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I may be weak and pathetic, but I'm going to New York tonight-and you're not

link:

foliehasseveral.wordpress.com/2010/08/22/i-may-be-weak-and-pathetic-but-im-going-to-new-york-tonight-and-youre-not/

Folie has Several BLOG by Lori Culpepper Dinsmore

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My all-time favorite male Flight Attendant whom I ever flew with was a guy named Cameron.  He was built like a racing Greyhound-no body fat, finely boned, and sharp featured.  He was about 5'6", balding, and wore a pencil thin mustache.  The first time I saw him, he was at the Gestapo "Appearance Checkpoint" in the Flight Attendant lounge being inspected and saying agreeably to the Commandant (while pointing to his feet), "New Shoes!"  He was a joy to be with, and you just wanted to stick him in your pocket and carry him around with you.  He was definitely somewhat effeminate, but had a wife and daughter (we saw pictures), whom he talked about all the time.  Cameron and I, and two other Flight Attendants, Tim, and Bobbi (both of whom I had flown with before and liked and respected), embarked on a U.S. domestic three-day trip together, laying over in New York City and Providence, Rhode Island.          

Bobbi had a whole new hairstyle since the last time I had flown with her, and it was a dramatically different look for her.  Previously, she had loose, light wispy bangs and a simple, very short, (airline-mandated) non-swinging pony tail.  Since her transformation, she parted her hair severely on the side and tightly slicked back every strand into a barrette.  The rest of her hair was twisted into a firmly wound bun.  She looked great, but it did give me a headache to see how her hair was ratcheted in to that barrette.          

The first leg of our trip was an oversold flight to New York City's La Guardia Airport, and it was a very stormy Dallas summer day-not a good combination.  At the risk of committing a cultural-geographical over-generalization, certain New Yorkers (not all of them), tend to be very clear about what they want, and the length of time they are willing to wait for it.  In addition, "oversold" means just that-there aren't enough seats for the people who want to occupy them.  The thunderstorms caused delay after delay, while irritated passengers paced around the gate area.  The Flight Attendants were in a safe zone at that point because the Gate Agents took all the heat before they shoved the enraged people, along with the reluctant crew, into a small metal tube and locked the door on us.          

Our crew huddled together for safety in a corner of the gate area, waiting, like everyone else for word of when our equipment (airplane), would arrive.  There was a constant line of crazy mean passengers cued up in front of the poor Gate Agents, and there were occasional announcements that our plane would be arriving later and later.  Our crew (Flight Attendants and Pilots), were enjoying each other's company, and I took this opportunity to work on my bids for the next month's trips.  A bid packet, with all available trips for the next month, would be issued early in the month, and you would have to go through each individual trip and line (the days the trips flew), to see what you wanted.  If what you wanted was available at your seniority, you got it.  If not, you dropped down through your preferences until you matched with an available line.  You could enter your bid preferences on the computer or by phone, and then you would find out the middle of each month what you would be doing the following month.  Then you had the opportunity to swap, drop, or pick-up with, to, or from other Flight Attendants or a bank of unassigned trips, called Open Time.  Most people would thumb through the stack of pages and casually write down some options.  I, however, knew there were certain trips I absolutely could not fly.  For example, 5:00 A.M. sign-ins (which I occasionally ended up having to fly), were thorough torture for me.  Certain layover cities were also off-limits as far as I was concerned-mainly because their hotels had questionable hygiene practices.  Sometimes when you pulled back the covers on your hotel bed, you could see various indicators that the sheets had not been changed since the last guest had rolled around in them.  UNACCEPTABLE and EWW!  When I would see a trip or line which was unthinkable for me, I would rip that page out of the bid packet and throw it away.  Cameron referred to this as "voodoo bidding."          

Four hours after our scheduled departure time, our outbound aircraft arrived.  The passengers were really happy by this point, and the thunderstorms were still at full throttle.  The crew got on the plane and took care of business as quickly as possible and boarded the passengers.  Every single seat was full.  Dallas is infamous for its brutal summer heat and ferocious thunderstorms.  We were in the midst of both with a full plane of irate passengers.  Cameron and I were working mainly in First Class, but there was so much strife in all parts of the plane that every crew member was just attempting to put out metaphorical fires where ever we could.  The Gate Agents could not wait to get these truculent people off their hands, shut the aircraft door, and pull back the jetway from the plane as quickly as possible.  The tug (a small truck that pushes the plane back from the terminal), sent us backwards into Dante's Second Circle of Hell, and off we went.          

I was the Lead Flight Attendant, and not in any way enjoying the extra stress and responsibility.  When you are in charge, many times, the other Flight Attendants come to you with complications and drop them in your lap.  There was an abundance of these exigencies on this flight.  Our aircraft fell in line with about 50 other planes in similar circumstances.  None of the aircraft was moving, the lightning was striking, it was sweltering, and the patients began an attempt to overthrow the regime and assume control of the asylum.  There were 140 passengers, 4 Flight Attendants, and 3 Pilots.  So, at any given moment, one would have at least 20+ passengers yelling at you for being late, demanding food and drink  NOW, and issuing orders to be informed of the new arrival time, which was dependent on many variables, including the weather.  So, we had no legitimate way to predict when we would arrive in New York.  It was mayhem.  I have never been spoken to in such terms and tones as were being hurled our way.  We were in a continually downward spiraling mêlée with people getting nastier by the minute.          

Tim and Bobbi, who had never met before that day, were mainly working in the back of the plane, with frequent mercy missions from Cameron and me.  We had some minor mechanical malfunction, and a Mechanic (who was also having a difficult day), came up through the tail of the plane to make the repair.  Even though he was one of our allies, he was also curmudgeonly with us.          

‘Well come on in and join our frolicsome fracas!'          

There was a steel sheathed book called a Cabin Discrepancy Logue (CDL), in which the Flight Attendants wrote up anything at all which needed correcting on the aircraft.  The Pilots had a separate book for maintenance.  The Mechanics checked both books after each flight, or if something happened before you took off, they were called to the plane.  For the Flight Attendants, the troubling item was always first communicated through the CDL, and then if the Mechanic had questions, they would discuss them with whomever made the entry. (I don't remember who had made this particular write-up.)  This crabby Mechanic came on board, read the write-up and announced "This is stupid, I don't even understand it!  Who wrote this crap?"          

Tim looked at him blankly and offered "I'm glad you don't have a job which requires tact and diplomacy."          

Tim's and Bobbi's relationship was also depreciating rapidly, and they were not bringing out the best in one another.  Passing the back galley, I heard Bobbi say something to Tim in a snappish tone, to which he supportively replied "You need to loosen that barrette in your hair."  He may have had a point, but-Oh dear, it was becoming apparent that the inmates had achieved the first objective of their divide and conquer coup d'état subterfuge.          

At one point, a passenger stopped me in a rage and said he was diabetic and had to have his meal, right then, or he would die.  Fair enough, no one enjoys a dead passenger, so we gave him his meal.  It didn't seem to help his disposition and I wondered if he was fabricating his condition.  He got the guy seated across from him extra riled up, and they both stood up and stalked up the aisle to the cockpit to yell at the Pilots.  I managed to give the Engineer (the third Pilot and Second Officer-I know it's confusing), a heads up and actually had to put my arm across the cockpit doorway to prevent the lunatics from entering the flight deck.  An interesting aside, the younger of the two anarchists (who was about six inches shorter than I), turned out to be a Trauma Surgeon.  Now, wouldn't you think handling stressful situations calmly and rationally would be a beneficial personality trait for someone in that profession?          

‘What's this horseshit-a gunshot wound?  Why didn't you duck-dumbass?'          

The Captain turned around in his seat and said "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but you gentlemen need to sit down, now, please."  Screaming all the way, Herr Hitler and Dr. Mengele  (who by the way, were not even traveling together), stomped back to their seats.  I followed them to make sure they sat down, and was heckled by certain of the other passengers the entire way.  They both screamed some more at me, and at Cameron who literally had my back.  Occasionally, other members of the angry mob would join the fray with sporadic variations of "You and your airline suck!" Adding comments about how they were being held prisoner and wanted off the plane.  There was also the chorus for our little Greek Tragedy chanting the classic angry passenger outburst "I will never fly this airline again!"          

‘Do you think I, in any way, don't want that to happen?'          

Followed quickly by the ubiquitous repining "I'm telling all my friends never to fly this airline again too!"          

‘No! Not your friends!'          

I kneeled down between our two ring leaders, who were finally in their seats again.  It seemed that a different approach was warranted, and would likely diffuse the situation.  I assumed the most soothing voice I could muster and said "Gentlemen, I understand your frustration, and I am sorry for the delay, but this behavior you're exhibiting is not productive.  It's not going to make us depart any sooner, and it's upsetting the other passengers and crew."  Boy, did I misread that situation.  It was as if I had poured lighter fluid on a bonfire.  They went even more berserk.  That was the point at which we crossed the line from simple hullabaloo into blood bath terrain.          

Oddly enough, the short Trauma Surgeon was with a girlfriend, wife, or perhaps just a woman he had met in the airport bar and drugged, and she slept or pretended to sleep with her head resting on his petite shoulder throughout this entire ruckus.          

Who knows what set off our next cage fighter, but this woman who was seated just behind the two chief combatants, decided she was God's own drunk and a fearless woman.  It was the perfect cherry to plop on the top of our pandemonium parfait.  I hadn't even noticed her prior to her jumping up out of her seat and screaming at me, arms akimbo.          

‘Where was this little jewel hiding?'          

But count her in.  Everything either of the two men in front of her blurted out, she would echo them, sometimes verbatim.  She didn't seem to have any original thoughts, but supported all of the sentiments of any other aggressors.  Personally, I can't stand the phrase "trailer park trash," or the intent behind it, but that seemed to be the most popular descriptor for this women amongst the rest of the crew.  I don't remember her name, but for these purposes, we'll call her "Flo," because she reminded me of a nastier version of Flo from that 1970s situation comedy "Alice," you know the one, set in Mel's Diner-"Kiss My Grits"-that one.          

When I turned around to go speak with the Pilots again, Cameron had gone back to the front of the plane.  As I approached the front jump seat, Cameron was sitting there with a passenger who was sweating copiously, shivering, and whose skin was translucent.  Cameron, who had this ethereal serenity about him, had gotten the terrified man a cold cloth and was soothing him.  I noticed the passenger was holding a bottle of prescription medication.  Cameron looked up at me from the jump seat and said "Lori, have you ever heard of Panic Disorder?" as if he were asking "Have you read the new Tom Clancy, book?  It's quite good."          

As a matter of fact, I was familiar with Panic Disorder, and asked the passenger "Are you having a Panic Attack?"         

He quivered out "Yes, but I've taken a couple of these Valium and I think it's getting better."          

When Cameron heard "Valium," he said "Okay, I think you need to give me those pills to hold for you until the end of the flight.  Just to make sure you don't lose them.  You can tell me if you need another one."  I understood Cameron's line of thinking and found his motivation and logic sound-just as long as there were enough for all of us.          

While Cameron tended to our mellowing/panicked passenger, I went up in the cockpit (or as my male Flight Attendant friend Brad called it-"The Pit of Cocks"), sat down on their extra jump seat and said "We have some significant disruptive issues transpiring, and I'm not comfortable with what could occur in the air."          

The Flight Attendants always made a P.A. on the plane stating "It is a federal offense to tamper with, disable, or destroy a lavatory smoke detector."  It was indeed a federal crime to behave in any way which interfered with the safety of the flight.  This protected everything/everyone owned by or working for the airline, including the crew.  We were considered "emergency facilitators."  I always thought the ‘smoke detector' announcement should read "It is a federal offense to tamper with, disable, or destroy a Flight Attendant and/or a smoke detector."          

The Pilots, particularly the Captain was a dream.  He was completely supportive and said, "Do you want to have those two guys who came up to the cockpit removed, and offer anyone else who wants to a chance to deplane and change their travel plans?"          

All I said was "Yes, please."          

He responded "It's done.  Let me make some calls."          

After only a couple minutes, the Captain came over the P.A., and announced we had to return to the gate for "supplies."  He didn't want to disclose that we were sending a couple passengers to the gray bar hotel, for fear there would be a riot.  He also said that anyone who wanted to could disembark at this point, and make alternate travel arrangements.  Everyone got very quiet, including our panic disordered friend, who by this point just wanted to hug us and have us over for dinner.  "You guys are the greatest, seriously…"          

We pulled up to the gate and I peered out the little window and saw several Gate Agents (one a ‘Red Coat'-a Passenger Service Agent-the head type of Gate Agent-whom I had dealt with before-and was quite relieved because he was a ‘take no guff' kind of guy), a few Airport Security Officers, and a couple Dallas Police Officers.          

‘Oh, happy day!'          

We opened the door and the Red Coat came on board and in his no-nonsense manner said "Okay, who needs to be removed?"          

Cameron jumped up and energetically exclaimed "I'll show you."          

He escorted the Red Coat, followed by the security team, to the two main trouble makers' seats, did a little pirouette in the aisle, and placed his hands on the seat backs of the evil seeds and said "I believe these two gentlemen wanted to get off."          

The two ogres looked around in bewilderment.          

The Red Coat said "Well, your wish just came true.  Let's go."          

There was lots of screaming and commotion, but off they came, followed by not happy wives/girlfriends/medicated companions.  Flo came tramping up the aisle as well, of her own accord, swearing a mile a minute.  Once she entered the jetway, you could see her thought bubble reading "Well, I showed them who's boss…Oh…hell's bells, now what do I do?  I really didn't want to get off.  I just wanted to knock some heads together."  She was committed however, and wasn't coming back on board.          

As the diminutive trauma surgeon passed by me, he screamed in my face "YOU ARE WEAK AND PATHETIC!"          

I looked down at him and said "Hmm, I may be weak and pathetic, but I'm going to New York tonight-and you're not."  Then, as if I were Marie Antionette, I motioned to the security guys-who lived for stuff like this-and said "Please take him away."          

‘The Queen of Hearts turned Crimson with fury, and, after glaring at them for a moment like a wild beast, began screaming, "Off with their heads!"' *           

Up the jetway they stormed/were escorted/perp walked:  Shorty the rage ridden surgeon, and Ornery his new faux diabetic friend, and their livid consorts-under SWAT team surveillance of course, with ambivalent Flo trailing up the rear.  The Captain then made an announcement stating that anyone who was uncomfortable continuing with the flight could deplane at that time.  Now, from their previous behavior and grousing about false imprisonment, you would have thought this offer would have precipitated a stampede toward the doorway.  Surprisingly, no one else elected to deplane.  We actually ended up taking off for New York within the hour, and the passengers seemed somewhat  mollified/drunk by the free cocktails we offered.          

However, at one point during the flight, this woman in her twenties approached Cameron and said "Excuse me, but I was just taking a nap and when I woke up, the man sitting next to me-whom I don't know-had his hand on my breast."  Cameron, just trying to get a clear picture of what we were dealing with, said to her "Now, was his hand just on your breast or was it on your bare breast?"  As if that detail would determine if a breach of etiquette had actually occurred.          

So, we changed her seat, and once again, law enforcement met the flight in New York, and the groper was quietly removed and arrested.  I had days of paperwork to be completed for this trip.  However, throughout my career, I would squeal with delight if I saw I was on a crew with Cameron.          

*Excerpt taken from Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll          

            

Lori Culpepper Dinsmore

About the Author

There is a psychiatric/psychological diagnosis called "Folie a Plusieurs," which is a French phrase literally meaning "Madness has Several."  This disorder was first discovered by French Psychiatrists, thus the French name.  The illness may occur when people are so enmeshed with each other they actually adopt the psychosis or psychoses of their companions.

The imagery which the phrase~Madness has Several~evokes, for me, is simply enchanting.

This is my portal into my own folie and joy.  I am a Stay Home, HomeSchooling Mother to a ten year old Human Boy, a four year old Bloodhound Boy, and a six year old retired racing Greyhound Boy.  My Husband (also a Boy), Jonathan, and I have been married nearly 15 years.  They are my treasures.

Here is my lens for the epoch we share-past and present.  These are my hopes, ruminations, and of course, delirious thoughts…but what always burns most vividly is the beautiful laughter.

Hold on tight to la folie avec moi mon pretties.

 

Lori Culpepper Dinsmore

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