Fasten Your Seatbelts: A Flight Attendant's Adventures 36,000 Feet and Below (13 page)

On one of my last trips to Rio, we worked an all-night flight arriving at our hotel at 9 a.m. We were exhausted, but some of us
decided to crash by the pool. Besides me, only four of the other nine flight attendants came down: two gay males, one straight male, and one straight female. The pool attendant brought over our delicious lemonade drinks. After the third round and being up all night, we were getting a little giddy. After the fourth drink, we were having lime fights. After the fifth one, the security guard came over and kicked us out of the pool area.

We stumbled over to the straight male flight attendant’s room. (He had a cabana room overlooking the pool.) I plunked down on the middle of the couch. One gay flight attendant sat next to me, placing my arm under his and the other gay flight attendant did the same on the other side. I put my hand to my mouth and giggled. The straight male and the straight female were ‘making out’ right in front of us on the bed. When she realized we were there, she screamed for us to get out.

Once again, I woke up the next morning wondering how I got to my room. Thank goodness I was fully clothed this time. A good thing about hanging out with the gay guys: They won’t try anything on you.

I had just enough energy to put on my swimsuit and soak up some rays. Eventually, my two gay buddies came down to join me by the pool. I asked how I got to my room. They reminded me our room keys did not have the room numbers on them. We were all too tipsy to ask the front desk but they
did know what floor we were on. So, one carried me over his shoulder while the other one tried each room until my key fit. When they found my room, they threw me on top of the bed. Only in Rio!

Montego Bay, Jamaica, was also a notorious place for letting loose. We stayed in an oceanfront hotel, but there were no televisions in our rooms at the time. This forced the pilots and flight attendants to create their own entertainment. Red Stripe beer was the local favorite, and across the street you could pick up a case inexpensively. Because crewmembers are known to be on the frugal side, this was a winning combination.

My most memorable Jamaica layover was with an all-male crew. We flew in on a 727 aircraft with three pilots, two other flight attendants and me. They carried my bags, opened the doors for me, and spoiled me rotten. We checked into the hotel and made plans for the evening. Actually, we all knew what the plan was; it was just a matter of what time.

In no time, we were sitting seaside, enjoying a Red Stripe, having a ball! Again I said to myself,
“I can’t believe I am getting paid for this.”
We watched the ever changing sky and had a brilliant sunset. A few happy hours later, it was time to turn in.

We took the elevator up and gathered around. Our rooms were on the same floor. We were all still feeling a bit tipsy
and rambunctious and I guess we weren’t quite ready for that day to end. I ran to the other end of the hall. We were going to have a race! Don’t ask me how or why, but the guys stripped off their shorts and underwear leaving their shirts on, as they took their place at the starting line. I was the designated starter, referee and judge, and stood at the finishing line. I paused and then announced, “On your mark, get set, go!” Down the hall they came racing towards me with their privates flapping away. We laughed hysterically. Those were great guys and even better times. It was all just good fun. (Remember, this was a long, long, time ago and I am sure nothing like this goes on today!)

On another ocean front layover the whole crew decided to unwind from the flight by listening to the waves and playing on the sand. Later on, I desperately had to use the restroom, but the facilities were far away. The captain suggested I go in the ocean. The sunset faded on the horizon and it was getting dark. That sounded like a good idea to me, so I waded into the gentle waves. Next thing you know, I glanced up and in the distance saw the entire crew ripping their clothes off. Full moons were shining everywhere. They jumped into the ocean and frolicked all around me, obviously forgetting the reason why I was there in the first place!

e began boarding the flight from St. Croix to Miami. We only had forty-five passengers, so we were in for an easy trip — or so we thought.

I was the boarding flight attendant, which means I welcome everyone as they enter the airplane. It was almost time to depart when the captain asked me a question, so I went into the cockpit. While I was there, I heard a loud thud. I looked out into the aisle to find a heavy set woman on her knees. I rushed out to her.

“Are you okay?” I asked. She moaned something unintelligible.

I said, “Listen, if you are in that much pain, why don’t you stay here in St. Croix and see a doctor?”

“No, no, I need to get to Miami,” she insisted.

“Okay, let me help you to your seat.” I took her two heavy bags and followed her.

After the safety briefing, I went to check on her. “How are you doing?” I asked.

“Ooh, my ankle.”

I told her I would be right back with some ice for her ankle. About a half an hour later, I asked again in a cheerful voice, “How are you?”

“Ooh my knee,” she moaned.

“Let me get some ice for your knee.”

We accomplished our breakfast service. As we were picking up, I asked if she would like anything else to drink. “Yes,” she said now rather smugly, “I’ll have tomato juice, coffee and water.” The tone in her voice alarmed me. I thought to myself,
uh-oh, this lady is going to be trouble!

I alerted the cockpit. “I think this woman is going to sue.” Sure enough, as I walked through the cabin, she stopped me. “Excuse me,” she said once again with a stern look on her face. “I need you to be my witness.” I murmured under my breath, “
Here we go
.”

I asked if she would like a wheelchair when we arrived in Miami. She said that wouldn’t be necessary. The captain ordered one anyway. The last I saw she was arguing with the paramedics that she didn’t want a wheelchair. They rolled their eyes at me as I passed by.

I wrote down what happened for my records, and stashed it away in my file cabinet. I did not hear anything for about a year and a half. One of our airline’s attorneys called my house. “Flight Attendant Churchill, we need you to come to Miami for a deposition.” I knew exactly who he was talking about. He said, “I’ll have to warn you, this lady has picked a very good attorney. She usually wins her cases.”

I was nervous because I had never been to a deposition. I honestly felt this passenger was an opportunist looking to take advantage of the situation. I picked out a professional silk, rust-colored suit, pulled my hair back and put on eyeglasses. I didn’t want anyone to think I was a bubble-headed sky waitress.

I flew to Miami on my day off. The number one flight attendant, Nancy, whom I was flying with that day, and I were driven to the deposition. I waited while Nancy testified first. I was nervous but calm at the same time. The passenger, I learned, was suing for hundreds of thousands of dollars. She claimed she hit her mouth, and that the impact forced her to have a root canal since the accident.

After Nancy took her turn, I was escorted into the room for interrogation. There, a long mahogany table was surrounded by eight leather tufted chairs. Occupying three of the chairs was the airline’s attorney, the plaintiff’s attorney, and a court
reporter. Her attorney was a red-headed, sharply dressed woman, and I could tell she was no push over.

Her first question was asked.

“Where do you live?”

“Atlanta,” I stated.

“Where in Atlanta?” she asked curtly.

“Buckhead.”

I tried to think of her questions beforehand and was counseled that it was best to answer concisely as possible. Yes or no is preferable.

She fired off another question.

“As the number four flight attendant, where are you supposed to be for boarding?”

“My position is at the forward door where I am to welcome the passengers. However, if a seat duplication might arise, I need to rectify the problem at the gate area. If the captain needs me for any reason, I am also to attend to the cockpit at their request.”

“Did you take a picture of the hole in the carpet,” her attorney asked.

“There was no hole in the carpet.”

“How can you be sure there was no hole?” she asked. I explained the cabin service does their checks in the morning, and if there were a hole it would have been written in the maintenance logbook.

She put her glasses on the edge of her nose again, “Can you swear that you saw them do a cabin check that morning?” I am a flight attendant not an airport worker. How was I supposed to be there in the morning monitoring the cabin routine checks?

She said, “Did you see Miss P_____ hit her mouth?”

“No,” I responded.

“Did you see her eat her breakfast?”

“No,” (Remember, a year and a half has passed.)

“Can you swear that you did not see her eat her breakfast?” She said quickly. I said, “No, I can’t, but I do recall she complained about her ankle and then her knee. I also know that she ordered three beverages, hot and cold.”

Basically, this is what appeared to have happened. Miss P was walking up the ramp stand with two heavy bags. She was overweight, struggling and couldn’t see the steps. When she reached the top step her heel caught, or she simply tripped over it.

The last words her lawyer said to me were, “I’ll see you in court in St. Croix.” All in all, it was a very nerve racking experience for me. I felt I answered the questions honestly and to the best of my ability. I never had to go back and testify.

e were working a flight from Santa Domingo to New York. It seemed like something always happened on that flight. Sure enough, this day turned out to be no exception.

I was working coach class on an A-300 with a full customer load. A passenger came on board with a long black, scraggly beard. He was rambling in Spanish, speaking very loudly.
What is up with this guy
, I wondered as he passed by me. I didn’t realize there truly was something wrong with him. Later, the passenger approached the galley and asked for a drink. “I’m sorry, we can’t serve alcoholic drinks on the ground in coach,” I stated. “You will have to wait until after we take off.” That was the last I saw of him during the boarding process.