Confessions of a Hostie (15 page)

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.

the bigger they are the harder they fall

We have finished collecting all the used dinner trays and are cleaning up the cabin. Soon we will be able to turn down the lights and let the passengers sleep – well, more like, we can turn down the lights and give ourselves a break.

Both the young girl, who is a few pretzels short of a party pack, and the Polynesian man have consumed copious amounts of alcohol by now, and the drinks have started to show their effects on them. The Polynesian man has pressed his call-bell, and Damien walks up the aisle to investigate. I look from a distance, worried at how Damien is going to handle the big man; earlier, Geoff had instructed us not to give him or the young girl more alcohol. I am too far away to hear what is being said, but I can tell the Polynesian is upset. Damien leans in to turn off the call-light, when, in the blink of an eye, the Polynesian head-butts Damien. Poor Damien slumps to the ground.

‘Oh my God, he's hit Damien!' I cry.

I race toward Damien, who comes to his feet, staggering, holding his face. Blood is gushing from his nose.

‘Oh my God, oh my God!'

Several passengers begin venting their anger at the Polynesian man, and he is ready to fight them all. I grab Damien and get out of there as quickly as I can. I help Damien to the galley and one of the other flight attendants, Deb, who has also witnessed what has happened, sends an emergency call to all the crew stations. I attend to Damien's injuries while Geoff comes down the back to fully assess the situation. Damien's nose is badly broken, and there is a lot of blood. We are all trained in First Aid, so I sit Damien down in the galley and lean him forward, and then get him some towels to help stem the flow of blood. Damien is very distressed, silent from shock. We are all shocked.

Geoff makes an instant decision to have the Polynesian man arrested when we land. He also decides to have him restrained in the meantime. He phones the Captain to inform and confirm his decision, and then leaves the galley to return with flexi-cuffs. The decision to restrain the Polynesian man was an easy one to make. How we should go about executing it is not as easy.

The Polynesian man is almost as big as the whole crew combined. With Damien now out of the equation, there are only six of us available onboard – three girls and three guys, including Geoff – to help with the massive task of restraining him: Geoff is almost sixty and not in the greatest shape; Julian is a little gay guy who looks like he could be knocked down by a feather; all three of us girls are petite (and Jo is still in the front cabin). Rod is a burly straight man, and our only real hope. However, he's not enough. We can't risk injuring one of the pilots, so Geoff asks for volunteers to assist him and Rod. To my surprise, Julian agrees to help. I put up my hand as well.

‘You can count me in. I can kick like a mule.'

Deb volunteers as well, but Geoff stops her. ‘If there's too many of us, we'll only get in each other's way.'

Geoff then turns to the three volunteers and says, ‘Thank you. This is not going to be easy. We need to act fast as he is already arguing with some of the other passengers.'

Geoff is an extremely wise man and a brilliant leader. I can't help but think that he would have made an extraordinary military general had he chosen a different career path. As he prepares us for battle, he discusses tactics.

‘This guy is huge, so I suggest that we try and slip the cuffs on him while he's in his seat. He won't be able to move much then. If we come in from behind and don't allow him to get up, we might be able to get the cuffs on him. That will be your job, Danielle. We hold him down, and then you slip in from behind him and slap on the cuffs. OK?'

I am shaking like a leaf.

‘OK.'

Geoff continues, ‘First things first, I will go out there and assess the situation. I will quietly try and move away the passengers seated behind him. Just in case, can you back me up, Rod? Danielle and Julian, you stay a few paces behind us. Deb, you stand by the phone, where you can see us as well as communicate with the flight deck and with Jo if things go wrong. OK, let's do this.'

My whole body is trembling as I carry the cuffs behind my back and follow the boys down the aisle. Some of the passengers are still arguing with the Polynesian, and he raises his fists at a man sitting in front of him. The man being threatening is fearless, unwilling to backing down. He sees us walking down the aisle, and I can tell that he knows what is going on. Geoff makes eye-contact with the man, and they have a brief moment of understanding.

The Polynesian still has his fist raised in anger, but is seated.

Geoff quietly approaches the two passengers seated behind him and beckons for them to move out of the way, which they do. I am getting more nervous than a dog with a long tail in a room full of rocking chairs.

Geoff and Rod move into the vacated seats. On Geoff's command we all jump on the Polynesian's back, pushing him forward whilst Geoff and Rod grab an arm each. The passenger in front joins in and pulls the Polynesian's head down. Other passengers join in as well, helping us restrain him.

We have made the big man very angry, and he doesn't like it one bit. He thrashes about violently, even reaching for us, slapping away some of the limbs that have crept onto him as if they were bugs. However, we don't give in to him. Little Julian has straddled the big man's back and is riding him like a wild bronco. As the Polynesian is very drunk, out of shape and out of breath he soon weakens, and we are able to get his hands behind his back. It's time for me to cuff him now.

I have used handcuffs in training several times, and they seemed easy to use in a classroom, but it is a totally different scenario trying to put them on an angry, thrashing brute in a confined space and surrounded by so many struggling limbs. Just as I thought I might never be able to get the cuffs on, the Polynesian must have realised the gravity of the situation and stops fighting.

Finally, one wrist and then the other. Snap. It's done.

My adrenaline is flowing wild, if there were an area I could collapse into, I would.

Geoff remains calm, and as the limbs peel off the caged beast, he talks to the Polynesian and informs him that he will remain cuffed for the duration of the flight and the authorities will take him away when we land. The big man is angry, but it seems the seriousness of the situation is finally dawning on him.

Geoff consults with Rod, Julian and myself, and then decides to move the man to our crew-rest area. There are no bunks on this aircraft for the crew, just four standard passenger-seats with a curtain for some privacy. The Polynesian is abeyant, and with our assistance we help him to his feet and lead him to the crew rest.

There are certain legal responsibilities to be carried out in situations like this. Geoff is the ultimate professional as he liaises with passengers and crew, and helps them fill out the witness forms that we carry onboard. He is also very caring, and the crew's wellbeing is at the top of his list.

I go back to the galley to console Damien. He is a little better, but still in shock. I barely have the chance to stop shaking when Ms. Curdle-face pokes her head through the galley curtains and starts shouting about how she has had her call-light on for ten minutes but no one has come to serve her yet. Damien stands up, with blood all over his face and his uniform. He looked like he wanted to spit some blood into the evil woman's face.

Damien speaks for the first time since being hit, ‘Are your eyes freakin' painted on?'

I take over, ‘Ma'am, you obviously haven't had a chance to see most of the crew restraining and handcuffing a passenger. We will forgive your ignorance and insensitivity, and I will get you a drink now. What do you want?'

I think she knows that our level of tolerance for her is lower than a snake's belly, so she takes her drink and leaves quickly.

‘You know that I can say anything I like to the passengers because I am concussed and in shock!'

Damien gives me a little wicked grin, and I'm assured that he is definitely OK. I grin back at him.

lady godiva rides again

All the violence and commotion has not diminished the wants and needs of the other passengers. The lights have been turned down in the cabin, and the crew are hoping that some of the passengers will finally fall sleep. That doesn't happen though. The cuffed Polynesian is one of the few who do go to sleep. Geoff has collected the witness forms and is ready to sit down to fill out the endless reams of paperwork that accompany an incident like this. Damien is seated on a crew jump-seat near the galley. His nose has stopped bleeding, but both his eyes are black and puffy.

Damien looks up, ‘I feel like I've been partying at the Mardi Gras for a week, except not in a good way. I must look like hell?'

Yes, he does. He looks like he has been ten rounds with Mike Tyson. But I don't tell him that.

I reassure Damien that he will bounce back to his former pretty self within no time.

I haven't even had time to snack on something, and I am starving. Just as I search for a bite to eat, another woman enters the galley to tell us that the young girl – yes, the one who is not the sharpest tool in the shed – has taken some sleeping tablets and is behaving ‘strangely'. The last thing I feel like doing is dealing with a drunken girl who has taken sleeping tablets.

What the hell is she thinking? She is not thinking – that is the problem.

I thank the lady for informing me about this and reluctantly make my way to the young girl. I see that she is delirious, mumbling something about being on a train and then something about a Barbie doll. This girl had her TV antenna up when she came onto the flight, yet she wasn't getting its full reception. Thanks to alcohol and pills, whatever reception she was getting is now fully scrambled. I don't have a lot of patience for her, but spend some time trying to tell her that she is on a plane, not a train, and her Barbie doll is nowhere to be seen. At the end of ten minutes, she still doesn't even know her own name; however, based on the dealings I've already had with her, she may not have known it in the first place.