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reprobaytFlying the Unfriendly Skies
IT is a typical day for the flight attendants aboard American Airlines Flight 710, a 737-800 headed from Dallas to New York with a scheduled departure time of 9:05 a.m.
As Debbie Nicks, 56, works in the first-class galley, brewing coffeeand hanging up passengers’ jackets, she glances down the jetway andnotices a crush of people at the gate. An earlier flight to New Yorkhas been canceled, and people from that flight are desperate to get onthis one. It is a familiar scene these days, what with many planesflying at near capacity, and so Debbie just continues her regularroutine, making the announcement to passengers onboard that they shouldmake sure all carry-on luggage is stored either in the overhead bin orbelow the seat in front of them.
Back in coach, Anna Wallace McCrummen, 45, organizes the cart ofdrinks and food for sale that would later be pushed down the narrowaisle, then takes a blue rubber mallet to whack a bag of ice cubes thathad frozen into a solid block. She hits it over and over again, perhapsa little too keenly, as the sound — thwop, thwop, thwop — echoes offthe walls of the small galley.
Meanwhile, in the main cabin, Jane Marshall, 50, walks down theaisle, checking to make sure people are finding their correct seats,keeping an eye out for passengers who have sneaked on luggage that sheknows won’t fit in the overhead space and trying to defuse any tensesituations before they escalate into crises. But perhaps it is alreadytoo late. Two women who have been double-booked stand sulking in theaisle, wheelie bags firmly planted by their sides, signaling that theyare not about to budge.
“What a mess,” mutters Jane once the double-booked women have beenfound seats and the line of stand-by passengers is turned away from thegate. Only then, after every seat is taken, overhead bins shut,electronic devices stored and seatbelt sign on, do the three womenfinally settle in to their jump seats for one of the few moments ofrespite during their workday.
Over the next 11 hours, they will fly from Dallas to New York andback again, a routine that is clearly second nature to them. In all,the three represent nearly 70 years of flight attendant experience.
And today I am one of them.
In a behind-the-scenes look at the other side of air travel, Idonned a navy suit and starched white shirt earlier this summer andbecame a flight attendant for two days. With the cooperation ofAmerican Airlines, I first went to flight attendant training school atthe company’s Flagship University in Fort Worth,Tex., where I learned what to do in an onboard emergency, from how toopen an emergency exit window on a 777 aircraft (it’s heavier than youmay think) to operating a defibrillator (there are pictures to help youget the pads in the right place). I then flew three legs in two days: around-trip journey between Dallas and New York, and then back to NewYork the next day.
And though the other flight attendants knew I was a ringer, thepassengers did not. Thus I got a crash course in what airline personnelhave to put up with these days — and, after just one day on the job,began to wonder why the phrase “air rage” is only applied topassengers. Believe me, there were a few people along the way, like thedemanding guy in first class who kept barking out drink orders as theflight progressed (until he finally passed out), whom I would have beenmore than happy to show to the exit, particularly when we were 35,000feet in the air.
WHAT’S it like to be a flight attendant these days? That’s what I’veoften found myself wondering as I sit in my seat, waiting impatientlyas yet another flight is delayed and my connection threatened, whilearound me are passengers fighting with each other over the lack ofspace in the shared bin, or complaining about having been bumped froman earlier flight, or swearing “never again” to fly this specificairline because they have been stuck in a middle seat even though theybooked their ticket six months ago.
Is there a less-enviable, more-stressful occupation these days thanthat of a flight attendant? Just the look on their faces as they walkdown the aisle — telling passengers that no matter how many times theytry to squeeze them in, their suitcases are not going to fit into theoverhead bin, or explaining yet again that they will not get a singlemorsel of decent food on this three-hour flight — tells you all youneed to know of their misery.
It was a feeling that was reinforced when I glanced at an Internet chat board for flight attendants, airlinecrew.net,and came across postings like this: “I’ve been a flight attendant for6yrs now, and I can tell you this much - if I’m still a flightattendant in 20yrs, I’ll be a raging b*tch!”
It wasn’t always this way, of course. Back in 1967, the best-sellingbook “Coffee, Tea or Me?” (subtitled “The Uninhibited Memoirs of TwoAirline Stewardesses”) portrayed life in the air as a nonstop party,one to which the authors felt privileged to be invited. Another 60sartifact, the play “Boeing, Boeing,” recently revived on Broadway in a Tony Award-winningproduction, also pictured the life of stewardesses (as they were calledthen) as a glamorous romp, with suitors in every port. Most recently,the fictional ad executives on “Mad Men” were thrilled when they wereasked to compete for an airline account, not only because of thebusiness it would bring in but also because they would be in on thecasting sessions for the stewardesses and would get to fly free. Oh,such fun!
It’s a fair bet that nothing about air travel today would inspire such rapture.
In fact, the flight attendants I spent time with on my three flightstook a grimly realistic view of their jobs, aware that temper flare-ups— “People just get nasty,” said Jane Marshall — are in some ways anunderstandable reaction to the process that passengers themselves haveto endure in trying to get from one place to another. “After they’vebeen harassed by security, we’re the ones they see,” said Debbie Nicks,explaining why a minor inconvenience, like being told that there are nomore headsets, might send someone into a fit. “Your shining personalityonly goes so far,” added Jane.
Certainly the one lesson I learned quickly — along with how tocross-check the doors and that Dansko clogs are the footwear of choiceamong experienced flight attendants — was how to say “no” politely. Noto the young Indian man who asked for a blanket for his mother who wasshivering in her sari next to him. (There were none left.) No to thehungry passenger who wanted to purchase a cookie. (We had already soldthe only two stocked for the flight.) No to the guy who, like many ofhis fellow passengers, was concerned he wouldn’t make his connectingflight because of our late departure and pleaded, “Can you call andfind out?” (Sorry, but here’s the customer service number you can trywhen we land.)
I also got a crash course in stress management.
My return flight out of La Guardia was as packed as the morning oneout of Dallas, and the passengers were even crankier. The plane wassupposed to take off at 4:25 p.m., but at 5, passengers were stillboarding, with many already anxious about whether they would make theirconnecting flights.
Meanwhile, two commuting flight attendants came aboard to ride inthe jump seats. Jennifer Villavicencio, 35, a mother of two from Maryland, had been up since 5 a.m. working a four-leg trip — New York to Chicago, Chicago to St. Louis,St. Louis to Chicago, Chicago to New York. As a newer flight attendanton “reserve,” she largely works on call. She spends days at a time awayfrom her children, sometimes leaving them with her mother in Dallas,while she works out of New York. In between shifts, Jennifer shares afour-bedroom crash pad in Queens with other flight attendants. Shesleeps in a so-called hot bed, bringing her own sheets and grabbingwhichever of the 26 bunks is available when she arrives.
“I like the top bunk,” she said, “because you can sit up all the way.”
Our chat was interrupted by some news from the gate agent: The planemight be shifted to another runway. “Oh, good, more drama,” said Anna,explaining to me what was about to happen. “When it’s midsummer andit’s hot, and the runways are short, you can’t have a certain heavinessor you can’t take off. Because we’re switching runways they’re going toput a weight restriction on and they’re going to pull people offbecause of the weight.”
Jennifer sprang to attention. As a commuter, she knew her seat wouldbe among the first to go if the flight was deemed too heavy for the newrunway. She began counting the number of children onboard, a factorthat could immediately minimize the weight issue, if there were enoughof them. Thankfully, there were 11 — enough to save other passengersfrom being taken off.
At 5:49 p.m., the plane finally took off, more than an hour late.
I had been told that working first class was harder than coach, andso I joined Debbie at the front of the plane. When I arrived, Debbiehad already taken down the passengers’ drink orders, her neathandwriting listing 3A - BMary, B - RW, E -Vodka tonic, etc., on a pinkcheat sheet posted on a cabinet. She warned me that Passenger 4B, aheavy-set young man with an iPod, was already proving to be a handful.He had taken some sort of painkiller for a bandaged wrist when heboarded, immediately followed by a Jack and Coke, followed by aHeineken, and now wanted a glass of wine, not in one of thosestandard-issue wine glasses, but in a fat cocktail glass instead.
I recalled what one flight attendant had told me when I asked aboutwhat they do when it looks like a passenger is having too much todrink: Water it down. In coach, where travelers mix the drinksthemselves, some attendants invent their own rules — “I can only sellyou one drink an hour.”
First class was intimidating. And I, frankly, wasn’t much help,finding all I was really qualified to do was hand out and collect thehot towels. Debbie, however, performed a series of in-flight culinarymaneuvers so demanding it inspired a challenge on the Bravo televisionseries “Top Chef”: Prepare an edible, multicourse meal, mid-air, in anarrow hallway, between two ovens at 275 degrees and a hot coffee maker.
As the flight wore on, Passenger 4B finally dozed off; dessert wasserved and the flight attendants became weary. Jennifer, who wasn’teven on duty, had taken pity on a mother with a screaming child and waswalking him up and down the aisle on her hip. Later, she would occupy atoddler by letting him hold the other end of the trash bag as shecollected garbage from passengers.
The flight arrived in Dallas at 8:02 p.m., 52 minutes late. Debbie,Jane and Anna would be paid for the actual flight time of roughly eighthours for the two legs of the round-trip journey. They would alsoreceive a per diem of $1.50 for every hour they were away on the trip.(For certain delays, American said its flight attendants receive anextra $15 per hour, pro-rated to the actual time, minus a 30-minutegrace period.)
Flight attendants’ schedules are often wrecked by delays and as theairline industry went into its steep downturn after the Sept. 11terrorist attacks in 2001, many airline workers took significant paycuts and reduced benefits in order to help the carriers stay inbusiness.
There are roughly 100,000 flight attendants in the United States, according to the Association of Flight Attendants,down from about 125,000 in 2000. Depending on the airline, attendantsearn between 7 and 20 percent less today than before 9/11, according tothe association. The average flight attendant salary today is around$33,500 a year.
There are already fewer attendants working each flight. Mostcarriers now go by the minimum number required by the Federal AviationAdministration — one flight attendant per every 50 passengers. Andthough the benefits, like free flights for your entire family, stillexist on paper, they are hard to claim as airlines continue to packplanes full of paying passengers. In other words, it’s not much funanymore.
Certainly, it’s a far cry from the “Coffee, Tea or Me” years.
“Who would have thought, after 30 years, that we’d be a flying7-Eleven,” Becky Gilbert, a three-decade veteran of the industry toldme during a break in our training session in Fort Worth. “You know, Imean we used to serve omelets and crepes for breakfast, and now it’s‘Would you like to buy stackable chips or a big chocolate chip cookiefor $3?’ ”
When Anna, Jane and Debbie became flight attendants more than 20years ago, tedious chores, like collecting passenger trash, were offsetby the perks and quasi-celebrity status that came with the job. “Whenyou walked down the terminal, all the people would look at you,” saidJane, between bites of pizza on a lunch break at La Guardia, her backturned to a group of travelers paying no mind to her navy blue suit,her gold wings or the black roller bag by her side.
“People used to,” continued Debbie, a well-groomed flight attendantwith cropped gray hair and gold accessories who can finish Jane’ssentences after 23 years of flying together. “What girl didn’t want tobe a stewardess?”
“It was the layover in the old days that made it glamorous,” Anna explained. “You worked one leg to San Diegoand you were sitting on a beach, margarita in your hand, and you weregoing, ‘I’m getting paid to sit here.’ That was the old days. Now,we’re like crawling into bed thinking, ‘I hope my alarm goes off.’ ”
Luckily, the next morning at 4, mine did. Running on no more thanfive hours of sleep and no coffee, as the hotel takeout stand had yetto open, I caught the five o’clock hotel shuttle to the airport. Afterstumbling through security I arrived at the gate, an hour beforedeparture, as required — bleary-eyed and beat. When I met the crew Iwould be working with, a jovial bunch who often fly together, I warnedthem that I might be useless.
They could empathize. David Macdonald, 51, an American flightattendant for 28 years, was on his fourth straight day of flying.Elaine Sweeney, 55, who has worked for American for 30 years, was onher third day. And Tim Rankin, 56, a 32-year veteran, was on his thirdflight in 24 hours.
Standing in the aisle of the cramped MD-80, Elaine assured me that the passengers, mostly business travelers, would be relatively well-behaved. “It’s so early on this one,” she said, “that usually half of them go to sleep.”
As with the flight attendants I worked with earlier, my newcompanions described their job as being one where they constantly hadto calibrate the mood of the passengers. “Over a typical month,” saidTim, “I will be a teacher, I will be a pastor, I will be a counselor, Iwill be a mediator.” As he slid his 5-foot-11-inch frame into thesliver of space between the cockpit and the first-class bathroom, heslumped into the jump seat and let out a barely audible sigh. “I’llhave to tell people that a two-and-a-half-foot-deep bag will not fit ina one-and-a-half-foot hole,” he said.
“People need to understand that the rules of social order do not goaway when you get on an airplane,” Tim added, his Texan twang kickingup a notch as he laid down his commandments. “You cannot have sex on anairplane. When you purchase a ticket, that does not give you theprivilege of yelling at me. It does not give you the privilege ofsitting anywhere you want to sit. They assign you a seat. I do not havean extra airplane in my pocket if my flight’s delayed.”
Elaine chimed in, “We joke that people check their brain when they board.”
When we landed in New York at 11:04 a.m., I was wiped. Standing forthe majority of the flight, which included a brief bout of turbulence,had unsettled my stomach and caused me to lose my appetite. My feethurt. I had lost all feeling in my pinkie toes.
Before we disembarked, Tim, in a touching gesture, ceremoniouslygave me his gold wings. I then dragged myself through the terminal,past a throng of restless passengers gathered around the gate,anxiously waiting to board the plane.
I was glad I was heading home.
