Confessions of a Hostie 3 (17 page)

'Kill her with kindness?' says Thomas 'I like
it. Do you think you can turn her around?'

'No.'

'Can I play too?' he says cheekily.

Thomas is treating this as a game. Sometimes
it is best to do so.

This is now a challenge. I am confident that
even though we will do everything within our power to give this
woman a good flight, it will be in vain. Normally crew do not
reward bad behavior, but this is different. Angry passengers are
generally that way for a reason. Sometimes it is from circumstances
beyond anyone's control. I've had passengers who came onboard angry
and aggressive, to treat them well, then to later receive an
apology; finding out the real reason for their anger. In one
instance a man, who was horrible to the crew, was on the flight to
attend the funeral of his father. We had no idea at the time until
he apologized for his outbursts. We were very sympathetic.

Every passenger has a story. Most passengers
have a reason for behaving the way they do. Most, not all.

I could be wrong, but I don't think Mrs.
Bacher has such justifications. I think she is just a nasty woman.
Her husband seems jovial enough, given the circumstances of who he
is married to. You can tell he is scared of his wife. The daughter,
in her early twenties, is a carbon copy of the mother, also being
sour-faced. I have heard how she talks to her father. I am
disgusted. If I talked like that to my father he would have clipped
me under the ear - and deservedly so. The father has no respect
from his wife or daughter. What a painful life he must live.

Regardless of how spineless the poor husband
is, he is trying to be polite to Thomas and me. He appears an open
book. If the Bacher family were going through some traumatic
experience, he too would be affected. He seems the type of man who
would alert the crew of any distress the family may be under. Mrs.
Bacher certainly would, particularly if it meant getting
preferential treatment. I reassert my belief that Mrs. Bacher has
few excuses - and is just a horrid woman.

Thomas is a cheeky boy. As far as Mrs. Bacher
is concerned, I don't want to be seen as sarcastic and
condescending. I want to genuinely try and turn her around. I tell
Thomas this. He agrees. Thomas can be very charming. I have an
accomplice.

We are about to serve lunch. We know the
Bacher family will be last to be served, so Thomas and I approach
them, and those around them, with some snacks and wine. Mrs. Bacher
and her daughter refuse the wine, but take the snacks. There is no
thank you, no hint of gratitude. The husband takes the wine; who
could blame him? He says 'thank you'. Thomas has dealt with the
husband previously, yet this is first direct dealing with his wife
and daughter. Back in the galley Thomas comments that Mrs. Bacher
is more than just angry - she is downright evil.

We finally push the meal cart to the back of
the aircraft. The inevitable has occurred - we have run out of meal
choices. We only have a chicken meal. Thomas is on the side of the
cart facing the Bachers.

'Hello Mrs. Bacher' he says in his most
polite voice, 'we have a delicious chicken dish, but...'

Before having the chance to say any more,
Mrs. Bacher rants and raves again. Thomas interrupts her vicious
onslaught by saying he will make a quick phone call. Only a step
away is my crew jump seat which has an interphone. Thomas picks it
up.

'Hello, this is Thomas here; that's the first
class galley? Look I know you are in the middle of your service,
but can I come up soon and get a meal for one or two our
passengers? Alright, I'll give it 20 minutes. Thank you, it's much
appreciated.'

Thomas talked loud enough that Mrs. Bacher
would have clearly heard the whole conversation. He would later
tell me that he didn't call the galley at all. He made it all up. I
must say he is a good actor. I believed him and Mrs. Bacher would
have had no idea it was a ruse.

He put the phone down to face Mrs.
Bacher.

Before he has the chance to talk she
continues ranting about how long she has had to wait for a
meal.

To Thomas's credit, he is very
diplomatic.

'Some of the first class passengers have also
yet to receive a meal, but I have contacted the first class galley
and as soon as they've finished they have promised me access to
whatever is available.'

'I'm not going to wait another 20 minutes'
she barks.

Her husband is prepared to wait. Even the
daughter is prepared to wait.

'I can offer you the chicken now or we can
take our chances with the first class cuisine. It may well be
chicken also, but it is first class cuisine - it is usually very
good. It is your choice' says Thomas.

Mrs. Bacher reluctantly agrees to wait.

From the back galley Thomas rings the front
galley - for real this time. By the way, this aircraft does not
have first class, although Thomas used the words
first class
repeatedly. It is actually business
class up the front. I could see what Thomas was trying to achieve.
He is very convincing.

Business class do have some meals available,
but only fish and one steak dish.

Ten minutes later Thomas goes up the front of
the plane. He tells the crew to keep the steak for themselves,
grabbing one of the fish dishes only. He takes two business class
plates, putting vegetables on each. He carries all to the back
galley to place the fish in a warm oven and the two plates of
vegetables on the bench. He puts two of our leftover meals, being
chicken, beside the plates.

He says to me 'You are quite creative
Danielle, can you plate these up to look like a first class meal?
I'll be back in a minute.'

I know what Thomas is talking about.

He goes to the Bacher family to explain that
first class had one fish meal and two chicken meals available. He
does not use the word:
leftover
.

Although Thomas asks the whole family, it is
Mrs. Bacher who bellows 'I don't eat fish. Give me the
chicken.'

The daughter talks next, taking the other
chicken dish, the husband gratefully accepts the fish. Thomas is
very happy with the ordering outcome.

I did a fairly good job in glamorizing the
chicken meal; the extra vegetables helped. It could have passed for
a first class meal, especially to someone who has never traveled
first class before. Thomas is impressed. When returning to the
galley after delivering the meals, he relays that the father said
'thank you' but the mother and the daughter said nothing. He notes
that Mrs. Bacher snatched the meal out of his hand.

Just then, Thomas breaks into song - singing
E.L.O's
The Evil Woman
.

Apart from dealing with Mrs. Bacher, working
on a cart with Thomas is fun. He has a devilish sense of humor. One
of the passengers, in the aisle seat in our zone, has the worst
comb-over hairstyle I have ever seen - although any comb-over looks
pretty bad, I say. As passengers are seated and we are standing, we
look straight down on people's heads, particularly those in aisle
seats. We see some sights. Every time we approach 'the comb-over
man' as we now call him, Thomas can barely hold in his
laughter.

His face reddens, his cheeks swell; Thomas is
so close to losing self-control. It is not just the eleven strands
of hair which are dragged across this man's scalp and plastered
down which threaten Thomas to giggle uncontrollably, it is that the
comb-over man has something stuck under his hair. It looks like a
large crumb of food. What it is and how it got there is the subject
of heated (but good-natured) debate.

It is impossible not to stare. While
collecting trays, Thomas leans over the man to remove the trays and
rubbish from the passengers seated next to the comb-over man.
Thomas is tall. He is in the prime position to look at the man's
hair - and whatever it is stuck under the strands.

Thomas turns to me with tears in his
eyes.

'Muffin or cake' he whispers. 'My money is on
muffin. Now the question is: What flavor?'

The passengers would have no idea what we
would be talking about, even if they heard the comment.

We collect the used trays from the Bachers.
Not a morsel is left on their plates. Only Mr. Bacher says 'thank
you.' It is what we expected.

With the cabin cleared, the lights are turned
down, allowing the passengers to relax and recline their seats if
they wish.

Within minutes of the lights being dimmed,
there's a problem:

I mentioned that the back row of seats, where
Mrs. Bacher sits, has the benefit of being able to recline the seat
without someone accidentally (or deliberately) bumping or kicking
the seat. The same can't be said for those in front of that back
row. A passenger, a nice girl, has come to the galley to complain
that when she reclined her seat the passenger behind started
kicking the seat.

Her exact words are: Kicking AND
screaming.

We know which passenger it is.

Now it is getting out of hand. It is bad
enough that Mrs. Bacher is rude to the crew, but now she is
upsetting passengers around her. That is unacceptable. Thomas and I
have a point to prove, which will come undone if we read Mrs.
Bacher the riot act, however we can't have her terrorizing other
passengers. I come up with an alternative.

I talk to Rob. We have several spare seats in
business class. Sitting down the back are a family of four, with
both parents top-level frequent flyers and their children young
adults I suggest we move the valued clientele to business class,
freeing a whole row of seats down the back. The girl who had her
seat kicked is travelling with two friends. They can move to the
newly-vacant row with a seat spare - and, more importantly, be away
from Mrs. Bacher. The Bachers are in a row of four, with another
girl, travelling on her own, occupying the other aisle seat.

Regardless of my efforts to be nice to Mrs.
Bacher, the girl in their row is first to be offered one of the
now-vacated seats in the row in front. She gleefully accepts. I
then tell the Bachers that they have extra room and if one of them
would like to move forward, it is alright to do so. Mrs. Bacher
sends her daughter, telling her to move along to the middle seat.
This would be so when the seat was reclined it would not affect
Mrs. Bacher. She might be evil and totally self-centered, yet she
is smart.

Many of the passengers attempt to sleep.
Some, including Mrs. Bacher, continue to watch movies. Thankfully
nothing goes wrong with her entertainment system. We could only
imagine the pandemonium she would inflict on us if she was
bored.

Each time Thomas or I walk past the Bachers
we ask if there is anything we can get them. Mrs. Bacher grunts and
looks away. We gather that means 'no'. The daughter places her hand
in the air, also not making eye contact. We gather that too means
'no'. Her husband has a few more glasses of wine. Who could blame
him?

On long flights like this, the toilets become
an integral component of the flight. They are used continually, so
we are regularly checking, cleaning, and restocking. One of the
mid-cabin toilets has a problem - appearing to be blocked. It is
not flushing properly. We report it to Rob, who in turn informs the
pilots. We block the toilet off. This means locking the door, which
we are able to do from the outside. We then place an
out-of-service
tag on the door.

Thomas and I are in galley when a passenger
tells us that there is water in the cabin. I race out to see a
steady stream of water running from under the blocked-off toilet's
door - making its way down the aisle - and already running past
four or five rows of seats. Passengers begin standing up, including
our comb-over man.

'Call Rob' I instruct Thomas as I unlatch the
toilet door.

I discover the toilet overflowing and
continuing to flush. The water, thank god, is clear. The toilet
appears to be fully blocked and although earlier it would not
flush, it now won't stop flushing. The excess water has nowhere to
go but up and over the bowl - and then out into the cabin. As the
plane flies with the nose slightly raised, this means all the water
flows aft. There are no drains or plugs on aircraft toilet floors,
so what overflows has to go somewhere.

Rob arrives while Thomas communicates with
the captain. This is serious stuff. It might only be water, but we
are on an aircraft at nearly 40,000 feet. As I said: Water has to
go somewhere. Under us are electrical systems and god knows what
else. Rob grabs as many nearby blankets as he can. He throws them
on the toilet floor in an effort to soak up the water. With
passengers beginning to realize the potential severity of the
problem, they too hand over blankets.

'Is there a water shutoff valve?' I yell to
Thomas, now communicating directly with the captain.

The best answer he can get is: 'Yes there
would be, but we don't know where. It is one of the manuals if you
can look it up.'

'Look it up in a manual?' I mutter while I am
ankle deep in water, with more spilling over the bowl and onto the
floor. 'Is he kidding me?'

I expected the captain would know how to shut
off the toilet water. I guess he can't know every functioning
apparatus on the aircraft. I've seen the zillion switches on the
flight deck, I am amazed he knows what they are all about, but that
doesn't help us now.

We haven't time to start reading manuals. I
ask Rob to help me. We start ripping off panels from around the
toilet, trying to locate a valve. We do; immediately shutting it
off. The toilet keeps flushing. As the toilet is already full and
there is water everywhere, it is difficult to ascertain if the
water has stopped flowing.