Read Online Flying by the Seat of My Pants: Flight Attendant Adventures on a Wing and a Prayer by Marsha Marks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marsha Marks
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was drowned out,” she said, “by the sound of my mind snapping. I mean, it was like the kindness nerve that motivates my mouth to say nice things and my hands to do nice things just snapped.
“I imagined myself running back into the living room, fueled by some type of Post-Flight Behavior Rage. I was going to lift my husband by the shirt collar and hold him high. You know, about takeoff level, and say,
“Don’t you ever ask me again for anything that can be found on an airplane! Not a drink. Not a pillow. Not a blanket. Not even more ice. Do you understand? Nothing! Until I have debriefed. Are we clear? I will land you now… if we are clear.”
She said the image of giving full vent to her anger scaredher. So, instead, she just lay down on the kitchen floor and spread her arms out like a snow angel. She just lay there until, the next thing she knew, her husband was kneeling beside her and saying, “Honey, honey, can I get you anything? Like a drink or something?”
“Oh,” she said, “that would be great, but, um, what else do you have on your cart?”
C HAPTER 27
Landing in the State of Confusion
T he only good part about the following story is that I was commuting home from a trip when it happened and not on my way to work.
Sometimes life doesn’t go like we want it to. I thought about that the first time I realized I had not only boarded the wrong plane but had actually stayed on the plane and subsequently landed in the wrong state. I mean, I had boarded the wrong plane before; it can happen to anyone. But I’d neveractually taken off in the wrong plane and then landed four hours later at the wrong destination.
I didn’t even have a clue I was on the wrong plane until we landed. Then I poked the elbow of the passenger next to me to share a little humor over the flight attendant’s mistake. “Can you believe she just announced we landed in Seattle,” I snickered, “when we’re in Portland, Oregon?” Tee hee.
The man looked at me as if I were an animal in a zoo.
He wasn’t smiling. “We’re in Seattle,” he said.
“No, we’re not,” I said, feeling sorry for his bad case of jet lag. Then, to help him work through his obvious delusion, I continued, “I boarded a plane to Portland. I need to be in Portland. We’re in Portland. Portland, Oregon.”
I didn’t realize at first how high the pitch of my voice was becoming. It must have sounded like the back end of an MD88 engine, whining up to take off. Only this time the flight would be from all logical thought. “We’re in Portland,” I screeched. “We need to be in Portland.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced what happened next, but it was like one of those scary moments in a movie when the main character (me) appears very small and is looking up into distorted faces—faces that are round and huge and glaring down. It suddenly became the mission of all other passengers in the rows before me, behind me, and beside me to leer at me with news that would scare me straight.
“We’re in Seattle!”
they all said together, and it seemed to me that they were harmonizing in a singsong way. I was stunned.
So what could I do? I sat back down to absorb the shock. And waited for everyone to leave. Then when it was just me and the working crew left, I gathered up my bags. I said to the crew, as if in one last pitch for pity and help, “I got on the wrong plane. I mean, I thought I was going to Portland. I didn’t. I went to Seattle. This is a problem.”
They paused in their walk behind me and gave me the look of hatred that can only come from flight attendants to anyone holding up their crew-rest. I should have known better than to block their exit off the plane. They couldn’t leave until I did. But I was simply paralyzed with frustration over what had just happened.
Get off this plane before we kill you
, their look said. There was no mercy, no clemency. They wanted me gone!
I left, lugging my bags. I was now
“I imagined myself running back into the living room, fueled by some type of Post-Flight Behavior Rage. I was going to lift my husband by the shirt collar and hold him high. You know, about takeoff level, and say,
“Don’t you ever ask me again for anything that can be found on an airplane! Not a drink. Not a pillow. Not a blanket. Not even more ice. Do you understand? Nothing! Until I have debriefed. Are we clear? I will land you now… if we are clear.”
She said the image of giving full vent to her anger scaredher. So, instead, she just lay down on the kitchen floor and spread her arms out like a snow angel. She just lay there until, the next thing she knew, her husband was kneeling beside her and saying, “Honey, honey, can I get you anything? Like a drink or something?”
“Oh,” she said, “that would be great, but, um, what else do you have on your cart?”
C HAPTER 27
Landing in the State of Confusion
T he only good part about the following story is that I was commuting home from a trip when it happened and not on my way to work.
Sometimes life doesn’t go like we want it to. I thought about that the first time I realized I had not only boarded the wrong plane but had actually stayed on the plane and subsequently landed in the wrong state. I mean, I had boarded the wrong plane before; it can happen to anyone. But I’d neveractually taken off in the wrong plane and then landed four hours later at the wrong destination.
I didn’t even have a clue I was on the wrong plane until we landed. Then I poked the elbow of the passenger next to me to share a little humor over the flight attendant’s mistake. “Can you believe she just announced we landed in Seattle,” I snickered, “when we’re in Portland, Oregon?” Tee hee.
The man looked at me as if I were an animal in a zoo.
He wasn’t smiling. “We’re in Seattle,” he said.
“No, we’re not,” I said, feeling sorry for his bad case of jet lag. Then, to help him work through his obvious delusion, I continued, “I boarded a plane to Portland. I need to be in Portland. We’re in Portland. Portland, Oregon.”
I didn’t realize at first how high the pitch of my voice was becoming. It must have sounded like the back end of an MD88 engine, whining up to take off. Only this time the flight would be from all logical thought. “We’re in Portland,” I screeched. “We need to be in Portland.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced what happened next, but it was like one of those scary moments in a movie when the main character (me) appears very small and is looking up into distorted faces—faces that are round and huge and glaring down. It suddenly became the mission of all other passengers in the rows before me, behind me, and beside me to leer at me with news that would scare me straight.
“We’re in Seattle!”
they all said together, and it seemed to me that they were harmonizing in a singsong way. I was stunned.
So what could I do? I sat back down to absorb the shock. And waited for everyone to leave. Then when it was just me and the working crew left, I gathered up my bags. I said to the crew, as if in one last pitch for pity and help, “I got on the wrong plane. I mean, I thought I was going to Portland. I didn’t. I went to Seattle. This is a problem.”
They paused in their walk behind me and gave me the look of hatred that can only come from flight attendants to anyone holding up their crew-rest. I should have known better than to block their exit off the plane. They couldn’t leave until I did. But I was simply paralyzed with frustration over what had just happened.
Get off this plane before we kill you
, their look said. There was no mercy, no clemency. They wanted me gone!
I left, lugging my bags. I was now
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