Fasten Your Seatbelts: A Flight Attendant's Adventures 36,000 Feet and Below (26 page)

I normally have no trouble sleeping, but this night was different. I kept having flashbacks of the two of us flying together. I recalled putting my arms around her.

“You are such a cutie,” I affectionately said to her.

We laughed together all the time. I said, “You’re hair looks great!”

“Oh, do you like it, I straightened it,” she blushed.

I watched TV for quite a while and heard knocks on the walls. I knew it was the pipes. The toilet flushed twice by itself then kept running, I jiggled the handle and it stopped. I’m sure there was a problem with the plumbing. I heard a gentle wind
coming from under the adjoining door. I knew it was probably because of an opened window. I prayed and thought of my dear friend, but I took back my wish of hoping to be visited by her.

I woke up the next morning thinking of her in that room. We had an early sign-in for our flight to Miami. I wanted to go down early to talk to the security guard, so I quickly showered and threw on my uniform.

I asked the bellman if he was there when they found Rebecca. He said, “No, but the security guard over there is the one who found her.” I walked in the direction to where he was pointing.

“Hi, my name is Chris, and I would like to talk to you about my friend, the girl you found in her room. Do you feel comfortable with that?” I could tell he was very saddened and deeply affected by her death.

He said, “Sure. Another flight attendant and I were the ones who found her. She was in her uniform; it must have happened soon after she entered the room. The bed was made and the curtains were still open. Nothing in the bathroom had been touched.”

The speculations were brain aneurysm or something heart related. She was found lying on the bed with her feet still on the ground.

When I flew with her three months earlier, I had asked, “Rebecca, you have fair skin like me, do you have any issues
with skin cancer?” I don’t remember exactly what she said now but we talked about our health and I am sure she would have mentioned any serious conditions.

When our crew arrived at the airport, Terry and I wanted to try and identity the flight attendant who, along with the security guard, had found Rebecca. We knew it was a male flight attendant. We pulled up the information on the computer and saw it was our good friend Randy. We called him to see how he was doing. He said the days are okay, but her face haunts him at night. Randy told us his version of what happened.

“After the crew signed in for their rooms at the hotel, they were all supposed to eat dinner together. Rebecca was the one who initiated the dinner plans. She didn’t look sick or have any symptoms that might have signaled to the crew something was wrong. Suzie said she was tired, so she wasn’t going to join them.”

For security reasons, when we enter our rooms we sometimes leave the door open (propped by our suitcase) to make sure everything is safe inside. Rebecca already closed her door that day.

Randy continued, “Suzie knocked on her door to check on her, but heard no response. She assumed Rebecca was probably talking on the phone or was in the bathroom. Cindy,
the other flight attendant and I, were waiting for Rebecca to join us for dinner that night. She never showed up. I called her room, but there was no answer. We thought maybe she was making some phone calls or just too tired and changed her mind.”

Had Suzie been to dinner, she probably would have thought something was wrong because she had knocked on the door earlier and there was no answer. The next morning for pickup, Rebecca was not there. He and the security guard went to Rebecca’s room and found her lying on the bed. He said he shook her repeatedly yelling out her name.

A few months later, Rebecca’s best friend Dawn and I were flying to the same destination on our days off.

We grieved at the loss of our sweet friend and I shared the few details I had learned of her passing. We loved her dearly. Rebecca and Dawn were in the same training class twenty-three years earlier and had remained best friends throughout their career. My heart went out to her.

I asked, “Was it a brain aneurism like everyone said?”

“No,” she said. “It was called ‘cardiac insufficiency.’ She didn’t have enough oxygen going to her heart.”

The doctor said had she been aware of her condition it could have easily been treated. He said Rebecca may have even experienced some mild heart attacks prior to her passing. She had
been taking an arthritis medication for a year. Scar tissue had built up around her heart.

I still grieve and my heart goes out to everyone who loved her — especially her son.

We miss you, Rebecca.

couple of years after 9/11, I had a terrifying dream of airplanes exploding in midair. After each explosion, I gasped. I woke my husband and shared my horrific nightmare.

Shortly after that, I was on a three-day trip. The first night we arrived in Minneapolis at 12:30 a.m. Our pickup time the next morning was 10:30. I thought maybe I could sleep in, but my internal clock woke me up around 6 a.m. EST.

I made my coffee, jumped back into bed and turned on the TV. Ever since the terrorist attacks, I dreaded the phrase “breaking news.” On this day, there it was in bold letters — and once again it was about terrorists and airplanes. I felt my hairs stand up on my arm.
Not again
! British Authorities arrested 24 people who had conspired to blow up as many as ten U.S. bound aircraft using liquid explosives hidden in carry-on luggage.
This was exactly my dream
. I was glued to the TV as the Homeland Security Advisory System had been escalated to its
highest level, red, signaling imminent attack. Since I was leaving later that morning, I wondered what the day would bring.

The van ride to the airport was surprisingly quiet. I think we were all somewhat in disbelief and recalling that awful day in 2001. It was clear that the terrorists were still targeting airplanes.

As we entered the airport, a sea of frustrated passengers snaked their way slowly up to security check points. The ban on liquids was in effect and the same scenario was playing out in airports all over the United States and in the U.K. As our bags hit the conveyer belt, the TSA officer said to the screener, “It’s the crew, it’s the crew, let them through,” in an effort to speed up processing. I saw container after container of liquids that were now considered a threat.

The gate agent later told us the earlier flight crews had major problems going through security. No one was prepared for the new rules. Crew and passengers alike were being directed to toss all liquids from hair sprays, mouthwash, after-shave, all drinks including water bottles as well as their precious Starbucks coffee. It was all going right in the trash and it was chaos.

I heard many stories of frustrated passengers as they boarded our flight. One lady complained, “The screeners took my expensive perfume.” Another lost her favorite nail polish. I empathized with them, but assured them security was just doing their jobs under the circumstances.

I was glad for that day to be over. As we passed by security on our way out of the airport, I saw two huge garbage cans filled with toiletries.
What are they going to do with all that stuff?

The next morning I turned on the television hoping not to see breaking news. I was relieved that nothing happened overnight and the Security level was lowered to yellow.

A couple of weeks later I took my mom and dad to Cancun. I hadn’t gone through security as a passenger yet, so I too became a victim of the liquid ban. I lost my hair spray, lip gloss and even a sealed container of applesauce. I appreciated the crew exemption even more and felt for all the passengers trying to conform to the new restrictions.

It is somewhat frustrating that even when we successfully foil terrorist plans to kill innocent people, they still violate our liberty. Richard Reid’s infamous attempt to blow up his shoe on his flight has resulted in the removal of our footwear when we pass through security. The terrorist who tried to ignite his underwear helped drive the adoption of full visual body image screening at airport security checkpoints.

All in all, the entire London plot and the ban on liquids was just a reminder that they are still out there. We must stay vigilant and if anything looks suspicious on the airplane, don’t hesitate to tell a flight attendant.

ormones! Sometimes they come in handy. “Oh, I must be PMS-ing.” They can also be a hindrance. “Oh, you must be PMS-ing.”

My cycle is pretty regular. Eight days before, I feel a little irritable. Small things are big things. The grocery cart sticks, and I get ticked off. The person who pulls out in front of me gets the look. My poor husband can do no right. I am panicked and burdened, but can’t pinpoint why.

Six days before the cycle, I am very emotional. I feel all choked up when one of my favorite songs comes on the radio. Sad commercials make me cry. I look at my husband admiringly. Can you imagine the conflict of emotions he must feel at that time? That’s why he says, “You’re not the only one who goes through PMS.” It really does a number on him, too. This is also not a good time for me to make important decisions as I am a little non-decisive.

Then, four days before, I am the bottomless pit. I eat whatever I can get my hands on, preferably something salty and sweet. Grocery shopping at this time is not a good idea. I eat a meal and an hour later, I am looking for something else to eat.

Two days before, I get the pooch. My stomach extends out like I am two months pregnant. Nothing fits right, and I kick myself for eating so much. I assure myself I am just retaining water.

One day before, my complexion is pasty and gaunt. My eyes look dull. I also tend to feel insecure. I want to be left alone. This is, of course, very difficult when you have to fly for a living and are constantly surrounded by people.

My words are all messed up and my mind is foggy.

“Honey, would you like some ‘Guatemala’ with your quesadilla?”

“Yes,” he laughs, “I will have some ‘Guatemala’.”

Not all women go through this, but those who do will identify. (So will their partner.)

On one particular flight, around day seven or eight before the cycle, I was just plain irritable! Working the first class cabin was not going to be easy. After everyone boarded, the agent closed the aircraft door. The two flight attendants in the back of the aircraft came rushing to me. “We’ve got a problem in the coach cabin; this man won’t take his seat. He is sitting in
a middle seat and is demanding an aisle. We are completely full.” I told the shaken flight attendants not to worry; I would handle him.