lessons in human behaviour

Damien and I sit in our crew seats for take-off. Our seats are between a bulkhead and a toilet flanked by the over-wing exits. It is a great spot to gossip. If you speak softly, the passengers nearby can’t hear you. On most aircrafts, we are seated opposite passengers for take-off and landing. It is sometimes uncomfortable sitting eyeball to eyeball with a stranger, especially if you’ve have just been assertive with that same stranger over safety-related issues during the boarding process.

On a recent flight, the gentleman in the exit-row seat opposite mine was one of the rudest people I have ever met. As soon as he came onboard, it became evident how little respect he had for his fellow passengers and the crew. As soon as he was finished with dinner, he took the tray off his fold-out table and placed it on the floor in front of my crew-seat and the exit.

I find such impoliteness appalling. This behaviour is my pet peeve. I once slipped on a tray that had been placed on the floor so carelessly; luckily, I had been able to grab hold of a cart and keep myself from falling.

I would have then liked to add some well-chosen expletives to communicate my utter disdain for the man, but of course I don’t. Instead, I go into plane speak and say, ‘Excuse me, sir. Placing your tray on the floor is a safety issue for the crew as well as for other passengers. You have two options, you can either pick up your tray and hold it until we come along with the cart and collect it or you can carry it to the back galley and place it on the bench.’

True to his arrogant form he snaps, ‘Why don’t you pick it up now and take it away?’

In all my years I have never got down on my knees to pick up a tray from near the feet of an able-bodied person. If this guy thought I was going to start now, he had another think coming.

I really wanted to pick up his tray and drop the remaining contents on his head, but again, a hostie must be professional in the most trying of times.

‘Sir, I don’t think you have listened to my safety-related instructions so I will repeat them to you one more time. You can either pick up your tray and hold it until we come and collect it, or you can carry it to the galley and place it on the bench there.’

The man did listen this time. And he did exactly as he was told to.

Thankfully, on this flight, we don’t have to sit opposite passengers. We sit peacefully in our little hidey-hole and chitchat. It is the perfect opportunity to vent our anger at the ridiculously gruesome boarding we have just had to endure, and vent anger Damien does. I can finally find out what he said to the woman who dropped her big bag in the aisle and then walked away.

It turns out that he didn’t choose his words carefully at all, just like I had suspected.

‘Damn it, Damien, you’re going to have me in the office over this.’

‘She hasn’t got a leg to stand on as the bag was over the allowable weight limit. I am not going to throw my back out for anyone, especially that pretentious little hussy.’

I must confess that the vast majority of passengers are well-behaved and respectful, it’s just we don’t tend to gossip about the good ones. This flight has all the makings of being a flight attendant’s nightmare, but a gossiper’s dream.

We begin to take-off, but the call-lights are lighting up the cabin like a Christmas tree.

Damien speaks out loud what I am thinking to myself, ‘Don’t these people know that the seat belt sign is on and that no one can serve them now?’

It’s truly astounding how thoughtless some of the travelling public can be. Even during turbulence, with the seat belt sign on, there are always a few people who give a look of death if the crew don’t continue serving them. A man on a recent flight actually said something about how he had been waiting ten minutes to be served a drink. The fact that the seat belt sign had remained illuminated during this time and several announcements had been made about turbulence had somehow missed the man’s attention. Unless this guy was in some sort of brain-dead coma, he should have known what was happening.

I felt like saying to him, ‘I am so sorry, sir, that I couldn’t serve you. If it were up to me I would make the crew wear helmets and knee- and elbow pads so we can continue the service regardless of the possible injuries we could sustain during turbulence.’

Not all passengers press their call-bells by choice however. Often it is a mistake. Some people lack the basic intellect to work out which button does what, so they press anything they can find. That’s my theory anyhow.

I decide to test my theory now. From my crew-seat, I stick out my head into the aisle to see the young girl (the same one who took eons to find her seat and load her bags, the same one who is a few sandwiches short of a picnic) and I see that her call light is on. So maybe my theory is correct after all.

As soon as the seat-belt sign is turned off, I jump out of my seat, bypass at least a dozen call-lights, and make my way to the front of the aircraft where there is a magic button. Located on a panel containing a myriad of other buttons, there it is, easy to locate because it is the most worn. It is the call-bell-reset button. One press, and the Christmas tree lights disappear.

If only I could make them disappear forever.

As I walk back down the aisle, my call-bell reprieve is short lived as the familiar, yet annoying sound of ‘bing’ continues to resonate throughout the cabin. I, like the other crew, ignore them as we prepare the drinks cart. Most of the call lights are probably for drinks anyway, I predict.

Of course, I’m right. And boy do the passengers drink.

The Polynesian man drinks his first drink and asks for a second even before I have moved to the next row. The young girl, who is a few clowns short of a circus, also downs her drink with the ferocity of a seasoned alcoholic. Everybody drinks, with the exception of some of the cat owners. These women are so upset and so childish that they refuse everything. By refusing they must be under the misguided notion that they are making some sort of statement. The only statement it makes is: I am foolish. Also, no one gives a damn.

Their whole world revolves around having an aisle seat. However, it is unfortunate that they didn’t get to the check-in counters early enough to guarantee their seat, and my sanity. When they stick their crusty palms in front of my face and look away in disdain as if to say, ‘Get the hell away from me. I don’t want a damn thing from you or your airline’, I want to scream, ‘There are children starving in Africa. Get a life and grow up!’

I don’t do that though. I simply smile and say, ‘OK, that’s fine’.

Damien on the other hand cannot hold himself back. ‘Fantastic, one less person to serve!’ he snaps back. Every little passenger indiscretion is met with a roll of his eyes and a similarly biting satirical retort.

One youngish guy asks Damien, ‘What beers do you have?’

Damien politely gives him the name of the four beers we have onboard.

The passenger then asks, ‘But do you have …?’

I can see that Damien wants to jump across the seat and scruff this guy by the throat.

He turns to this guy, ‘Do you honestly think that we have the beer you want, but I have deliberately not told you about it just to spite you?’ The guy had no idea what to say. He quietly takes whatever brand of beer Damien chooses to give him.

Another female passenger asks for a chocolate bar with a glass of a wine. I have never heard of someone wanting chocolate with a drink, and I am curious to see how Damien is going to handle it.

Damien quips, ‘Chocolate? You want chocolate? This is a 767, luvee, not a 7-11.’

I have seen some satirical comedians in my time, but not one has the sting that Damien possesses. I know that when he gets to deal with the young girl, who is a few light bulbs short of a chandelier, I just know Damien will tear strips off her. He does.

‘Would you like the chicken or the beef?’ Damien asks the young girl.

‘Sorry, what were the choices again?’ she asks him immediately. Each passenger has been given a menu and there has also been a PA explaining the meal choices, yet the girl is confused. I am not surprised.

To Damien’s credit he takes a deep breath and says, ‘Choice one: we have succulent chicken pieces lovingly cooked over a flame-grill and served with fluffy white rice. Choice two: we have beef that has been delicately cut and slow cooked in a light red wine sauce and served with a smooth potato mash.’

I look at Damien and am totally amused at the meal descriptions he gives for a good ol’ chicken stir fry and a beef casserole.

As colourful as Damien’s descriptions are, she still looks at him in indecision.

The lights are on, but nobody is at home, I think.

After five or six seconds of brain-dead silence Damien can take no more.

He rolls his eyes and blurts, ‘You can phone a friend or we can ask the audience?’

Still nothing.

Damien obviously has more beef left so he places it on a tray. ‘The audience has voted, and they have unanimously voted for the beef.’

The young girl doesn’t flinch as Damien hands her the tray, but she does ask for another wine. For a small framed girl she is certainly drinking a lot.

As we push the cart through the cabin, we approach the fat Polynesian. It is clear that my observations of him reeking of booze when he boarded were right; he is now very inebriated and rudely demanding more as our meal cart draws closer. The cart hits his legs, and he totally loses control. He yells at Damien, who calmly responds, ‘Sir, your legs must have been in the aisle. I won’t get into a debate about physics, but think of the cart as a train and the aisle as train tracks. If you get hit by a train, you can’t blame the train, can you? Now, would you like the chicken or the beef?’

The big man is still furious and sneers, ‘Give me the beef and another beer.’

Although some of the cat owners are not eating, the woman that has a face that could curdle milk is devouring her meal with gusto. Like most of her kind, she has a vegetarian meal that has been pre-ordered and delivered to her earlier. She is stuffing the last of her lentils into her face, but still has to get to her dessert.

One of the courtesies we ask of passengers is to put their seats in the upright positions for the meal service, as the man seated in front of our cat owner has already politely done. You would think that most people would have the common decency to do this anyway, but the milk-curdling-faced lady refuses to bring her seat upright, so I ask her again.

‘Ma’am, would you mind bringing your seat upright for five or so minutes so the person behind you can enjoy their meal with the same amount of space that the person in front of you has allowed for yourself?’

She shakes her head and says gruffly, ‘I don’t have to. You can’t make me. It is not a safety issue, is it?’

‘No, ma’am. However, it is something people do out of courtesy, so fellow passengers are comfortable.’

She still shakes her head, and I can see that Damien is ready to pounce. I indicate to Damien that I will handle it. I reflect on a similar situation that Danny had told me about, and I decide to handle it the way he had at the time.

I approach the man who is sitting directly in front of Ms. Curdle-face and politely say, ‘Sir, I guess you heard the lady’s refusal to bring her seat upright just for the meal service?’

He nods.

‘Could you do me a big favour? Would you be kind enough to recline your seat back as far as it will possibly go? Thank you.’

The man smiles mischievously and reclines his chair, knowing full well that the nasty lady behind him is about to be squashed.

When I turn around five minutes later, I see that all the seats in the cabin have their backs standing upright now. Damien notices too, and he gives me a proud grin.

‘And that’s how it’s done,’ I whisper to him as we push the cart further along.