Dinner Disaster

“Welcome aboard,” I said, smiling at the bottom of the ramp stairs. We greeted a group of sales representatives and their wives from the Ford Motor Company.

We wore fitted Polynesian muumuus on all our nonmilitary flights to Hawaii. The full-length dresses were printed with bright flowers, snug, and tied in the back. They were slit high on the sides and were considered quite risqué for the time.

From the West Coast it took over five hours to reach Honolulu. After the captain turned off the seatbelt sign, we started the requested first class service. I was assigned to the rear galley and wore an apron over my muumuu.

Once Margie and Wanda returned with finished meals, I scraped garbage into a bin and placed the trays back into their metal containers. Next, I started a beverage service. Throughout this process in the tiny kitchen, I swiveled from ovens to tray bins to coffee pots. I couldn’t slow down for a second.

The airline coffee bags, made of flimsy cotton, were located high above the coffee maker. In my rush I reached for a bag and accidentally dropped it. It struck my shoulder and burst open. Coffee grinds spilled down the front and back of my muumuu.

There was no way I could continue working with the sand-like particles scratching the skin between my breasts and down my back.

“I’ll work the galley,” Wanda said. “You get changed.”

In the lavatory I tried to shake out the coffee grinds, but to no avail. I latched the door and took off my muumuu. I had bits of coffee in my bra and even in my panties. Double-checking the locked door, I stripped completely. I wiped my bare body and shook out my clothes, removing all traces of coffee.

While in the lavatory and still nude, I used the toilet. With typical multi-tasking competence, I wiped off the counter and basin with a paper towel while sitting on the commode. I then attempted to put the dirty towel in the overflowing garbage receptacle, but it was too full.

With force, I shoved it into the container. In doing so, I hit a sealed airsickness bag which literally exploded. Vomit struck me in the chest and I was covered from neck to belly with regurgitated food.

“SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” I screamed.

I cleaned myself as best I could, trying not to gag. Even with lots of soap and water, I still smelled like curdled milk. Opening the door just a crack, for I was still nude, I asked Margie for the bug spray.

“What happened? We’re still cleaning.”

“I’ll explain later,” I answered. “Just hand me the spray can.”

U. S. Agriculture regulations require all aircraft that land in Hawaii to be bug-sprayed, thus preventing any imported insects from ruining the state’s crops. The spray had a sweet metallic odor, but it was much better than the smell of a sour stomach.

After I emerged from the bathroom, Wanda and Margie wanted to know what took me so long. When I explained, they howled with laughter. They couldn’t wait to tell the others. I made them swear not to mention it to the cockpit, but I don’t think they kept their promise. After we reached Hawaii, the navigator smiled and held his nose whenever he passed me on the beach.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27