Child Games

The fasten seatbelt is finally off. We get to unbuckle only now while you already undid yours when the plane just left the runway. I can recognise the clink sound of the seatbelts unfastenening from 6 rows with the engines roaring next to me. God (once again) did not hear my prayers to shake the plane a tiny bitsy enough to give you a concussion. Nevermind. I pray harder on the way back.

Now is time for distribution of child games. Airlines have designed little pouches filled with goodies to keep your toddler busy during the flight. Youre so happy to see your well spent money coming back you could almost cry.

But wait until you open the pouch. You thought Christmas was early. Better save those tears of joy for real the christmas. 

Here you are: a tacky synthetic zip bag with colourful crayons long enough designed to choke your toddler, 3 sheets of paper to fold into origami designs your kid will never finish because it’s too dumb it choked with the crayons before it saw the paper cuts. Or it cut itself with the paper and died with septicaemia on board. A stuffed plush toy supposed to look like a plane but it resembles a seagull that crashed on the cockpit’s windshield. And playing cards youre hoping to keep for yourself because thats the kind of parent you are.

Your kid did not get one of these ugly pouches. That’s a reason enough to throw a tantrum when your kid is busy playing with its iPad, Leappad, Nintendo, Psp, and other bluetooth paired devices designed to increase its chances of developping ADHD. 

If your kid is not on the list it does not exist on the plane. It does not get a pouch and you will get yourself a bunch of crayola yourself if you want it to choke because I’m not performing a CPR on sth which has been eating its boogers during boarding. I saw you filthy scumbag!

If i’m left with some extra I won’t give you a single one or for your child which couldnt make it on the plane for whatever treatment against flight phobia, leukemia, or any disease ending in –ia.  

If you’re wondering why you’re 8 year old daughter didn’t get one that’s because with all that makeup and so much skin revealing a bigger cup than mine,  you should book an appointment with your gynaecologist for a cervix checkup. She’s clearly not looking for crayons of crayola size by swiping left and right on that tinder app I also saw that at boarding too!

But if you’re so eager to get one of these pouches, wait until the end of the flight. With a bit of luck you can assemble a customised pouch of yours with the pieces scattered here and there. You’ll be missing a club, a spade a diamond and a heart. But you’re a regular flyer. You’ll meet another one of your kind with whom you can exchange your doubles just as you do with the Panini stickers at World Cup. On the next flight  I’m sure you’ll find Christmas under an economy seat. 

Your dedicated cabin crew with a hint of hospitality and loads of sarcasm.

Flawless

If you thought your cabin crew was trained to get you chicken or fish and pour your gin tonic with two ice cubes and a slice of lime, you are wrong.
If you thought your cabin crew was trained to perform a CPR or carry out fire fighting techniques on your faulty note 7, you are wrong.

Your cabin crew is trained during 6 weeks to master the art of applying a lipstick in severe turbulence, draw a perfect kitty line during a decompression, do a french bun one handed after the other one got dismembered in a plane crash and smell Chanel after covering the NY marathon more than 6 times during a 16 hour flight.

The hardest part of the job is not waking up at odd hours or hearing you whine because your travel agent didn’t book you a GFML, not see our relatives for the holidays or being pulled on a flight on your birthday. We can live with all that.

The hardest part of the job is looking flawless all the time. From the moment we step outside our homes in that uniform we know we won’t have a single moment for us. Because once we wear that uniform we belong to them and so does our image.

Forgotten the umpteenth heartbreak because you were barely there. Forgotten the sleepless nights because you are so jetlagged. Forgotten the pain in your back pulling all these carts in and out the galley.

Your image belongs to them and you have no choice than to play the game. Thats why you smile and show these white teeth. Because flight attendants have to always look happy. There is no reason not to be. You’re wearing a flight attendant’s uniform (for chrissake!) and you won’t get out of it until you crossed four time zones and worked 16 hours no delay included. Isn’t that reason enough to be happy?

Carmine red and midnight blue are neither shades of my lipstick nor my eyeshadow. But the very imperfection that I have to hide under my full coverage foundation. Under all that happiness you will find blemishes, clogged pores and dark circles I am bound to hide because you don’t want to complain about how uncomfortable those economy seats are to someone who looks dreadful. If you didn’t get it yet airlines would rather spend millions on grooming than give you wider seats, better food and more luggage allowance for obvious reasons.

It costs less to invest in a red wine lipstick and full coverage foundation than to solve all these technical problems which can get solved with reheated apologies. 

I wanted to become a flight attendant because they always look flawless. Only didn’t I know that was the main job. And this is the most tiring part of it.
Your dedicated cabin crew with a hint of hospitality and loads of sarcasm.

Overheadbins

I wanted to become a flight attendant because I wanted to travel the world, experience different cuisines and cultures. Learn new languages, make great encounters, bond with locals, broaden my friend circle. What a pile of bollocks!

Truth is, I’m an overheadbin attendant and I get the lovely task of trying to fit all of my lovely passengers’ (unmonitored by the checkin officer) oversized carry-on in the dedicated overheadbins compartment.

I don’t really try to fit their hand luggage. I struggle. I was told algebraic equations and quadratic expressions would be useful in life but neither has proved useful at all to solve the hand luggage problem.

I’m a complusive shopper. Who isn’t? But when you’re a compulsive shopper you have better be a compulsive benchpresser too because who do you think will lift your dumbbell weight carry on in that overheadbin? Did I ask you to help me with mine? 

You’re allowed 7kg of carry on. If you read 17kg or 70kg then book an eye check ASAP. I’m not lifting your crap even if you misread that luggage allowance. It’s a very long day ahead for me. The flight deck announced a flight time of only 30 minutes, its true, that’s how long your flight is scheduled to last today. 

My scheduled operating duty for the day is 14h hours. In those 14 hours I’ll see hundreds of motherfuckers like you with overweight carry-ons struggling to fit them in the dedicated space above your head. So I better spare my energy not only to complete the whole day but also spare my muscles for life saving procedures which might require my assistance.

When a motherfucker asks me to help them that’s what I hear:

“Hey, plane-slave come here and break your arm lifting my bag which I know is overweight. That’s your job anyway.

Why don’t you ask me to wipe your ass after you took a dump too because I had to flush your turd and close the lavatory door after you left. That’s exactly what’s described in my duties and responsibilties. I just checked my standard operating procedures manual and that’s mentioned between evacuate an aircraft in 90 seconds and the fire fighting drill. 

The overhead stowage compartment is not too small. Just like you’re too fat to fit on your seat, and you had to book two of them, they answer to a certain standard which is hard for you to fit in. The problem is not the seat. It’s you.A plane is not a clothing store where you ask for a size 10 when you can’t fit in a size 4. Unlike the salesperson who will try to look for your size. Your overheadbin attendant will tell you to fuck off in the blink of an eye. 

Being pregnant does not qualify for special assisstance. If you can’t lift, don’t spread your legs. Easy. 

The overhead stowage compartment is not designed to fit your lifespan. If you have to evacuate a plane on fire you will be allowed to take only one item with you. It’s your life. Leave all hand luggage behind. Don’t even think about opening the overheadbin.
How do I know? Let’s say years of flying made me an overheadbin attendant specialist.

Your dedicated Overheadbin Attendant with a hint of hospitality and loads of sarcasm

Apologies

I have never been more insincere than when I pronounce the two words “I apologise”.

An apology is an acknowledgement of having done something wrong or hurting someone. But I did nothing wrong. Why should I be the one to apologise?

Your flight was delayed. You will reach your final destination later, probably miss your connecting flight. And that warrants an apology from me because? In case you didn’t notice. We are on the same plane and I’m getting delayed too. Just as you are. Who do you think apologises to me when my feet have to bear the weight of my dead body longer than the scheduled time? If in the minute that followed I could levitate that 400 seater in the air by the power of my mind, I would rightfully and sincerely apologise to you because my telekinetic capacities would have let you down at that very moment. But you see I have no influence on the slot allocated to the plane, I do not get clearance from the control tower for take off nor have I any influence on the technical issues which occur during the slot allocated by the control tower for take off. I will not apologise for this.

You didn’t get to chose between chicken or fish? What an obvious reason to start a drama at thirty thousand feet. Whether you’re flying for the first time or you’re a frequent flyer, let’s get this straight. A plane is a confined space with limits. The crew will not get you a vegetarian or guarantee that your meal is free from any allergy you have on ground. Once in the air there is nothing we can serve you except glares or attitude because you are the Prince from Zakamunda or you’re daddy’s little Princess. This shit does not work here. If bears can stock fat before winter because they know it’ll be hard to get food, so should you before you board the plane. I will not apologise for this.

Your screen is not working properly? How sad that you can’t watch a year old IMAX movie on a 5 inch screen with the sound quality to give a deaf reasons to stay deaf. Yes I get that you paid for some entertainment on a 12 hour flight. But if I get you another seat and you don’t want to move because you can’t be seated with your whole squad. Then why is that my problem? I fixed your problem. If you’re not happy about it then travel with your fucking tablet like the rest of us. I will not apologise for this.

Customs took your duty free because it wasn’t sealed? Time to start those AA meetings. Your family died? We all do at some point. Don’t like to be seated near the lavatory? I will remove the lavatory, but if you ask me where you can poop I will remove your anus too. Not seated with your loved one? Then its time to take a break from each other and see if your love can survive a 30 minutes flight. I will not apologise for any of the drama you have in your shitty boring little life. 

But if it can keep your brat ass grown mouth shut then on behalf of my airline I would like to present to you their warmest apologies for taking your money and providing you with crap. I would like to apologise on their behalf once again that you keep coming back to us because you know you won’t get better for the price you’re willing to pay. 

Did you think about redeeming the number of apologies you’ve accumulated lately? Go on! You won’t get a departure on time-we do not guarantee what’s in the hand of the Almighty. Who knows, you could end up with all the fucks we give about you. We mean business and all we want is your money. And all you’ll get for that price are apologies. 

Ladies and gentlemen we have just crashed. We would like to apologise for any discomfort you have experienced during your dismemberment. Please leave all your body parts scattered. We shall collect them shortly. We regret to inform you that you won’t be flying with us anymore but we truly apologise for this situation. Rest in peace and have a safe trip to heaven or hell. Goodbye and thank you.

Chicken or Polonium?

The moment I dread the most after the seatbelt sign goes off is the meal service. Not because I will repeat the choice of the day a million times even though right before I start a PA to all the cabin has been made. Not because each time I will get you your tray I will also tell you that drinks will be served “in a moment” but that won’t keep you from poking at me a zillion times asking “can I get a drink?”. No, not because of that. Nor is it because you might ask for a vegetarian out of the blue. I can make a vegetarian appear out of thin air in no time.

That’s not what I dread. What I dread is running out of chicken. Ask me to do a CPR on a zombie, to evacuate an aircraft on fire in less than 90 seconds, to list all the airport codes in the world, to do a month of red eye flight. But don’t make me run out of chicken!!! 

The difference with running out of a chicken and unprotected sex is that the morning-after pill has more chances of reducing the risks of an unwanted pregnancy than making a full grown up adult understand that running out of chicken is not a disaster of epic proportions. 

There are 4 types of reactions to the fatal question of chicken or fish.

1) Pronounce each syllable in the word chicken as loud as you can because you think I never heard it before and I might confuse it with the word fish.

2) Say chicken even before I had the chance to say what’s on the menu and sound like your life would depend on the first option only. 

3) Taking 30 seconds to pretend to think if you’re having chicken or fish when you already know you’re not having fish.

4) Make a face as if I asked you to chose between chicken and polonium.

From time to time a fucktard will show a combination of all of the above.

Asking a passenger to choose between chicken or fish is like asking to chose between life and death. But if the only two options were fish and death, I’m almost certain they would still chose death over fish. Why???

I’ve tried to alternate the menu by saying fish first and then chicken. But it didn’t work. I even pretended I mixed up the fish with the chicken. But you handed it back to me. Grrr.

Let’s be honest. It’s not your first flight. You’re also aware that at some point in time if I’m out chicken the only choice I will give you is fish or fish. Try it. There aren’t any much left in the sea anyway. One day-and that’s going to be pretty soon-when all the fishes will have disappeared you’ll remember that one time you had fish was on a plane. You’ll remember how you didn’t like it. That will make you a nice story to tell to your grandkids when you’re old and senile. Or you could just die. What’s the deal. Nobody will miss someone who acts like a cunt just because we’d ran out of chicken. I won’t.

If you don’t eat fish there’s a third option. It’s shutting the fuck up and having the goddamn fish.I’m not asking you not to eat. Because that’s what you like to yell hoping I’ll feel bad that you won’t be eating anything on board. But guess what, the only emotions I get since I work on planes is rolling my eyes.

You never eat fish. What does it have to do with me? This is not a David Copperfield trick where I can turn a hake filet into a chicken thigh. If I could make such a thing happen. Trust me I’d be making a shit load of money and wouldn’t be dragging my corpse working on a plane having to deal with a pain in the ass such as you. 

Or maybe you mistook me with that dude from that book who turns water in wine, walks on water and multiplies loaves of bread? Technically flying above the sea and walking up and down these aisles is like walking on water. I can’t change water into wine but I can make you a bloody mary. For the bread I didn’t personally multiply them. They’re some extra the caterer provided. 

Looks like I just found myself a new vocation. If I can do these things at 40 000 feet I could be the guru of a new religion on dry land. I have all the qualities of a guru. I made the false promise to improve the temperature of the freezing cabin but I didn’t and you said it was fine now. Just like a good disciple. Welcome to the Church of Fishology. 

Allergies

We do not guarantee a nut free environment for a simple reason. If we had to guarantee every motherfucker on board that we were whatever his allergy free, your return fare would be so high, you would never be able to fly. 

Let’s be honest, airlines are not here to care about your health. If they did, the food they serve you wouldn’t be so disgustingly gross in the first place. Airlines try to adapt to your dietary needs although they seem rather superfluous at 40 000 feet. Whether you require a LSML (low salt meal), a BLML (bland meal) or a DBML (diabetic meal) to me they sound as pointless as people who insist that airlines satisfy their religious no beef, no pork, no scaless fish restrictions. To hell with that. People are dying of hunger everyday and you get to be allergic to food?

For fuck’s sake, you’re travelling by a means of transport which has enough kerosene to blow up a whole city. And you think it’s a constitutional right to insist that your meal is free from a list of allergens as broad as the list of food items itself. Why not be allergic to air then, or water?  I’m allergic to motherfuckers like you. But guess what, my airline doesn’t guarantee a motherfucker free environment either. So suck it up with your attention seeking for the rest of the flight.

I understand that we don’t have the same basic needs but allergies are a luxury I cannot afford.

When you shop at H&M or Mango why don’t ask to the salesperson if there are traces of wool or polyester in your top tank or pencil skirt? Simply because if you don’t wear polyester or wool you stay away from places where you might be in contact with them. So if you don’t want to be in contact with nuts I would suggest you to start digging six feet under the surface of the earth. Make sure the casket is not made of walnut tree.

If you have allergies, then maybe you shouldn’t travel. Or if you want to travel, how about you carry your own allergy free food. We were in the same queue at the airport’s McDonalds. I never heard you ask if the chicken nuggets were nut free. Why do you ask that dumb question to my face on the plane? 

I have no idea what your travel agency told, sworn or confirmed with you but my final word on it is NO. We are not a nut free environment and you’re the one driving me nuts at the moment.

Ladies and gentlemen we are about to start the meal service. We would appreciate if you would please put your seat upright and unfold your tray table. Our menu today offers a choice of cashew chicken in soy sauce with rice or almond and lemon fish fillet with spinach. Accompanied by an avocado, pancetta, pine nut salad and caramel pecan tart. Make sure to have your epinephrine handy. 

Did you make your choice?

Your dedicated cabin crew with a hint of hospitality and load of sarcasm.

Delayed

We all hate delays. But the crew can’t do anything about them. If they happen, you can only mumble under your breath. Being grumpy and rude towards the crew won’t make you leave the runway on time. 

We get it. You’re frustrated. But do you think we’re thrilled to be on ground, with 350 people in a confined space, with no AC and the eventuality of having to disembark if the snag is more serious than expected? Of course, I couldn’t be more excited  to deal with these situations. That’s exactly what I signed up for when i read the vacancy notice. 

Hiring shock absorbers willing to handle delays and other tantrums in a metal tube. Duties include putting your patience to its limits and ability to cope with pissed off people in a very hostile environment. We decline all responsibility and leave everything up to you.

But instead that’s what the advert read: 

Hiring cabin crews with high levels of customer service and communication skills. Be the ambassador of the company and promote our brand. 

Bullshit.

You have the right to be mad that we’re late. After all, they make you checkin 2 hours before the flight with less and less luggage allowance, go through security where you are searched, scanned and groped by unfriendly security officers who force you to throw your LAGs (Liquids Aerosols Gels) which mean the world to you. You barely have the time to purchase something from duty free to compensate because boarding started as soon as you cleared the body search. And on top of that we’re late! I would be pissed too.

The last time I shoved something down my throat was when the reminder wakeup call rang in my room. That was about 7 hours before I boarded the plane. People starve everyday. So I should be able to survive this one. I went through security just as you did and the delay also means I’m going to land later than scheduled. So here’s the breaking news. Delays don’t affect passengers only but the crew also. If you haven’t noticed we’re on the same plane as you!

The only reason I’m smiling is not because  I’m paid to smile. No Sir. Anything on ground and static does not count as flying hours. Basically I’m doing charity. I’m saving my energy for the coming hours of pain and suffering you’ll make me go through once we’ve been cleared by the control tower.

Of course I would have preferred to spend these delayed hours sleeping. It took us twelve long hours and twenty five minutes to get here yesterday. Although we got 16 hours to rest. I barely slept 6 hours because my sleeping pattern doesn’t adjust to the jet lag on request. Things beyond my control include jet lag, delays and shopping.

Ask me where to eat, where to shop, where to party. But don’t ask me when we’re taking off, if you’re going to make it for your connection, or what’s the technical snag. Divination and fortune telling were not modules of the Security Emergency Procedures training. 

Hopefully the pilot found out about these issues before we reached cruising altitude. Delays are meant to solve what could have quickly escalated in an emergency situation. And none of us are hoping for these to happen. So unless you have desires of burning alive on your economy seat or scatter your body parts over the Atlantic, you better shut the fuck up and frown in silence. 

Raped on board

I don’t want to remember it but I have to let it out. You always think this is something that happens to others and not you. You read it in the papers, you hear it in the statistics. Until it’s you.

I feel guilty although I am the victim. I did nothing but I keep asking myself what I could have done differently to prevent it from happening to me.  I’m finally in my hotel room. I can’t look at myself in the mirror. Because I was weak and I don’t want to meet my own eyes. I want to take a bath and wash away the dirt. Because I’m disgusted. I finally throw up. Something I wanted to do when I was still 30 000 feet in the air, where it all happened.

I can’t name it. I don’t want to. But I can’t keep it for me either. It’s too heavy on my chest.

I can’t help blaming myself. Were my lips too red, my perfume too sweet, the way I walked in that aisle, the way I said chicken or fish? I wish there was something I could do differently. 

I wish I had fought, I didn’t have time to resist… They took me by surprise. I want to cry but I feel something died inside. I feel empty. I am nothing.

I couldn’t hide in the lavatory for too long. I would have to come out sooner or later because it was top of decent. I still had to clear the cabin and stow the headsets.

The thought that it would soon be over helped me come out. I wanted to tell someone. But who would believe me.

It started with a glass of water at boarding. How could know it would have escalated to this point? I wish I was more alert and had recognised the signs. The way he looked at me, his voice, everything  he said. Everything was there. But there is no absolute formula. There are no symptoms, at least nothing we’ve learned during training. I would have left the plane. Even if it meant being fired. I would still have my dignity. I tried to talk to a fellow crew about it, but she didn’t want to listen to me. She ignored me because she knew what had happened…

The moment the fasten seat belt sign was switched off I had the feeling something was about to happen. Only I didn’t know what it was.

Their hands were all over my body. They poked me. Smiled viciously. Their voices overlapping into a sick grin like hyenas enjoying a dead corpse. Honey, sweetheart, darling. They called me all these names while they abused me. I couldn’t distinguish from which seat it was but does it matter now?

I tried to shield myself with my cart but they kept coming after me. I tried to resist but I couldn’t do much. In the end I surrendered.

I screamed but I was the only one who could hear my voice. I felt so stiff at one time I thought I heard the coroner pronouncing the time of my death based on my rigor mortis. 

But I wasn’t dead. My mind was protecting myself from the reality. I felt like the little match girl. The more the pain, the less I was there.

Looking at myself in the mirror I’m all covered in bruises. Hopefully they will be gone but I don’t need to see them to know they are all over me. I feel each one of them when I close my eyes.

I talked to one crew girl about it. She told me it was nothing. She had been through it too. I can’t believe the way she said it. She tried to reassure me that its something normal, that many before me and her had been through it. But it doesn’t make sense. She advised me keep quiet about it or I would get in trouble. There was no point in fighting. Because that was part of the ‘job’.

I called the Purser from my hotel room and she called me a lunatic. That I was a liar. But then she told me the most shocking part. That I knew what I was signing up for. That this was part of the job and I couldn’t complain now. That everything came at a price. The travelling, the fancy hotels, the crew discounts didn’t come for free. 

I have the bad feeling it will happen again and I have no choice but to keep my mouth shut. The purser was right. I chose to be an air hostess. Only I didn’t know instead of a being a host to them I was an air hoe-tesse. 

The Maleficient Cabin Crew

​When you think of a flight attendant you picture her as sleek, slender and sublime. She is THE fantasy. High heeled shiny pumps, french manicure, flawless makeup, kitty eyeliner, her lips are russian red. A tornado wouldn’t move her well fixed bun to her glamorous hat.

Her waist is as slim as an onion ring, her legs as long as bamboo chopsticks.The airport is her catwalk and that instant she locks eyes with you, you’re the happiest man in the world. If you’re a woman you envy her. If you’re a little girl you worship her. You want to be her. A thrill, goosebumps, jealousy, a boner. Whatever the feeling, she triggers a reaction. She radiates. You feel lousy.

While you spent thousands on night creams and botox, they look young and fresh effortlessly. Those bitches. What’s their secret? Flying? Altitude?

Sadly not all flight attendants fit the description. Just like a mirror loses its silvering, she lost her sparkle. Sleepless nights gave her dark circles so big you would think she’s an endangered panda. Her face looks as bad as a stale raisin bread no pastry cook could fix. Even the best plastic surgeon from L.A said he wouldn’t dare touch her. 

Her mascara is so smudged it looks like a car left the marks on her eyelid. I can still hear the car’s tyres screech every time I close my eyes. Her lips are chapped from the plane’s AC but that’s not an excuse. She tries to hide her receding skull with her hat and a fringe but only a full lace front could fix that but that’s not even sure.

She’s not curvy. She’s not a plus size woman. She might blame it on the two kids she had 20 years ago or on the years of seniority. But truth is her summer body gave way to so much fat you would think a hippo escaped from the zoo. 

That’s what plane food, soda and leftovers from business class canapés, cheese platters and desserts do to the body. If you want a better picture, think about a less (a little more, some more, some more, that’s it) pretty version of Fiona pointing at the exits during the safety demo. That’s what she would look like. Except Fiona would still get laid by Shrek. A pilot told me he’d prefer to mate with an orangutan if he had to repopulate the planet in the eventuality she was the only woman left on earth.

She’s not ugly. She’s fugly as in fucking ugly. Not only is she fugly but she is vile, vicious and spits venom deadlier than a rattlesnake. If you think that post is mean. I’m an angel. She’s not just a bitch. She’s a bwitch. She’s all the Disney villains in one person. And if you’re stuck with her on a single aisled plane, you’ll pray for the captain to ditch within minutes after the seatbelt sign has been switched off. That would explain MH 370.

To all those who wish to be a flight attendant. Just be careful what wish for because you just might get it. Except from time to time you’ll meet an Ursula/Maleficient/Grimhilde/Lady Tremaine/ Madame Medusa all in one person who wakes up purposefully with her left foot and her morning routine consists of getting stung by a swarm of wasps. 

Can you handle it?

Your dedicated cabin crew with a hint of hospitality and lots of sarcasm.

Turnarounds

Not all flights last long enough to entitle cabin crews to a queen size bed at the Mariott with 25% crew discount on room service. The monthly roster is not filled with awesome layovers where you wake up to an incredible view on Hyde Park or Marina Bay Sands. 

One of the many joys of being a flight attendant (or so I heard) is that you get to travel all around the world. Truth is you don’t always get out of the plane to see the world. You are either rostered or get a call during an airport standby for a casual turnaround. Casual? More like being held hostage by a bunch of zombies to whom you can’t escape although there are EXIT signs all over the place. If you suffer from claustrophobia please refrain from reading this post. 

Turnarounds are as hard as long haul flights. Or even worse. The first leg might be over but you won’t get off the plane behind your tormentors. You are stuck in that tube for a whole day. You see the same seats, the same aisles, the same overhead racks, the same crew, hear the same voices for a whole day.

You won’t get to stretch your legs further than the catering truck  which is connected to the aft door. Sometimes I wish a fellow crew would push me through the open door. Not bungee jumping. But smashing to the tarmac and have the same consistency as the scrambled eggs I’ve been serving this morning. At least I would skip the zombies sucking on my brain for the second leg. Freeeeedoooooom.

Aren’t we all mad at the blond dumb girl who gets killed at the beginning of a horror movie because she ventured exactly where she shouldn’t have? That’s exactly how you feel during the second leg. She didn’t get there on purpose, same for cabin crews. We don’t jump for our deaths. It’s right at every corner of the plane. You can’t escape your fate. 

You’re already exhausted, you’ve been confined in that plane for hours. You were meant to be eaten alive. You can’t fight zombies. So you just surrender. The weird thing is that contrarily to the one zombie rule. You don’t turn into a zombie. You’re still a cabin crew until the whole leg is over. 

The good thing about turnaounds is that you get to come home. The bad thing about turnarounds is that when you’re home, you’re in a coffin. It can’t be that bad. Home and dead. The meniscus is at perfect equilibrium and I’ve never seen the glass so full and so empty at the same time.

During turnarounds, a few passengers try to get chatty with their cabin crews. Between two “water” requests with no please and “I want my vegetarian” they beam with that dumb expression they have the secret to and ask “how many days did you get to stay in the city?”

Days? I can’t even remember how many hours there are in a day. I try to catch a regular night sleep between time zones from different hemispheres. I don’t have a single clue what’s a day. In your day you have your meals at times your body needs it, call your relatives anytime to catch up and sleep when the moon is up. In my day I nibble whatever is leftover so I don’t faint, I talked to my mum 6 weeks ago and slept from 10 a.m to 10 p.m not because I was tired but because that’s the only thing I have enough energy for. That’s what my days are made up of.

Passengers think their cabin crews look fresh because they got a good night rest. If you want the same fresh morning face as your cabin crew, try not to piss them off. The less they’re pissed, the more they look fresh. No full coverage makeup can beat that. 

While you were checking in at the the airport your cabin crew was touching ground and will be ready to fly back one hour later for the 4th leg of the day. If you think they had time to take a break in between the first flight and the next one to gossip about the best shopping malls  in their favorite city. You are wrong. Catering, sweep checks, newspaper display, child kits, galley preparation, cleanliness checks, grooming check… What Jack Bauer does in 24, your cabin crew does it in 60 minutes.

Your crew has been up since 3 a.m and is very much eager to get home after the first leg of a turnaround try not to get the plane delayed. When they announce boarding. Get your ass off the duty free shops and stand in line. You still have time to shop duty free on board or on arrival.

“Ladies and Gentlemen the flight has been delayed because we seem to be missing one crew member. If..”

-I’m back, I’m back! I’m sorry but there was a queue at the counter. I would not have missed buying sirloin from Big Five duty free. They say south african beef is among the best. We don’t get any layover here, I couldn’t have missed that.We can close the door.

That’s why I hate turnarounds. The only spot you get to breath out of the plane is at the duty free . So little time to pick between The body shop, peri peri sauce, amarula liquor and biltong at the price of south african rand dropping you want to buy everything. I forgot to buy some wine for my boeuf Bourguignon. Gotta find one during my turnaround in Dijon at the end of the month. I heard Burgundy is great at that time of the year.