I don't think I invited you to talk about my underwear
I don't think I invited you to talk about my underwear
As a Flight Attendant, it was pretty rare to fly with a female Pilot. However, when I did I always felt an immense respect for their accomplishments, particularly in a very exclusive male dominated arena. I found all the female Pilots I did fly with amiable and professional-with one exception. There was a female 737 Co-Pilot named Gayle, who was kind of known as a pill. The first time I met Gayle, our Captain was a friend of mine, and after our work was complete, I went up in the cockpit to chat. I happened to have absent-mindedly picked up a newspaper before I walked into the flight deck. The second I sat down on the extra jump seat, Gayle sharply admonished me "It's an FAA regulation that you can't have a newspaper in the cockpit."
"Huh?"
The Captain, Mick,responded "You can have a newspaper in my cockpit any time you want."
"Okay then. So, where're you from Gayle?" I resumed the pleasantries.
I was privy toGayle's garrulous P.A. orations while I was working with her, but privately, my Captain friendMick told me that every single flight that he flew with Gayle-regardless of the flying time-she wouldpresent theseloquacious ramblingsto the passengers describingthe professional resumes of both her and Mick. It was so embarrassing to him, he finally had to ask her to stop.
Gayle was marriedto, at that time, a military Pilot, who nicknamed himself Ace.' In the aviation world, this was tantamount to me (an avid, but not very gifted pianist), nicknaming myself Mozart. One day, I was working a flight where Gayle and Ace' were using their passes to go on vacation. Ace' was about 5'4" and 110 lbs. Not what I had imagined. The second Gayle boarded, shecommanded me "Tell the Co-Pilot to cool it off in here."
I walked into the cockpit and said "Gayle Imapilot just told me to tell you to cool it off in here."
The Co-Pilot turned around and looked at me in disbelief. He replied "Please tell Gayle that'll be my first priority." Then, it started getting warmer and warmer.
The majority ofFlight Attendants and Pilots, whom I encounteredduring my airline tenure,treated each other with utter respect. However, there was a sporadic unhealthy dose of unsuitable banter that took place on the part ofa minority ofindividuals. I found there was a learning curve involved in dealing with this argybargy effectively. After a few years on the job, I could shut down an uncomfortable conversation by holding up one hand and saying "Inappropriate," while continuing my work with the other hand.
Lynne loves the story of the time she, Shasy, our two Pilots, and I were in the hotel van on our way to our layover in South Bend, Indiana-U.S.A. I was thumbing through a magazine, while we all discussed our plans for the layover. My agenda, I shared, was to curl up in bed with The White Hotel by D. M. Thomas, which I was reading at the time. Our Captain, Luke, remarked luridly"What kind of underwear will you be wearing while you're reading?"
As Lynne remembers it, I didn't look up from my magazine and casually, but clearly stated "Luke, I don't think I invited you to talk about my underwear." We were old salts by then. Next subject.
What was really fascinating, was to witness a personality conflictamongst a crew, all of whom yougot along with just fine. If you made sure to stay impartial, it could go a long way toward improving your own interpersonal abilities. When you were in charge in one of these situations, each individualwould frequently run to Mother' to unload about the other party.
One evening, I was in charge and flying with a Flight Attendant, Sarah, who was on the bristly side. She and I were fine together, but we had a Flight Engineer (again-third Pilot, Second Officer, still confusing), whom she just didn't like. I found him amusing. Eric was brand new to the airline, and like most of our Pilots had been in the military. He still had his military haircut and used all the military jargon, which did not necessarily translate well to commercial airline lingo. There was always a briefing between the Lead Flight Attendant and Pilots (some Captains liked to brief with all the Flight Attendants), before a flight. Eric was so up tight during our initialmeeting, he reminded me of a Midshipman at the U.S. Naval Academy. Sarah, didn't appreciate him from the first moment. As soon as the briefing was finished, she started nitpicking everything Eric said or did. After a couple of legs flying together, it was quite apparent to everyone that Sarah was not enamored with Eric. I felt sorry for him. He was just socially awkward, but nice enough. Toward the end of our last leg with these Pilots, I went up in the cockpit to see if they needed anything.
Eric looked at me and said "Do you think I have offended Sarah? Because, when ever we interface, she seems abrupt."
I'm sorry, did you just say interface?'
The poor schmuckwas looking up at me with this hang-dog look on his face, and I just wanted to make him feel better. Shutting down communication between my brain and my mouth, I exclaimed cheerfully, as if I were sharing an exciting secret, "Oh, no Eric. Sarah actually has a crush on you."
Ericstared at me, thoroughly disoriented for about two seconds, in silence.He couldn't form a sentence and turned toward his controls and went back to work. When the Pilots got off the plane,Eric was so flabbergasted, he didn't even respond to my "Bye Eric, good luck, it was nice meeting you." He just turned and fled the unnerving new world of the Flight Attendant, and that sassy minx, Sarah.
To acquire extra hours, sometimes I would pick up an all-nighter. These trips were filledwith crew members you had never laid eyes on before, because they only came out at night. Typically, you would sign in for an all-nighter somewhere in the late evening. Most of the trips were setup to fly one leg, stay in the destination city for a few to several hours, then fly home. You would usually arrive home by 6 or 7 in the morning. The length of time you stayed in your destination city varied. If it were under four hours, you made a bed in a row on the plane and tried to sleep or read there. If the "Operations" or "Ops" area of an airport had "black chairs," you would curl up in one of those and try to rest. "Black chairs" was a magical phrase to a Flight Attendant or Pilot. Every airport has an Operations area, and for some reason-without exception-the people who decoratedthese suites all shopped at the same furniture store. If you were fortunate, they would have invested in these identical cushy black recliners that were catnip to a Flight Attendant or Pilot.
"Do they have black chairs?" "Yea! They have black chairs!" "Just around that corner, there are some black chairs." "Where's Bobby?" "He's in the black chairs." "They have black chairs?" It meant somewhere close by, there was a cozy quiet place to sleep. The Ops all-nightercrew lounge always had this weird dynamic. Meet the crew (Flight Attendants and Pilots), fly with them one leg, then allnap together in a little room. Not what you mighttypically find mid-work day in, say, a law firm-crowded conference room, lights low, ties loosened, pumps kicked off, a senior partner snoring peacefully.
If the turnaround time (the time from block-in to block-out, which means when the airplane door is openedto when it is shutagain for a subsequentflight) were more than four hours, you were given a hotel room. The people who bid and flew these trips regularly usually did not like to socializemuch, and wanted everything very mellow. There was one all-nighterFlight Attendant named Arabella, who was infamous. I never saw her smile, and she hardly talked unless the topic of discussion was death or dying. When you sat on the jump seat with her, you could see her out of the corner of your eye staring at you. The first time it happened to me, I turned and looked at her expecting her to say something like "I'm noticing the pores in your skin, what kind of facial cleanser do you use?" But she just continued staring. So, you would sit there uneasily and act like you were looking out the window, or studying your cuticles, while Arabella took you in.
Most Flight Attendants brought only a small bag with a toothbrush and your required professional accoutrements on an all-nighter. These consisted of: 1. On Board Manual-Thiswas the Flight Attendant guide to all rules, regulations, emergency procedures, and first aid. It had to be with you at all times when you were working, 2. Demo Equipment-This consisted of your own personal faux seatbelt, and faux oxygen mask, used for the in-aisle, pre-flight safety demonstration, and 3. Security Badge-This had your picture, employee number, and thumbprint recorded on it.
Arabella showed up for her all-nighterswith a big suitcase because she always brought a complete set of bedding with her. She would get to her room, take the hotel sheets off the bed, then re-make it with her linens, including her own pillow. When everyone gathered for the flight home after just a couplehoursof sleep, it was generally an uncommunicative bunch. Except for Arabella, she would have snuggled up in her homemade bed during her rest time, watching any kind of scary, gory movie she could find-or reading some horrifying true crime book. All you wanted to do was get home and go to bed, and Arabella would be telling you about "this guy who was beheaded byhis neighbor, and then he stored his body in the deep freeze in his garage, but kept his head in the kitchen freezer."
Lori Culpepper Dinsmore
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