First class to Italy

“Yes! We got it!” I raised my arms in triumph as we stood in the dispatch office in Oakland. “We’re flying to Rome!”

Cindy, Gail, and I had our flight bids accepted. We would be together for the next month, flying most of the time between the East Coast and Europe. Our first trip had us working a flight from California to Italy. Our passengers were a group of wealthy opera aficionados.

Whenever our airline was chartered by a group of affluent tourists, they received outstanding service. Charter planes were not divided between first, business, and tourist classes; the passengers enjoyed one category of service, whatever type the group had contracted. The opera organization requested first-class benefits.

We had been on duty two hours before the California passengers boarded at the Oakland terminal. Standing at the bottom of the aft ramp, I smiled and said, “Welcome aboard.” I could feel their enthusiasm as they walked up the portable stairs.

As the cabin crew helped them find their seats, I passed out blankets, pillows, and hard candy. Dissolving the candies provided relief to those with ear-pressure issues. We also distributed cigarettes, matchbooks, slippers, and eyeshades.

As the travelers were settling in, we demonstrated the use of life vests and oxygen masks. Finally, I returned to the rear jump seat and prepared for take-off. Before landing ten hours later, we would endure a marathon of services: dinner and breakfast meals, hors d’oeuvres, and four beverage dispersals.

We left Oakland right on time, and after donning our leather-like aprons we passed out hot towels scented with lemon. From the back, Cindy and I began a liquor distribution while Gail set up the galley for dinner.

“You’ll receive two mini-bottles,” I told the passengers. “Do you want rum, whisky, vodka, bourbon, scotch, or gin?”

Standing by their seats, Cindy and I added soda, water, and ice as they requested. They couldn’t believe they were getting two bottles each.

The next course was hot hors d’oeuvres. Colorful shish kabobs, lying in steaming juices, lined a deep, silver tray.

Walking backwards, Cindy picked a skewer from the tray I held. She used tongs to rest it on a doily-covered plate and presented the kabob to a passenger. We worked as a well-coordinated team among a happy group of well-sloshed travelers.

They called to each other and chatted around us, oblivious to our movements. As I walked up the aisle, a man on my left abruptly rose from his seat.

His shoulder collided with my tray and flipped it in the air. It landed upside down on a woman on the opposite side of the aisle.

“NO! NO! NO!” she screamed, rising to her feet. “I can’t believe it! This whole plane and you had to dump it on me!”

Globs of dark sauce and chunks of meat and vegetables smothered her beautiful white suit. She was plastered from the tip of her collar to the hem of her skirt.

I apologized profusely and attempted to wipe off the worst of the mess, but she continued berating me.

“It had to happen to me! You! You’ve ruined my whole vacation!”

I was practically in tears from her fierce tirade.

“Please come with me,” I said. “Let’s get you changed. We’ll use a restroom at the back of the plane.”

As she followed me down the aisle, she showed the other passengers how terrible she looked. As if they couldn’t see for themselves.

“Gail, do you have some extra clothes?”

With one look at the once-white suit, Gail started to giggle. She quickly placed a hand over her mouth and covered her smile.

“Hi, I’m Gail. I have a blouse and slacks that will definitely fit you.”

The woman grudgingly stuck out her hand. “I’m Mrs. Manning. Anything is better than this.”

I helped Mrs. Manning replace her damaged suit with Gail’s extra clothes. She was feeling slightly better when I loaned her an apron and pinned on my wings. It might have been the liquor, but from then on she loved every minute of the flight. She helped clean trays, visited with the passengers, and thoroughly enjoyed being a flight attendant.

As the cabin crew passed out after-dinner drinks (again, two mini-bottles each), I poured champagne. Popping champagne bottles can be quite dangerous. During airline school I learned to slowly twist the bottle and gradually ease out the cork. On first-class voyages, opening champagne bottles became my specialty.

After the shish kabob spill, I washed Mrs. Manning’s suit in the lavatory and hung it in our coat rack. By the time we approached Rome the suit was dry and had resumed its original shape and color.

As the plane began to descend, a child started to scream. With the altitude change, air pressure in the cabin increased. The five-year-old boy was responding to his ears being blocked. I grabbed some hard candy and gave them to his mother.

“Have him suck on one of these,” I told her. “Get him to yawn. That’ll also help.”

I left them to wake Mrs. Manning. I needed to return her clothes and retrieve my apron and wings. While she was changing, Cindy, Gail, and I walked through the cabin. We checked to make sure all tray tables and window shades were up and that the passengers had their seat belts fastened. We then handed coats and hats to the still inebriated passengers.

Once Mrs. Manning had dressed in her white suit, I handed her a cleaner’s coupon.

“Please forgive me,” I said. “I am so sorry for the mess and inconvenience you endured.”

Mrs. Manning thanked me for taking such good care of her and handed me back the coupon.

“I should apologize to you,” she replied. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

As she left the plane, I noticed how stunning she looked in her sparkling white suit, not a spot of grease anywhere. With one last glance, she threw me a kiss and entered the Rome terminal.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27