then I went on to tell her about my father, who, the night before, had the nerve to say half jokingly “What’s so stressful about making chocolate chip cookies?”

Chocolate chips cookies. He actually said that. My mother and I just glared at him and didn’t say a word.

“I’m joking!” said my dad, even though I’m not so sure he meant it.

The sad part is I’m pretty sure my father is not alone. I have a feeling a lot of people think all we do at “Barbie boot camp” is make chocolate chip cookies and serve drinks. Man oh man, I only wish it were that easy. Because if it were, I wouldn’t be freaking out now would I!

And so Cynthia and I began our two day “cookie making class” with a refresher course in fighting a fire at the fire pit by donning what looked like astronaut headgear and then we ended the day several exhausting hours later after evacuating passengers out window and door exits on six different aircraft, yelling and screaming our commands, popping open doors and inflating slides. Sorry, but I can’t tell you what, exactly, came in-between those two classes, but I can tell you it was intense, and at times stressful, and all of it highly classified, which involved airline safety and security. I can also tell you that Cynthia and I were more than happy when it finally came to an end. Together we left the training center, after exchanging email addresses, feeling relieved, yet confident and secure in the knowledge we had gained from our two days of training. Trust me when I tell you we, flight attendants, are prepared to handle just about anything. Even chocolate chip cookies.

In thirteen years of flying, I’ve only had a few medical emergencies on-board my flights, and thankfully each situation had a positive outcome. That’s because of the training the airline provided. So the next time you’re on a flight, crammed in the middle seat, take a look at the one working the drink cart in coach, or the one serving you freshly baked cookies and milk in first class, and remember they’re not just there to serve you, they’re actually there to save your life.