long haul.

I’m on the long-haul form London to Miami, direct, the daytime flight. The plane is close to full, and as usual there’s a lot of Spanish speakers. I’m rostered with a couple of girls I know, Jean and Rosemary, and a tubby guy named Charles. I haven’t worked with him before, but we’re halfway in to the flight and we’ve done the first drinks service and the lunch and he’s been very professional, I must say.

I hope my hair looks OK. I had a bad hair morning this morning, but finally got it into a reasonable chignon. God, I hate layovers at Heathrow, especially at this time of the year. England is so dreary in November. But at least we’re headed back to Miami. I’m really looking forward to a couple of days off in the sun, and spending some time with my sweetie.

Working coach is usually pretty damnable, especially on these long haul legs. But this lot today doesn’t seem too bad. One woman even gave me a smile and a thank you – ha! That happens about once a year! It’s better in Club, though not by much. I guess you can’t expect them to be too cheerful, as they face nine hours packed in like battery hens and fed crap. The choice today was chicken or pasta. “Chicken or pasta? Chicken or pasta?” we all chanted as we pushed the clunky old carts down the aisle. Some of the Spanish speakers couldn’t even understand that. “Chick-en – or – pas-ta?” I had to repeat, slowly and loudly. I must say it looked pretty awful, and I’m going to avoid it. I have the sandwich I brought on board – much safer. Still I did get one smile and a thank you, while I was collecting the trash. Can’t complain about that.

There was that annoying Cuban woman in Row 23 that gave Rosemary a hard time when we were boarding. Shoved a great stuffed carry-on, wheels and all, into the middle seat in her row, because she was too lazy to find overhead space. Rosemary told her she’s have to stow it or check it – I mean, what are these people thinking? Then she asked Rosemary to find overhead space for it – the gall! Rosemary told her it wasn’t our job to do that. Then Reg came along and he found a bit of space overhead, and told the woman to put it up there, and then she wanted him to do it! So Reg told her we weren’t allowed to do that, and besides his back was no good. Finally some ‘good Samaritan’ behind her, a big tall guy in a red-checked shirt, stowed the blasted bag into the space that Reg had found. Meanwhile, she was cluck-clucking about us not helping her. Well! Rosemary told her she had the choice to check in the bag, which is true. There’s always one on a flight.

So now I’m on my break, and I think I’ll have my sandwich. Rosemary should be coming back soon, too. I want to ask her what she thinks of Charles – he’s moving up and down the aisles right now. Fills the space! Heaven help anyone who wants to get by him. He’d never have been hired that tubby. Must’ve put on the weight since then. Still, he seems very professional. I’ll be interested in Rosemary’s opinion.

My chignon seems to be holding up, thank God. It’s friggin’ hard work looking like the ‘glamorous flight attendant’ on these long hauls. And even when we manage to keep up appearances, the passengers always eye us a bit strangely when we do our last sweep before descent. I think they’ve all read that David Sedaris story about ‘crop dusting.’ You can’t get away with that anymore.

 

 

 


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