Confessions of a Hostie 3 (18 page)

We keep searching. Rob reaches behind the
toilet to find a small panel. He pulls the panel out. There is a
switch of sorts behind it. He flicks it and the toilet stops
flushing.

Crisis averted.

I don't know of a plane that has crashed
because of water malfunctions, but I do know of several which have
had to land at the nearest available airport. In one case, the
damage to the aircraft was such that the plane was out of service
for over a week. That's big.

With our flight, we are in the middle of
nowhere. Had the water problem not been solved, who knows what the
outcome may have been. It is fixed, there is no time for
what ifs
and
maybes
, now we need to clean up the mess.

It takes some time to mop up all the water;
there are no mops or giant sponges onboard. We use at least a dozen
blankets, ringing them into the toilet's hand basin the best we
can. There is a lot of water.

Over 20 passengers have wet carpet under
their feet and now no blankets, although most are understanding,
including the comb-over man. There are five spare seats in business
class. Rob moves the worst affected passengers to those seats. The
only other seats are right down the back - and we know who is
sitting down there.

Rob decides to get as many business class
blankets, amenity kits, pajamas, and socks as we can muster on the
aircraft, handing them out to the most affected passengers. We are
a few blankets short. In an ironic twist, I go to get the spare
blankets from the vacant seats around Mrs. Bacher. She won't let me
take them. I politely explained that we needed to use some
passengers' blankets to mop up a spillage and those poor passengers
were now without blankets.

'I don't care' was her reply.

I walk away toward the galley to also start
singing ELO's
The Evil Woman
.

When no one is around, Thomas begins calling
Mrs. Bacher a similar name beginning with
F
, understanding that
Bacher
is pronounced
Bucker
.

Undeterred, I have tolerated this woman for
most of the flight - I won't let her get under my skin now.

I step up my niceness.

We do another full meal service before
landing in Joburg. This time we reverse the service. This mean we
start at the back; Mrs. Bacher is served first. Thomas is very
chatty, explaining in intricate professional detail the full menu
options. He receives a one word reply - no eye contact, no
acknowledgement.

'There you go Mrs. Bacher. I hope you enjoy
your meal. Bon appetit.'

She snaps the tray from Thomas's hands.

This woman has tested our tolerance - and
more. To smile at someone we so obviously despise is no easy feat.
I've already learned that Thomas is a great actor. Maybe I am too?
Even so, our patience is worn thinner than one of the comb-over
man's strands of hairs. We can't wait to arrive in Joburg.

It has been an arduous flight. We often work
hardest when we are the most tired. With that extra meal service,
which we postpone to the last minute so as to let passengers get
maximum sleep, we are pushed for time to clear the cabin and
prepare it for landing. The passengers are also more active, using
toilets and readying themselves for landing. There are passengers
in the cabin everywhere. We have difficulty moving around the
cabin. In addition, we need to clear the galleys as well as the
cabin.

There is one positive: We are kept so busy
that Mrs. Bacher's rudeness plays second fiddle to other onboard
issues, although every time I looked anywhere near her vicinity, I
see her sour face. Her expression is still the same. They say it
takes more muscles to frown than to smile. She must be
exhausted.

Our comb-over man has slept and is now awake.
Thomas points out that the comb-over man left his seat several
times to visited the toilets, which have mirrors, and yet he still
has the same crumb of muffin or cake under his strands of his hair.
We are dumbfounded he cannot see it, but then again, he obviously
can't - because if he could see the top of his head he would
realize how ridiculous the comb-over looks in the first place.

The wheels touch down. I am seated just
behind and off to the side of Mrs. Bacher. She has said nothing to
me nor her family. Her expression is predictably the same. When the
seatbelt sign is turned off, she gets her bag from the overhead
locker in readiness to leave. I go out of my way to get her
attention.

'Welcome to Johannesburg Mrs. Bacher. I know
it was a long flight, but I trust we made it bearable for you.'

I had not rehearsed what I was going to say,
yet I did it in a polite and professional manner. I was not sure if
she was going to say anything. What she did say, I must admit, came
as a shock:

'I cannot criticize the pilots because they
got us here safely' she says loudly in her broad South African
accent, 'but what happened in the cabin, well, that was ABSOLUTE
NONSENSE.'

They say that 80% of communication is not
what you say, it is how you say it. She said the
absolute nonsense
speech in such a way that would
send shivers up the Devil's spine. Regardless of our motivation to
treat her well, we did treat her and her family exceptionally well.
She truly is an evil woman.

Thomas could hear Mrs. Bacher's loud voice,
although all he heard was the
absolute
nonsense
part. He does a much better South African
accent than I, so it is he who tells the rest of the crew of her
parting shot. Many of the crew dealt with her throughout the
flight. She upset everyone; no exceptions. They initially laugh at
Thomas's retelling of Mrs. Bacher's words, however that mood is
quickly replaced by anger.

Trying to be nice to someone who doesn't
deserve it tends to build up much hostility, particularly when
we've had to deal with this woman for so many hours. I tell Thomas
that a woman like that would have a whole life of 'absolute
nonsenses'.

I can't recall not finding something positive
in a person before.

Congratulations Mrs. Bacher - you're my
first.

Some of the crew, including Thomas and
Franco, come to the hotel's bar for a drink. Most of us have just
the one drink. We are shattered. As much as I like learning about
crew's lives and discussing interesting subjects outside of flying,
it is now time to vent. Mrs. Bacher is still the topic of
conversation. Rarely does someone get under our skin with such
intensity. There were over 400 other passengers on the flight and
all, but Mrs. Bacher and her daughter, seemed lovely. It is such a
shame the worst passengers take up so much of our time and are the
ones we often remember most.

Thomas sings
Evil
Woman
again, this time with an exaggerated South African
accent. It must be hard to do, yet he does it so well. We are in
giggling fits as we sing along with him. It is the pressure valve
release we needed.

Franco confirms our trip to Soweto for the
next day. Franco has befriended one of the employees at the hotel;
a young man named Patrick. At only 22, Patrick is an African local,
and according to Franco, he is a warm-hearted young man with an
incredibly mature outlook on life. Although not an official hotel
service, the hotel allows Patrick to finish work early so as he can
drive Franco (and now me) to Soweto. Thoughts of Mrs. Bacher
subside as spending a day in Soweto now occupies my thoughts.

I am the first to leave the bar, although the
others insist they won't be far behind me. Thomas is playing golf
with one of our pilots early the next morning and Franco, like me,
is resigned to waking up in the early hours of the morning. I know
I will wake up at 2.15 a.m. I will probably see the boys at
breakfast. The buffet opens at 6.30. I have a feeling I'll be there
at 06.31.

I sit up with a jolt. The room is pitch-black
except for the glow from the bedside clock: 2.17 a.m. I chuckle to
myself as I am two minutes out with my waking prediction.

I am constantly baffled that I wake up at
(roughly) the same time regardless of what continent I may be in.
There are no correlations between African and North or even South
American time, yet I wake at the same time. Forget the Bermuda
Triangle - this is my mystery.

I have over four hours of contemplation
before the breakfast buffet is open. South African television in
the early hours of the morning is not exactly must-see TV, so I
turn on my computer. People often ask me: When do you get time to
write?

Now you know.

My lifestyle and job may appear hectic, it
is, but I do get plenty of time to myself. For every hour I spend
in the air, I get at least three times as much at the destination.
Of course there is jetlag, sleep-time, and general recovery time,
but if you look at pure statistics, we flight attendants get far
more time to ourselves than the average workers.

Even when I am at work I often get time to
write. We do get breaks on the aircraft. The longer the flight, the
longer the breaks. I rarely sleep on a plane. That is not by
choice, it is just me. If someone could give me a magic trick to
sleep, without taking a pill (we are not allowed to take sleeping
pills while at work), I would gladly try to put it into practice.
Nobody has come forth, so I use my 'awake' time wisely.

During my breaks, I'll often type away if it
is practical to do so. I love writing on the plane. It is ironic
being on a plane and writing about about incidences which have only
just occurred.

I am not a note-taker. These days I can type
quicker than I can write, so writing about incidences when they
have only just happened is the best way for me. I am fortunate to
have a pretty good memory, so it is not always imperative to write
immediately. I once joked that when I was a little girl I had a
fairy godmother. She granted me one wish: Later in life I could
either be extremely wealthy OR I could have a good memory. Sadly I
can remember which one I chose.

Not only do I write at work, I am regularly
traveling around in my own time - and I always have my computer
handy. It has been so long since I watched a movie or read a book
while traveling. I find it the perfect time to unwind and type. For
me, writing is not a choir.

At work we are often affected by flight
delays. It goes hand-in-hand with airline travel. There are so many
variables: weather, mechanical hiccups, crewing issues, airport and
security matters, computer and airline glitches, air traffic
congestion, and the list goes on. Anyone who thinks every airline
and flight will achieve 100% on-time departures and arrivals is
dreaming.

In my years of flying I've spent countless
hours hanging about airport lounges. When a flight is delayed and
the rest of the crew are grumbling; I grab a latte, turn on my
computer, and type frantically. I love it. There is no such thing
as a wasted moment when you are passionate about something.

We travel by bus to and from the crew hotels
we stay. Airports are never in the city center. We don't always
stay in the prime locations, yet most of the destinations involve
sizable travel time, by bus, to and from the airports, often
between 30 minutes and an hour - sometimes longer. Most of the
cities are large, with traffic congestion and delays. On a recent
trip, I was away for a week, worked to three destinations, and I
spent eight hours on buses. International airline crew spend more
time in buses, yearly, than most would spend in their car.

What did I do in those eight hours?

I typed.

After a long day's work, most of the crew nod
off or listen to music on each bus journey to our hotel. I type,
finding it the perfect time to reflect on the day's events - or to
forget about them (depending on what sort of day it was).

When away on trips, for me, the best time to
write is at 2.15 in the morning. I often wonder what other crew do
in the early hours of the morning when there is little else to do.
I know some go to the gym, some watch TV, and some must stare at
the walls. It pays to have a hobby in this job. I have a few, but
tapping away at the computer keys is one of my favorites.

Most crew have some sort of hobby or activity
they are able to do while away. Some are into photography, some
read, others study, and some run businesses. Thomas mentioned he
has an investment company, coming from a business background before
he joined the airline 16 years ago. He has continued to do both.
Many do.

Thomas said something very funny onboard. I
told him I do my best thinking in the early hours of the morning.
He said he does most of his thinking while waiting at traffic
lights.

He said with a smile 'Mostly I think that I
really should buy a car.'

I laughed. I love a great sense of humor. I
am not the best joke teller, but am not bad at remembering jokes -
the good ones.

I keep typing away: 2.17 quickly becomes
6.17.

The breakfast buffet is open. Almost every
hotel I've stayed has a buffet breakfast of some description. Most
are exceptional. This one in Joburg certainly is. With that said, I
try to avoid buffets. I, like most, tend to eat way too much when
it is all laid out in front of me. Showing restraint is often
difficult.

'I'll go to the gym after breakfast' I
justify to myself as I enter the buffet area.

When I see all the lovely food, I mutter
'I'll definitely go to the gym - maybe for an hour.'

Not surprisingly, some of my crew are already
seated - and indulging. Franco and Thomas are at a table with one
of the pilots, Ian. They wave me over to join them.