Fasten Your Seatbelts: A Flight Attendant's Adventures 36,000 Feet and Below (24 page)

I was irritable, exhausted and my stomach was bloated from the huge bean burrito I had devoured in Chicago. I did something I had never done before. I passed a lethal SBD (silent, but deadly) blast of gas! The odor was just awful; I could hardly stand it myself. The three chatterboxes paused, looked at each other in horror, and practically fell over each other evacuating the galley. Mission accomplished!

I chuckled to myself, “
Maybe I just found my new secret weapon
!”

full blue moon.
Very unusual
, I thought, as I looked up at the sky from the top deck of our house. It was 3 a.m., as I sipped my coffee.
I hope that doesn’t bring out the beast in people
, I mused. My Himalayan cats looked up at me with great sadness in their eyes — please don’t leave us again. They saw the suitcase packed and my uniform on, so they knew I would be gone for another couple of days.

I drove the usual fifty minutes to the airport and boarded the 6 a.m. commuter flight from Atlanta to Miami. After arriving, I took my time getting off the airplane as I still had plenty to spare until my working flight began.

I knew the captain who was flying the airplane, so I stopped in the cockpit to chat. He had an alarmed look on his face.

“All of our airplanes are grounded,” he said.

My heart sank, “Not another terrorist attack!”

“No, thank God, not that,” he said assuredly. “Some kind of computer glitch.”

Our airline could not retrieve any information such as passenger loads or gate information, not to mention flight plans. I could not even sign-in for my trip.

It took about three hours to fix the problem, but three hours is a long time to ground airplanes. This, along with weather, snowballed into one of the most hellish days in airline history.

The first day of our trip we were to fly three legs: Miami-Atlanta, Atlanta-Miami, Miami-Atlanta. With all the computer problems that morning, we managed to leave at 11:30 a.m. with only an hour delay. By the time we arrived in Atlanta, the system was running further behind.

We would now be leaving Atlanta two hours late. The gate agents started boarding passengers on our Super-80 aircraft around 3:45 p.m. We took off thirty minutes later heading for Miami for a one hour and twenty five minute flight. After about fifty minutes into the flight, I felt the plane doing a little maneuvering. You can feel your body getting heavy when this happens; it also makes you feel a little light-headed.

After completing our beverage service, the flight attendants gathered in the first class galley for a chat session. The captain called and said he needed to use the restroom. As he came out, he stated that Miami is getting hit with a torrential
thunderstorm. The airport is now closed, so we’ll be circling in the interim.

It seemed like forever as we circled in our holding position. The captain made an announcement that due to our fuel situation, we would have to divert to our alternate city, which is Tampa. A few minutes later the PA was heard, “Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”

Several passengers were hungry and asked if they could get off the airplane in Tampa. I told them I would do my best to convince the agents; after all, the last time I had eaten anything was around noon. It was now close to 7 p.m. This flight was a beverage service only in both cabins. We had nothing to offer but pretzels.

The captain taxied the airplane to the gate. The agents said everyone must remain onboard. I looked out the window to see the 767s, 757s and 737s, all getting refueled. We were all stuck in Tampa together waiting patiently for Miami’s weather to clear.

The other flight attendant, Annie, and I tried to make the best of an ugly situation. We filled trays with OJ and water and hand delivered them to our full load of passengers. Fifty minutes had gone by and then another forty minutes. The agent managed to get us four more bags of pretzels. I apologized to each person as I handed out their “dinner.” I thought the passengers were taking
the situation pretty well. A lot of them called their loved ones in Miami verifying the fact it was like a hurricane there.

The sun went down as we begrudgingly sat at the gate. We had been on the plane for a total of five hours so far. Finally, we heard the engines sputter. The seatbelt sign came on. “Hurry,” I said, “Take your seats; it’s time to go.” With utter anticipation, everyone who had been standing scrambled to their seats.

The captain said it would take a while for us to depart because there were a lot of airplanes in front of us. At this point we didn’t care, as long as we were moving. Once again the captain’s voice was heard, “We are number three for takeoff. Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff.” Everyone cheered!

We took off for our thirty minute flight to Miami. The turbulence was quite fierce, but we arrived safely. It was now 10 p.m. I couldn’t wait to get something to eat. Visions of all my choices were popping up in my head: pizza, chicken with rice, anything hot and comforting would do. I usually bring all kinds of food with me, but on that day I brought nothing.

We sat on the runway for some time. The dreaded captain’s voice returned. “Well, we apologize ladies and gentlemen; they are telling us it’s going to be another fifty minutes.” Everyone sighed — including me.

Passengers were up from their seats. Annie and I had given away pretty much everything we had. The ice drawer was now
water with a few remnants of ice chips. Fifty minutes came and went. The captain explained there were twenty one aircrafts full of people waiting just like us. Everything was at a standstill. Planes were parked at the gates with no flight crews because the flight crews were on the planes waiting to come in. They didn’t have the manned ground crew to transfer bags. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong.

Meanwhile, the once patient and understanding passengers were now facing a reality: we are trapped on this airplane and we can’t get off. Annie and I were sympathetic. I assured the passengers in the years I have been flying, nothing like this had ever happened.

I sat on my jumpseat to rest for a minute. I saw a man approaching me with all the signs of an outraged, fed up passenger. “What would happen if I opened up that exit? No kidding, I have had it,” he huffed. I was very much identifying with his anger. I smiled at him and showered him with kindness assuring him that we can’t stay here forever. This seemed to appease him for the moment as he returned to his seat.

Once again, an announcement was made of no progress. Passengers now lost all sense of dignity. I heard a passenger call 911. “What do you mean this is not an emergency? How many hours is it going to take before this is an emergency?” Click! From what I understood, calls to news channels, The
Miami Herald, the police station, and attempts to reach our airlines’ president were made. I looked at my watch. A quarter till twelve. I pulled a muscle in my leg earlier, I hadn’t eaten for twelve hours, and I was exhausted.

“Why can’t we park at another airlines’ gate?”

“Why can’t they send a bus to pick us up?”

“Am I going to make my South America connection?”

“What happens to my bags if my flight cancels tonight and I have to fly tomorrow?”

All of the questions were legitimate questions; I had no answers. I relayed everything that was asked to the captain. He too was getting fed up.

Chants were now starting. “WE WANT OFF, WE WANT OFF!” Call lights were purposely being pushed with frustration. I called the captain to let him in on the action. “Listen,” I said.

A few passengers were eyeballing the exits. One asked which exit would be the best to blow. I told him none of them would be good to blow. You definitely would not want to open the aft tail cone exit. You have to walk out on a catwalk, and then find the inflation handle to blow the slide. When you do find the handle, you must look for the silver pillow packs to ensure that the slide did indeed blow. His enthusiasm began to fade. “Well, how long are we supposed to be out here before
we take matters into our own hands?” I didn’t have any answers. I felt their pain!

The captain had the chief of pilots on the phone. It was getting pretty ugly. We had two families with babies. The mother came to me in the galley. “I have no more diapers. What am I supposed to do?” I am not a mother but deeply empathized with her. I told her we have stay-free maxi pads. Truly, I thought that was better than a poopy diaper. She probably knew at that point I wasn’t a mom and turned and walked away.

Finally, we heard the engines revving up, and the seatbelt sign came on. “Hurry,” I said. “Take your seats; it’s time to go.” This time they looked at me with skeptical looks on their faces, but obediently took their seats. We finally parked at our gate at 12:18 a.m.

We had a young boy who was not accompanied by an adult flying with us. The parents pay our airline a small fee and we basically watch over them during the flight. Normally, there are special agents who meet the flight and take the unaccompanied child to their loved ones. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone this night. The frustrated gate agent said I would have to take him. The little boy called his mother to let her know we had arrived. We assumed she would be right outside security, but she wasn’t there. I told Annie I would check on the hotel situation if she would escort the boy to find his mother.

Normally at 12:30 a.m., the airport is empty. Looking around it seemed like mid-day. Stranded families stopped me with their hands reaching out, pleading for me to help them. I couldn’t. Not that I didn’t want to, but I simply didn’t have any answers. I was hungry and tired myself, but my heart went out to them.

I made my way to our operations area. Stranded flight attendants with no hotels were everywhere. I was on hold for thirty minutes waiting for someone to pick-up my call to our hotel/limo desk. Finally, I got a human voice. All the flight attendants swarmed me. “Let me talk, let me talk,” they yelled. The man found a hotel thirty-five minutes away. We didn’t care where it was; we just wanted to sleep. The hour of 2 a.m. now passed. I looked up and saw Annie still attached to the unaccompanied minor. She couldn’t find his mom anywhere. Her cell phone went to voice mail; perhaps she had a dead battery. We handed the boy off to the manager on duty and headed for ground transportation.

All the stranded flight attendants hurriedly piled in the bus. Probably around thirty of us total. No one said a word for quite a while. Then the silence was broken by someone yelling, “Does anyone have an empty bag?” I looked up and saw Annie, pale as a ghost. She was so fatigued and exhausted that
it made her physically sick. We all sat there in a daze while poor Annie threw up.

Finally, we arrived at the hotel at 3 a.m. The hotel clerk was overwhelmed at seeing all of us. It took him forever. So, at 3:30 a.m., I saw the most wonderful bed I had ever seen in my life. (Tacky blue-checked bedspread and all.)

As I lay in bed, I kept replaying the day’s events. Did I do everything I could to make things better? I hope I didn’t say anything wrong?

A little over 24 hours ago, I was on my balcony, sipping my coffee gazing up at that full blue moon. I remember thinking,
I hope that doesn’t bring out the craziness in people
. Hmm, maybe there is something to a full moon after all.