Confessions of a Hostie (12 page)

I love Japanese food. Oishi!

With contented stomachs, we walk and chat, walk and chat, and then walk and chat some more. Although we don't talk about anything specific, the one thing that we don't talk about is work. Most crew want to spend their time whining and bitching about work. I know that I sometimes can be guilty of doing this too, but I do consciously make an effort to talk about other things. We often forget what varied and interesting backgrounds we come from. I have flown with flight attendants who come from a tradesmen background, who once served in the police force, who have worked as teachers, who were psychologists or therapists before they did this. I have even flown with a girl who used to be a doctor.

I wonder what Danny did before he started flying? I know I told him what I did, but I don't think he ever told me what he did. All I know is that he has been flying for around twenty years.

I start doing mental arithmetic in my head. He is probably close to fifty, so he had to have joined the company when he was in his late-twenties or around thirty. It is obvious that he had to have done something for a number of years before flying.

As we walk and I listen to him speak, my curiosity gets the better of me.

‘Danny, can I ask you something? What did you do before flying?'

A little surprised that I'd asked the question, he answers, ‘Law.'

‘You studied law?'

He nods. ‘Studied, and practiced for a while.'

Taken aback I confirm, ‘You were a lawyer?'

‘Not a very good one, but yeah, I was a lawyer.'

I am dumbfounded. ‘Why did you give it up?'

He nonchalantly replies, ‘I got into flying.'

I prod further, ‘But why give up being a lawyer to becoming a flight attendant?'

He stops walking for a moment and turns to me, ‘I hated law, always did. All I wanted to do was to travel and see the world. I was earning good money, had a supportive wife and no kids at that stage, but I wasn't happy. It was my wife who suggested I apply to be a hostie, and if I didn't like it I could always go back to the law. I obviously never went back.'

I am stunned, ‘That is some special wife you have.'

He nods humbly, ‘I know.'

We continue walking for another ten minutes, without speaking.

‘Would you like to go to the temple?' he suddenly suggests.

‘Sure.'

I have been to the temple in question many times. I know it must have a name, but we refer to it simply as ‘the temple'. I think it is the largest in Japan and its grounds are just stunning. The last time I went there, the cherry blossoms had just been in bloom. Unfortunately, I missed the full blossoming experience by a heartbeat and the branches were bare, but the cherry blossoms were still scattered all over the ground. It still looked beautiful.

The blossoms are not out this time, but the gardens are still stunning and the ponds are glistening in the sunlight. It is zero degrees, yet it is surprisingly warm. We find a picturesque spot beside a pond teaming with the world's largest goldfish (I think they are a type of carp that the locals call koi) and sit in the sun to admire the picture-postcard scenery.

We sit and chat for what must have been an hour before heading back to the hotel. Not once do I mention again his previous life as a lawyer, and I can tell he is appreciative of the fact.

We meet in the hotel foyer at six o'clock. Surprisingly, all of the crew, with the exception of Carolyn, have turned up. I am obviously not a huge fan of Carolyn onboard the aircraft, but I feel a little sorry that she's been left out. It must be such a lonely existence. I turn to the one person who is more sympathetic than anyone else I know.

‘Danny, do you think we should call Carolyn and see if she wants to join us?'

He shakes his head.

We cram into this quaint little teppanyaki restaurant where they cook the food at your table, before you. Again, the restaurant probably has a wonderful name, but it is located up a flight of spiral stairs, so the crew simply refer to the restaurant as The Spiral Staircase. Regardless of the name, the food is great. However, apart from Danny, the conversation is terrible. The other crew spend most of the night talking about the flight over to Narita and, more specifically, about Carolyn. Most crew don't have a reputation, but once someone does have one, everybody talks about them. The most vocal of the critics is again Alex. She is particularly scathing of Carolyn and discusses every trip they've done together since 1989.

Both Danny and I agree with Alex's summation of Carolyn, but we don't enter into the debate.

Alex notices Danny's unusual silence and asks him, ‘What do you think of Carolyn?'

Danny thinks for a moment before carefully choosing his words, ‘There is an old saying that goes, before you criticise someone you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you do criticise them you are a mile away and you've got their shoes!'

I have never heard this funny saying before, but what makes it even more hilarious is there is a popular shoe story about Carolyn that has been circulating around the company for the last few years. Carolyn was apparently in our crew-rest area having time off and had taken off her shoes to have a little sleep. One of the crew, who really disliked her, snuck in and stole one of the shoes and threw it into a hydraulic compactor we have onboard, which then crushed the shoe into a pancake.

Carolyn had other shoes, but they were in her suitcase, which was then in the hold of the aircraft, so she had to go through the rest of flight and the subsequent walk through customs, the baggage area and the terminal wearing only socks. The crew knew who the culprit was, but nobody confessed to Carolyn. From what I heard, the crew struggled to maintain straight faces and several were reprimanded for laughing out loud within the customs hall.

Everybody, apart from Alex, laughs at Danny's joke and, more importantly, it changes the subject. Thank God for that.

Alex mentions that she has some gossip on Mary-go-round. Alex obviously doesn't know that Mary is a friend of mine. However, I am used to hearing gossip about Mary on most trips, so it doesn't worry me too much. As a sticky-beak, I usually listen, and as a friend I usually don't comment.

In this instance, I don't hear any stories about Mary that I haven't heard before until Alex begins to tell some disturbing stories about Mary's new boyfriend, Michael Lawson, and insinuates that he has a reputation for hitting women.

I am listening as Mary's friend now: oh, this is difficult. If Lawson was indeed a woman-basher, then do I tell Mary? Maybe it is just idle gossip?

I decide to investigate. This is pretty serious stuff after all.

I ask Alex, ‘How do you know this?'

Alex confidently responds, ‘He used to go out with one of my friends.'

I further enquire, ‘Was he ever charged?'

‘No.'

I turn to Danny and whisper, ‘Can I ask you a big favour? My friend goes out with Mike. What should I do now?'

Danny gives me a reassuring tap on the shoulder, and then confidently addresses Alex. ‘I know Mike Lawson fairly well. He may be a lot of things, but in all my years I have never heard of him treating any woman inappropriately, let alone ‘women', as you have just implied. I suggest that your friend should keep her feelings and accusations to herself – without proof, it is just slander. I also suggest you should keep your accusations to yourself.'

I pat Danny on his leg as a sign of absolute gratitude while Alex sits in stunned silence.

‘Bravo,' I mutter under my breath.

We eat hundreds of gyozas and drink copious amounts of beer and wine before most of us somehow end up doing the inevitable – going to a karaoke bar. This one is called Cages, and as the name suggests it has iron bars everywhere, except on stage. It is a small place and already busy as we walk in, but with our extra numbers the place is now bulging at the seams.

The tragic thing about karaoke bars is those who should never be allowed to sing on stage are generally the ones up there singing. I finally understand why this bar is called Cages: we are the ones locked up and forced to listen to the tone-deaf singers on stage. Even so, I am having a great time. Thanks to a combination of Danny's jokes and the riotous voices and antics on stage, I haven't laughed so much in ages. And soon, I get so caught up in the alcohol and euphoria that I do something I never thought I would do (on this trip anyway) – I get up on stage and do a duet with Danny. Here I am, on stage with my good friend (make that ‘good and married friend') very tipsy and slinking around in my sexy boots and tight D&G jeans, singing the words from the Grease song, ‘You're the one that I want, ooh ooh ooh honey, the one that I want …'

Danny hasn't given me the slightest notion of anything improper or flirtatious between us. However, I can't help but feel jealous of his wife. I know that she's gotten herself such a wonderful guy.

‘Why can't I meet a nice guy like you?' I mumble into my almost empty wine glass once we get off the stage. I am sitting at the bar again with Danny.

‘Oh God, I hope he didn't hear me,' I hope to myself. I feel really stupid. I didn't mean to say it loud enough for Danny to hear, but I can't be sure if he heard me or not.

Thank goodness I can trust Danny, because I'm so tipsy I can hardly trust myself. I have done lots of things in my life that I have regretted, but Danny won't be one of them. It is time for me to go home. I know this, and Danny knows this. He walks me back to the hotel and I know deep down that nothing is going to happen, but there must be an evil little part of me that is wishing he would at least try. He doesn't, and I know he never will. Maybe that is why I like him so much.

He says ‘Goodnight', and just as he turns to walk away he adds, ‘Don't worry, you are such a great girl. You'll meet a nice guy one day.'

there's not many of the good ones left

Danny and I meet the next morning for coffee. Our call-time is late afternoon, so we'll have time to have a chat, a coffee or two and a few hours of sleep prior to working through the night.

‘I feel a bit hungover this morning,' I tell Danny, acting surprised.

He mocks me, ‘No-o-o!'

I know I was a little tipsy, but I think I can remember everything that happened. I think?

I sheepishly enquire, ‘Did I do anything or say anything I shouldn't have?'

He smiles, ‘You were the perfect lady.'

I thank him for putting Alex in her place. In typical Danny style, he says, ‘Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Alex discusses people.'

Sometimes I don't measure good conversation in terms of time, but in terms of coffees. We spend three lattes, each, joking and laughing. We reminisce about our John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John moment on stage the night before. We even softly sing a few lines of ‘You're the One That I Want'.

Then, I ask Danny a question that I probably shouldn't ask him, ‘How did you know your wife was the one that
you
want?'

He replies frankly, ‘I didn't'.

I should leave it at that, but I don't. ‘Have you ever thought about being with someone else?'

He tries to laugh it off, ‘You mean leaving this table and maybe sitting with that couple over there?'

I shake my head and ask a little more seriously, ‘No, I mean being
with
someone else?'

He becomes a tad more serious as well, and he replies, ‘Like leaving my wife?'

‘No, not necessarily leaving her, but, you know, fooling around?'

He gives an emphatic ‘No'.

I persist, ‘So, you have never thought about it?'

‘Of course, I have thought about it. But one thing you should know about me is that I am a control-freak, and the one person I like to take full control of is my own self. When I was a lawyer, I learnt that actions have consequences. Have you heard of the saying, “If you are not prepared to do the time, then don't do the crime”? I won't do anything to jeopardise my family.'

It is very refreshing to talk with someone so genuine and respectful. I've been hit on by so many married guys over the years. One time, a passenger, who was travelling with his wife, snuck away from her to give me his phone number. I wanted to march through the cabin and tell his poor wife what a big sleaze-ball her husband was, but instead I slipped a note into her jacket, which had been hanging in the aircraft's coat-locker. The note read, ‘You deserve better'.

I know of a number of married crew who fool around. Some are random predators while others have long-term affairs, often with a fellow crew member. It is not just men that do this. A married flying friend of mine once confessed to me that she had been having an affair with another married crew member for over two years. They even bid for trips together, but no one knew about them. At the time I thought the chances of her eventually getting caught were quite high. I was right. Her selfish actions, and that of her lover's, eventually destroyed two marriages.

My conscience could not handle being responsible for breaking up a marriage. I always felt that if a man was prepared to leave his wife for me, he would do exactly the same thing to me if a better offer came up later.

I recently flew with a guy who takes his wedding ring off as soon as he leaves for a trip. He even tried to flirt with me.

‘Aren't you married?' I confronted him.

‘Only when I am at home,' he said.

Jerk.

I know of another man who has been married for years and has children, but as soon as he gets on the aircraft he begins flirting with all the gay guys. I have a pretty good gaydar, and I could tell in an instant that he was gay. His wife must surely know, because every gay guy that met him certainly did.

I know gay couples. I know straight couples. The rules are the same though, no matter which way you swing. It is my opinion that if you are committed to someone you should honour that commitment. Some do, like Danny. Some don't.