in the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight

There was a time when the boss onboard only did managerial duties, but with cost-cutting and the resultant minimal crew, they are now required to help out during the meal service as well. Ryan is on a cart with me. He is hard working and nice to work with. I am fairly sure he is gay. Not that it matters, but I usually have good gaydar and take pride in identifying a gay guy easily.

‘What are you up to in Jo’burg, Ryan?’

He tells me that he is going to the gym every day and he might do a little shopping.

There you go. He’s surely gay.

Mr. and Mrs. Vandenberg are not on my side of the cabin, yet she waves her arms at me to get my attention. Unfortunately for me, the first row where they are seated is easily accessed from my side of the cabin. She complains that the beans on her plate are not hot enough.

‘Are the other vegetables OK?’

She says, ‘Yes, just the beans.’

All the vegetables are cooked together and are therefore the same temperature when plated, including the beans. However, I can’t tell this to Mrs. Vandenberg. She is clearly the type of woman who would think that someone has handpicked the beans for her and cooked them individually, has then tested their serving temperature three seconds before it is delivered to her throne and deliberately made sure that they are not hot enough as the vegetables on her plate.

I know the beans are not cold, and I know exactly what someone like Damien would say to her. But what would Danny say and do in such a situation, I ask myself.

I then apologise profusely for our chef’s mistake and take her plate away, offering to return with a new dish and hotter beans. I take the meal back to the galley and pick out the beans from the plate, throw them in a bowl of hot water. I then return the beans to the original plate. They are now hotter than everything else and Mrs.Vandenberg is much happier. It all about the attention she gets, with a woman like that.

I have no such troubles with Mr. 4J, and I can’t help but return the sweet, warm smiles he offers me every time I walk past him.

The boss gives us a print-out of the passenger’s names in our zone, but unfortunately the ink on my copy of it is smudged and I can’t quite decipher his name. I can make out that his first name starts with a ‘D’ and his last name ends in ‘ly’, but that’s all I can make out. I am initially too embarrassed to attempt his name, but after I have referred to the passengers next to him as ‘Mr. this’ and ‘Mrs. that’, I decide to be come right out and ask him.

‘I am sorry, but my copy of the passenger names is not very clear. How do you pronounce your name, sir?’

I’m pleasantly surprised when he extends his hand towards me, ‘Just call me Dean.’

‘Nice to meet you, Dean. My name is Danielle.’

I shake his hand and he politely replies, ‘Very nice to meet you too, Danielle.’

I am little flustered, but in a good way.

For the rest of the meal service, he uses my name and I use his. Having a passenger call me by name usually makes me a little uneasy, but in this instance it feels so natural. It is very rare for me to feel this comfortable with someone so quickly, but I do.

I have greeted, served and interacted with hundreds of thousands of passengers over the years and have worked with thousands of crew. So much so that I have developed the knack of making snap judgments about people and their personalities; I can count the number of times I have made a wrong judgement on one hand. There are a small percentage of people whom I dislike straight away. Conversely, there are a small percentage of people to whom I take an instant liking. Dean is in the latter category of people.

Mrs.Vandenberg is definitely in the former category. She has badgered every crew member who has gotten within ear-shot of her. It also seems likely that her call-button would short-circuit within moments due to overuse. The crew have begun referring to her as ‘Her Majesty’. As I stand at our bar area, pouring yet another champagne for Mrs. Vandenberg, Dean approaches me. He is on his way to the nearby toilets.

He says, ‘Hey, I see Her Majesty is having another bubbly.’

Embarrassed, I reply, ‘How did you know we call her Her Majesty?’

He looks surprised, but then smiles. ‘I didn’t’.

After I have delivered the drink to Her Majesty, Dean has returned to the bar area, where I just so happen to be. I ask him about the purpose of his trip to Africa, and he tells me he is off to Tanzania to work as a volunteer in the missions.

‘Are these religious missions?’

He shakes his head, ‘No, I have a little time off work, and I thought I’d help out.’

I am impressed by how generous and thoughtful he is. ‘How long are you going for?’

‘Only a few months. It is not much, but it is something I have wanted to do for some time. How long do you get in Johannesburg?’

I deduce that this is his first time to Jo’burg as he has referred to the city by its full name. Nobody who has been there calls it ‘Johannesburg’.

‘Three days,’ I reply.

I tell him about possibly going on a safari and how much I love watching animals. He tells me that he has never been to Africa before (I try to act surprised) but will be staying in a village not far from the edge of the Serengeti, so he plans to do number of safaris in his spare time.

‘Wow. That should be so exciting.’

He agrees. ‘First and foremost I want to help the local villagers, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to see some lions.’

‘I love lions,’ I gush.

On every safari I’ve been on, I have been lucky enough to see lions. Of the African Big Five game animals, leopards have been the most elusive. I have seen a leopard once, but it was up in a tree, some distance away. I tell Dean that if none of the crew members are going on safari, I will do a day trip to a lion park just outside Jo’burg where they have cubs.

‘You can even pat and play with the cubs,’ I say with childlike excitement.

Just as we are deep in safari-conversation, there is a ‘bing’ and the call-light indicator lights up blue. I look down the cabin, though I already know whose call light it is. So does Dean.

’I guess you better see what Her Majesty wants this time. We can chat later if that is OK?’

‘Sure, we’ve only a mere ten or so hours to go, so there might be time for talking,’ I joke.

As he walks away, he turns to whisper, ‘Good luck with her royal painness’.

Finally. Someone with the same biting wit as myself.