At 32,000 feet, it’s a little disconcerting when you watch a flight attendant lose it.
Today, I flew home from the east coast. A direct fight, I was eager to begin my journey home.
Everything went well enough when I boarded my flight: bags got checked without incident, and I made it through security without needing to go through the new scanning machine. My flight was on time, though it did leave almost half an hour late due to the tow truck that was to back us away from out gate breaking down.
Upon getting seated on my flight, one of the flight attendants was commenting to the passengers seated in the row ahead of me that he didn’t need to do anything on this flight, as there was an entire other flight crew who was putting in their second training run before they graduate on Wednesday. I found that to be interesting, as I’d never flown with a second flight crew before and was curious to see how that might play out.
An hour and a half into our flight, the male flight attendant who had told us he had nothing to do on the flight became agitated—quite so. He pulled his luggage from the overhead bin, plopped it down on the floor in front of the feet of the men sitting in the bulkhead seats ahead of me and proceeded to rummage through the entire contents of said suitcase with an intensity that became somewhat unnerving.
Though not pleased, he zipped up the luggage and replaced it in the overhead bin. Then he proceeded to search the area—all of it—surrounding the bulkhead seats. He checked seatback pockets, overhead bins and pull out safety bins used only by the flight crew. All this he did with meticulous care and with a determination that left nothing to the imagination that something was wrong. By this time, he had gained the attention of eleven nearby passengers, myself included.
Still unhappy, the attendant got out his suitcase and again searched it, going through every last item contained within, going so far as to shake out each and every pair of underwear—all Polo by the way. The contents of his luggage littering the floor of the plane, he continued his search in earnest, each of us passengers becoming more and more curious what the heck could have him so worked up.
By now, forty-five minutes had passed with this “show” going on. One of the men in front of me commented on the length of time, which I’d also noted, and said, “Well, this sure beats an in-flight movie,” to which we all laughed.
It wasn’t that we were laughing at the stressed out flight attendant, but rather we’d grown so worked up by this time that laughter was the only way we knew to relieve our mounting anxiety.
The attendant put his suitcase back in the overhead bin and then shocked all of us when he got down on his hands and knees to begin and in depth search under all the chairs in the area. By now he’d told us, after several had asked, that he was looking for a brown box containing a facial serum he’d just bought in a duty-free shop but had seemed to lose. The attendant was tearing the plane apart, up to an including insisting that several passengers get up so he could search their seats, wondering if his missing item had fallen out of his luggage. The attendant went so far as to rip away those passengers’ seat cushions as they stood, mouths agape, in the aisle, watching.
By the time the attendant finished his quest, and several other flight crew members had tried to calm him down, all our nerves were on edge and an hour, yes, an entire hour had passed. Though the attendant hadn’t found his missing serum, we were thrilled that he finally gave up his search and went to join the rest of the crew back in the galley.
A short time later, I happened back there, having to use the restroom. As I stood to wait my turn, I couldn’t help but overhear the man tell his fellow flight attendants that it wasn’t facial serum he’d been searching for but rather, a ring he’d bought for his intended. Hearing the sadness in his voice, my heart went out to him.
While I was on board, the attendant never did find what he was looking for, though he did make a joke, as we taxied to our gate, that perhaps he should have TSA agents come aboard and search each passenger before allowing them to leave the plane. Though his words were said in jest—somewhat—the message got through that he believed someone had found and taken the ring.
We all just looked at him, not really sure what to say to his “joke.” As I passed him to disembark, I paused to tell him that I hoped he’d find what he was looking for. He looked back at me, appreciative of my sentiments, but his face hung with a heaviness it hadn’t shown at the beginning of the flight.
I’m not sure if he ever did find the missing ring. I hope so. I hope no one took it. I do understand how troubling his losing it must have been and his resistance to say what he’d really lost. A sticky situation all around….
Today, I flew home from the east coast. A direct fight, I was eager to begin my journey home.
Everything went well enough when I boarded my flight: bags got checked without incident, and I made it through security without needing to go through the new scanning machine. My flight was on time, though it did leave almost half an hour late due to the tow truck that was to back us away from out gate breaking down.
Upon getting seated on my flight, one of the flight attendants was commenting to the passengers seated in the row ahead of me that he didn’t need to do anything on this flight, as there was an entire other flight crew who was putting in their second training run before they graduate on Wednesday. I found that to be interesting, as I’d never flown with a second flight crew before and was curious to see how that might play out.
An hour and a half into our flight, the male flight attendant who had told us he had nothing to do on the flight became agitated—quite so. He pulled his luggage from the overhead bin, plopped it down on the floor in front of the feet of the men sitting in the bulkhead seats ahead of me and proceeded to rummage through the entire contents of said suitcase with an intensity that became somewhat unnerving.
Though not pleased, he zipped up the luggage and replaced it in the overhead bin. Then he proceeded to search the area—all of it—surrounding the bulkhead seats. He checked seatback pockets, overhead bins and pull out safety bins used only by the flight crew. All this he did with meticulous care and with a determination that left nothing to the imagination that something was wrong. By this time, he had gained the attention of eleven nearby passengers, myself included.
Still unhappy, the attendant got out his suitcase and again searched it, going through every last item contained within, going so far as to shake out each and every pair of underwear—all Polo by the way. The contents of his luggage littering the floor of the plane, he continued his search in earnest, each of us passengers becoming more and more curious what the heck could have him so worked up.
By now, forty-five minutes had passed with this “show” going on. One of the men in front of me commented on the length of time, which I’d also noted, and said, “Well, this sure beats an in-flight movie,” to which we all laughed.
It wasn’t that we were laughing at the stressed out flight attendant, but rather we’d grown so worked up by this time that laughter was the only way we knew to relieve our mounting anxiety.
The attendant put his suitcase back in the overhead bin and then shocked all of us when he got down on his hands and knees to begin and in depth search under all the chairs in the area. By now he’d told us, after several had asked, that he was looking for a brown box containing a facial serum he’d just bought in a duty-free shop but had seemed to lose. The attendant was tearing the plane apart, up to an including insisting that several passengers get up so he could search their seats, wondering if his missing item had fallen out of his luggage. The attendant went so far as to rip away those passengers’ seat cushions as they stood, mouths agape, in the aisle, watching.
By the time the attendant finished his quest, and several other flight crew members had tried to calm him down, all our nerves were on edge and an hour, yes, an entire hour had passed. Though the attendant hadn’t found his missing serum, we were thrilled that he finally gave up his search and went to join the rest of the crew back in the galley.
A short time later, I happened back there, having to use the restroom. As I stood to wait my turn, I couldn’t help but overhear the man tell his fellow flight attendants that it wasn’t facial serum he’d been searching for but rather, a ring he’d bought for his intended. Hearing the sadness in his voice, my heart went out to him.
While I was on board, the attendant never did find what he was looking for, though he did make a joke, as we taxied to our gate, that perhaps he should have TSA agents come aboard and search each passenger before allowing them to leave the plane. Though his words were said in jest—somewhat—the message got through that he believed someone had found and taken the ring.
We all just looked at him, not really sure what to say to his “joke.” As I passed him to disembark, I paused to tell him that I hoped he’d find what he was looking for. He looked back at me, appreciative of my sentiments, but his face hung with a heaviness it hadn’t shown at the beginning of the flight.
I’m not sure if he ever did find the missing ring. I hope so. I hope no one took it. I do understand how troubling his losing it must have been and his resistance to say what he’d really lost. A sticky situation all around….
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