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Archive for the ‘Airplane Rants and Giggles’ Category

So I have this tendency to get myself in awkward, embarrassing situations on a fairly regular basis.  Fortunately, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to laugh at myself rather than to start praying that the ground will swallow me whole.  I have a kind of funny story if you are up for it.

As usual, I was rushing like a mad woman to get myself out the door and to work on time this afternoon.  Let me preface by saying that my version of on time is at least 30 minutes early.  I like plenty of time to get checked in, to chat a bit with anyone I may run into, to swing by the Starbucks on my way to the gate, and then, if the plane is already on the ground, I like to get on board, get my galley ready, make a quick phone call to the boys, and be all settled and ready before the first passenger steps on.  Anyway, in my haste to leave the house, I accidentally ran my nylons as I was getting in the car.  I dashed back in the house, grabbed a new package from my drawer, threw it in my bag, and blew kisses, love yous, and see you soons for the second time as I raced again to the garage.

Once I arrived to the crew room, I pulled out the package of nylons and shrugged as I realized they weren’t my usual style.  No biggie, I thought, as I slipped them on.  We have new uniforms that have been a disaster for a multitude of reasons.  One of the many, many problems, is that the shirts are too short to stay tucked into pants or skirts.  Any time I have to reach up, such as to shut an overhead bin, the shirt will come a bit more untucked.  This also happens if you bend, or walk, or just move in general.  Most of us have discovered that if you tuck the shirt into the top of your hose, it will stay put a little longer.  My problem was that I had accidentally grabbed a package of thigh highs, so there was nothing to tuck my shirt into, other than the band of my skirt.  Oh well, right?

So off I went to clear security, get a pumpkin spice latte, and eventually make my way to the plane.  I was the first one there, and figured I had a good 10-15 minutes to myself before any of the other crew arrived.  I lugged my bags to the back, lifted them into the bin, and then headed into the galley.  By this time, my shirt was practically up to my chin, so I ducked around the corner, made sure I wasn’t standing in front of the L2 window where any rampers may be able to see me, and proceeded to hike up the bottom of my skirt so I could pull my shirt back down.  But I couldn’t quite reach the edge of the shirt, so I had to push my skirt up even higher, until it was all the way up around my waist.  Just as I was tugging the shirt down, I heard an “Ahem”.

Now for a quick back story.   Last summer I took Patrick with me on a 4 day Hawaii trip for work, and it turned out that the First Officer who flew the entire trip with us was someone I had forgotten that I had “dated” years earlier.  I’ll have to save that whole story for another post, but in a nutshell, I didn’t put two and two together about who this guy was until the fourth and final day of our awkward, uncomfortable trip, one in which I tried desperately to win over the cold, distant, First Officer with a chip on his shoulder to know avail.  I mean, it was like this guy had some reason to be ticked off with me, and oh, wait, I guess he did have a fairly good reason….  I had just flown for four whole days with him without realizing that I had previously “dated” him.  Oops.  My bad.

Well guess who was standing behind me as I tugged on my shirt, skirt all up around my waist, wearing those damn thigh highs?  Uh huh.  Peter, the First Officer whom I will never, ever again forget that I had “dated”.  Awkward uncomfortable moment for sure.  He looked like he was going to die, and he couldn’t quite figure out what to do — should he say something, turn around, offer to help?   And then I started talking.  “Oh, hey, um, just fixing my shirt here, um, okay, all set.  So hi, how are you?!  You look great.  Are you going to San Diego, too?  Oh right, of course you are.  Okay, so can I get you something?  Anything?  Um okay.  So.  Well.  Look, could we just uh, pretend this never happened?  Pretend you didn’t just see what you just saw?  Okay then.  Well, you must be off to your walk around now, right?  Right?”

Poor Peter rushed off that plane faster than anyone I’d ever seen.

So that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

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I hate public restrooms.  Hate them.  I avoid them as much as possible.

Want to know what I hate even more than public restrooms?  Airplane Lavs.  Yep.  Hate them.  Would rather end up with a kidney infection than use one of those.  They are disgusting.  Period.  I mean, puh-lease, just take a moment to think about it.

A teeny tiny closet zooming 40,000 feet above ground, bouncing around in turbulence, used by hundreds of other people between paltry at best cleanings, the place people go to ‘clean up’ after vomiting, to poop, to pee, change dirty diapers, join the mile high club (Just shoot me now.  Somebody, anybody…. Please?  Please shoot me?  Pretty please?), floss their teeth, clip their toenails, trim their nose hair, you name it.  What’s not to hate?

To my dying day, I will always wonder what the thought process is of someone who comes rushing to the back of the plane during boarding, desperate to know if there is still time to use the lav.  Because, you know, there wasn’t any time to use the bathroom inside the terminal, right next to the departure gate, while sitting in the boarding area for the previous 45 minutes.  Now come on, folks.  You’ve just been out in an airport terminal that has, in comparison, far more spacious and most likely cleaner by a longshot facilities.  Yet the first thing you do after finding your seat on the airplane is head toward the lav.  I mean, people are still boarding, for crying out loud!  You could still be out in the terminal — go use the toilet that hasn’t been bounced around at 300 mph!

But if nature is calling, and there is no possible way to get around that fact, by all means, use the lav.  Just please, please don’t go in there barefoot or in stocking feet.  I can pretty much guarantee that puddle you are standing in isn’t water!  And get your business done quickly — less time for all that nastiness to penetrate your clothing.  Oh, and wash up for heaven’s sake!  And be sure to shut and lock the door while you are in there.  Close the door on your way out, too.  Everyone in that vicinity will be eternally grateful for that.

So that’s my airplane rant of the day.  Yuck!

Oh. My. Stars.  Did he….?  No.  Please no.  Oh Lordy, he did!  He just so totally walked in there with his Kindle!

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