An EYE for an I

An EYE for an I ---
or The Mystery of the Missing Street
                                                                                     © KENNETH E. HALL   DECEMBER 10, 2018   HOUSTON

Back in the early 1950's, my uncle and aunt moved from the Panamá Canal Zone to our Nation's Capital, Washington, D.C. to work for the USIS. I still have the envelope in which my Aunt Marie told my grandmother about their new home town, etc. One day as I looked at the back of the envelope, I noticed something funny: her address was "EYE" Street, NW.

Now that street name would perhaps not been noticed by anyone else, even though it was a somewhat peculiar name, but I was nonplussed. I had lived for several years in D.C., and also in Arlington, VA, and in all that time, I never ever heard of anything like "Eye Street". So, I did what I thought was the right thing - I looked it up on a city map, but to my further bewilderment, I couldn't find any street in the District that even remotely resembled "EYE St.".So where in the world did my aunt and uncle live in DC, I wondered.

I thought about novels I have read, and about the all-seeing EYE of Providence that was on the $1.00 bill. I could imagine it glowing a piercing shade of emerald green, perched atop a great pyramid at the head of that very street...EYE STREET!

Later on, while driving (I quite often think about oddball things while driving!) again I pondered my relatives' bizarre address. Washington, D.C. is a well-planned city. All talk about Masonic triangulations and vast Illuminati conspiracies aside, the city is well laid-out. l'Enfant did his job well. Anyone who has lived in or visited cities such as San Antonio, TX or New Orleans can greatly appreciate how relatively easy it is to find an address in the District of Columbia. One way, the streets are numbered - consecutively. Another way the streets have letters - A,B,C,D and so forth. The main exception is that quite a number of streets are named after states.

There are no oddball, unpronounceable words to baffle and bamboozle even the seasoned local, things in D.C. are straightforward and easy to understand. I lived at 710 19th Street NW. Were I to give this address to any local cabbie, or any Washingtonian for that matter, they would know EXACTLY where I lived! They knew that I lived on 19th Street near "G" street. Simple. Take it from me - I used to get lost in cities - - - but NEVER EVER in D.C.

So I pondered this "Eye" street address and suddenly it dawned on me: she meant "I" street! That was only two streets down from where we had lived in 1960!! I chuckled to myself, thinking that poor Aunt Marie - she was moving from Panamá and heard "I" and just wrote out the word "Eye"!     I bet she had a laugh when she eventually discovered  her mistake.

But my Aunt Marie wasn't by ANY means alone in this "Eye" for an "I" substitution. Apparently even locals have been guilty of writing it wrong. It gets better: some businesses and buildings even write "I" as "Eye" to avoid confusion with 1 (one) street.

  

I wondered what the U.S. Post Office did over the years with envelopes addressed to "Eye St." addresses. A Washington Post article published a comment by the Postmaster who said:
“[There] is hardly a letter in the alphabet which a careless writer is not able to make appear like some other letter, and he generally succeeds,” W.H. Haycock, superintendent of delivery, told The Post.

[ I can attest to that fact! NO college student has ever graduated without first having been able to morph any given letter into another - either willingly or as an embarassing typo boldly appearing and going undetected on the first page of a thesis!]


Moreover, THERE IS NO "J" STREET in D.C !! The reason? "J" looks something like an "I". When in Germany, I had trouble with this, because the way these letters appear, they do look alike. It would also be confused with the letter l (L) which also looks exactly like the number 1. (1 - l) See what I mean?   I suppose while they were designing the city they could have had a J street anyway, even if only for purposes of consistancy, and just call the doggone street "Jay" and be done with it. Right, they COULD have done that, but that would have been too simple.

They could have said it was named after John Jay, the first Supreme Court Justice of the United States, or after the Blue Jay, and we'd all have been happy as a Jay bird. As it turns out, where "J" street is is for the locals to know and the out-of-towners to find out. Truth is, there really IS a "JAY" street NE and it runs through the Deanwood neighborhood. It is not associated with the rest of the alphabetized streets in DC.

I can just imagine a situation in which a visiting man is looking to pick up a girl who does not care to be picked up. He asks for her address, and she writes down 1234 J St. NW. The guy walks away fat, dumb, and happy thinking he has a date, and then goes nuts looking for the place later. Imagine him walking up and down the cross street - LITERALLY "J-Walking"! That'll teach him!

Finally, although I do not know why, there are no X,Y, or Z streets in DC. Guess they ran out of space.

I quote here from a Post Article, the link appears below:
"Not everyone has found this amusing. In 1908, The Post published an article quoting residents who thought the practice was kind of cheesy. Not only were people using “Eye” Street, they were also referring to U Street as “You” Street. Wrote The Post: “The name of the optic and of the second person of the pronoun have almost superseded the use of the proper names of these streets. The custom, if it makes progress as to result in the use of words for the letters on street signs, will subject the Capital to the ridicule of visitors, say the opponents of the fad, for its provincialism.”

I am a man of words, and can think of many words to use when it comes to describe Washington's present-day residents, but "provincial" would not be in the top 20,000!

NOTE: The city of Galevston, Texas has letter avenues, too. So how do they address the issue of "I", "J", and "U" avenues? Simple: There are NO such streets - No I, no J, no U - no problem. BUT they do have HALF avenues: O½ Ave. being my personal favorite.


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Here is the link to a Washington Post article I found:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/looking-for-eye-street-answer-man-is-here-to-give-you-directions/2013/10/12/5c1e42b0-31c2-11e3-8627-c5d7de0a046b_story.html?utm_term=.2017824f8817

TROLLEY LINES - END OF THE LINE

TROLLEY LINES - END OF THE LINE
© KENNETH E. HALL DECEMBER 1, 2018 HOUSTON

"...So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near—

“Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.”

“It is your own fault,” said the little prince. “I never wished you any sort of harm;                    but you wanted me to tame you…”

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.     - -  - - from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry

RICHARD KOTULAK PHOTO*

ONE YEAR BEFORE THE TOTAL DEMISE OF STREETCARS IN WASHINGTON, D.C.,  THE #40 LINE BOARDED PASSENGERS 

AT MT. PLEASANT & LAMONT STREETS.  AFTER THE STREETCAR SERVICE WAS  DISCONTINUED ON DECEMBER 3, 1961,

THE #42 BUS LINE REPLACED THE OLD TROLLEY LINE, FOLLOWING THE ORIGINAL  #40 RAIL ROUTE. 

Many years ago, the streets of our Nation's Capital were paved with granite blocks called cobblestones. Imbedded in these grey rocks were shiny steel rails for the streetcars to ride on. The automobiles that rode on the uneven cobblestones got a bumpy, bumpy ride, but the streetcars, because they were riding on LEVEL ribbons of highly polished steel, gave their passengers a very smooth ride indeed! The streetcar lines seemed to to everywhere in the city, and even went far off into the Maryland woods and crossed the great Potomac River to Rosslyn Loop in Arlington.

As a little boy, I loved riding these things that everyone called "trolleys." I especially enjoyed the times these cars would descend into Dupont Tunnel and it would get real dark down there - that is until we climbed back up and out of the tunnel and onto the streets again.

Streetcars were strange things that sometimes swayed from side-to-side when they went fast, made an odd "croooo" sound every time they went around a curve, and every so often, they'd make a "POP" sound when the motorman accelerated too fast causing a current surge and the circuit breaker got overloaded. They weren't jerky, noisy, or stinky like the buses were, so I guess they had to do something just to let people know they were there.

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓣𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓵

There was once a kind gentleman who drove a streetcar. He was as proud as he could be of his "¹magic carpet made of steel". Although it really wasn't his own, he drove it up and down the rails of the city as if it were! People who operate streetcars aren't called "drivers' like those who drive buses or taxis; they are called "Motormen", though I doubt they ever see a streetcar motor!

The kind gentleman was nice to all of his passengers, and they all, in turn, had a cheery "Hello" or "How do you do?" whenever they climbed aboard, and they all said a merry "Goodbye" or "See you tomorrow!" whenever they'd get off. Kindness begets kindness.

Soon enough, his streetcar would round the little curved track and he would stop inside a small park - it was the end of the line. When the last passengers had all gotten off and gone their separate ways, he would leave the front entrance door open during his several minute layover.

All was quiet in that park - that is, except for the cheeping of the birds from the trees. This was the kind gentleman's favorite part of his trip! Although he loved chatting with the people, and he was ever so proud of his shiny, clean magic carpet, it was his time of rest that he most looked forward too. There was a reason for this!


A minute or so after everyone had departed, a bushy-tailed squirrel would cautiously appear upon the steps of the streetcar, peer all around, and then would hop up those steps -just like any regular paying passenger. Then he would come up to the motorman - still sitting

in his driver's seat. Sure enough, the kind gentleman had a treat for the little guy - usually some peanuts or pieces of fruit. There was only one person that squirrel was ever known to go up to and befriend - and that was our kind gentleman.



Every day the streetcar rounded that end-of-the-line curve and stop for its layover, and every day the little squirrel would come to have lunch with his friend. Those who were lucky enough to see the man and the little squirrel interact were in awe and disbelief and they always stood perfectly still and quiet until the little squirrel and the motorman had had their meal together.

Then one day, the city fathers decided it was time to take off the old streetcars and put buses on that route, and the steel wheels squealed 'round the curve no more. The kind gentleman was now driving a shiny brand-new Diesel bus. He was so sorry to see the old trolleys go, and wondered if progress always had to come at such a price.

On the first day of his new job as bus driver, the man pulled into the same tree-shaded place in the park where his old trolley car had once waited. He opened his door and got out his bag of goodies for his little bushy-tailed friend, but the squirrel was nowhere to be seen. For the rest of the time that the man drove his bus on the same route, he never ever saw the little squirrel again.

The kind gentleman was sad because he missed the old streetcars, but sadder still because his little friend no longer came to eat with him. It is said that nothing is constant but change, but he sure wished that certain things would not change. Some people don't understand that nostalgic feeling, but I do.

By the time I was ten years old, there were no more streetcars gliding up and down the streets of Washington, D.C. They all had reached the end of their line. A few short years later, most of the steel rails had been torn from the cobblestone streets, and even those bumpy granite blocks, for the most part, either had been cemented over or covered with asphalt, and it was as if they never had existed in the first place.

The D.C. streetcars and those cobblestone streets are gone - "gone to join the swelling ranks of things that we look back upon." But every once in awhile, I'll pass a little park, sit down upon an old bench, and remember my years in D.C., that old streetcar, the kind gentleman who ran it, and his little friend the squirrel, and, oh, yes, those nice, cool autumn breezes filled with falling leaves.

 

A BIT OF D.C. STREETCAR HISTORY:

On July 1 of 1955 I lived in the 1400 block of Pennsylvania Ave, NW in Washington, DC. The month began with a transit strike that crippled the nation's capital - causing exceedingly great inconvenience and untold expense to those Washingtonians who could least afford it. Neither the transit company nor the strikers seemed to care about the community at large.

The strike, only the third of its kind in the history of the city, lasted some seven seemingly unending weeks, and ended with a Congress-directed change of administration. What had been Capital Transit became D.C. Transit, formed by O. Roy Chalk, a New York financier. Although Chalk wanted to keep the streetcars, as an integral part of his purchase agreement with Congress, his marching orders were to completely replace the streetcar system with buses by 1963. So the streetcar lines began to be eliminated on Sept. 7, 1958, and the last day of operation for electric streetcars was January 28, 1962.

NOTE: The above story "The Trolley and the Squirrel" was inspired by true events as reported in a brief article which appeared in a Washington, D.C. area newspaper some time in around 1959-1961 and was related to me by my Aunt Lucy when I told her they were taking off the streetcars in Washington, D.C. If I am able to find this article, I will post proper credit.

*Photo is from: https://wamu.org/story/12/08/17/visiting_washingtons_original_streetcar_suburbs/
ARTICLE: "Visiting Washington's Original "streetcar Suburbs" by Rebecca Sheir

¹"Magic Carpet Made of Steel" is a quote from and a reference to the song: "City of New Orleans" - written and performed by folksinger Arlo Guthrie

***** If you enjoyed this story, you might find this interesting also:
http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2014/06/trolley-lines-cabin-john-to-glen-echo.html       

WELCOME PAGE 
I INVITE YOU TO READ MY BLOG!
http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/p/welcome.html   

MORE AIR LINES

MORE AIR LINES

                                                                                       © KENNETH E/ HALL           26 Aug. 2014            Houston

"Customers Are Not Always Right,             But They Are Always The Customer!"

So many things can and do happen on an airplane. These are several more of my memorable experiences. Though I have had mostly pleasant ones, a few of these were not so nice.

____________________________________________________________________

IS LASAGNA PASTA???

"AIRPLANE FOOD!!! Oh, YUMMY!!" said no-one.... EVER! True enough, the food served on airplanes these days has gotten better. But though it is much-improved, it is still AIRPLANE FOOD! People do not ride in airplanes to eat; they do so to get to their destination. Most people are not interested in having a gourmet meal en route to a business meeting or to Grandma's Place.       That's MOST people.

Airplane food is not cooked up by master chefs in a great four-star kitchen somewhere on another floor of the 737. This comes as no surprise to the seasoned traveler, and quite often they bring along a takeout box from a favorite eatery for that very reason. Some certain few folks who usually sit in the first two rows of each cabin in coach are different.
ALWAYS.
These people somehow feel the overwhelming need to bring an inordinate amount of attention to themselves during check-in, boarding, and subsequently throughout the rest of the flight. Mealtime gives these people ample opportunity to do this. Meal service has begun. Flight attendants have just heated up the food and are now trying with great difficulty to get the meal carts up the crowded, narrow isles to begin serving the passengers. There is always a beautiful in-flight magazine in every seat pocket, which describes the menu du jour (usually chicken or beef). It is the goal of the inflight crew to distribute these meals quickly - because they are hot, but not steaming, and there are (surprisingly) OTHER PEOPLE on the plane - besides those in the first two rows of coach - who would also like to eat. Here is where the fun begins!

The flight attendant on the top of the bar cart asks the people on the very first row of Economy Class if they care for chicken or beef. For some reason, this seems a perplexing question to the first person addressed, who has this deer-in-the-headlights look in their eyes.

"What are my options?" asks the first person....
"Would you like - chicken or beef? "
"What's the chicken, and what's the beef?" they sometimes ask, wanting to start a long-winded conversation at an inopportune moment, asking a rhetorical question before a captive audience. As for me, I never understood this. Do they want the Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, and Species of everything that has ever been alive in the simple fare offered?

When asked what they mean by this, they answer verbatim: "How is it prepared?"
Now, nobody from the flight crew was present to watch the Cordon Bleu Chef slice and dice, so this is a tough question to answer, and we do not have Julia Child on our speed-dial list.
I GUESS they want to know what it comes with - but nobody EVER asks that question that way.

The flight attendant doing the asking is responsible for the beverages, and usually has not been thoroughly briefed as to exactly, precisely  what ingredients are in the now-cooling dishes offered on today's flight.

Then there ensues a great deal of conversation between the flight attendants as to what today's Chef Selections EXACTLY are, and when it is determined that it is roast beef with potatoes or chicken with rice, this, for some reason, seems to quite satisfy the fine diner, as a great deal of fuss has been made on his or her account. So, they finally make their selection.

The second passenger is now asked the exact same question, and is met with the exact same look of total and complete bewilderment. The question is again asked, whereupon the passenger looks directly at the flight attendant and waits until the flight attendant stops talking. Then the passenger SLOWLY removes the headphones and asks: "What is it?"

Patience is a virtue, and flight attendants everywhere are the world's most virtuous people! What is thought at this moment I will not write down here. Suffice it to say that this form of antisocial activity is definitely not conducive to the swift completion of our appointed task.

The customer may then further add to the complexity of a very simple query by  begging the question: "What do you recommend?" 

REGARDLESS of the reply, whatever choice is recommended, the passenger invariably replies with the second, unrecommended selection.

[After some twenty years of flying, I had long ceased giving a recommendation. One day, out of curiosity, I actually asked just why it was that they wanted a recommendation. The answer surprised and angered me: "I just wanted to see what you were pushing!" 

NICE! The reason flight attendants may be "pushing", say, chicken over beef, is because there often is a lopsided number of items provided by catering. By "pushing" the item supplied in the greater quantity, we try to even out the amount of meals on hand  so that everyone - yes, even those at the end of the long, long aisle, will hopefully get their desired option. Some people like to mess up that system just because they CAN.] 

Repeat this scenario with several variations for the next four or five passengers and drinks can, at long last, finally be served.

[Rule here: twenty minutes to take care of the first two rows, and twenty minutes for the rest of the plane. This happens on every flight at every service.]


HASTA LA PASTA, BABY!!

One day on a Japan flight, we served Lasagna as one of the options. The first gentleman I came to in the second zone of Economy Class decided to be the Galloping Gourmet. Now, I like people who take their food seriously. I was a regular viewer of Anthony Bourdain! But it must be remembered that we are not in a four-star restaurant - we are in an AIRPLANE. I am a flight attendant - not a French waiter looking for a big tip. I'm just a guy doing his job - or striving ever so strenuously to do so.

"Sir, would you like Chicken with rice or pasta?"
"What kind of pasta do you have?"
(This guy obviously knows his zitti, penne, farfalle, caneloni,  and his manicotti, all right!)
"It's LASAGNA!" I told him, giving this gourmet a sincere smile and since it is the "entitled" row, I go the extra mile, showing him the little rectangular dish it came on.

The guy pops off on me, screaming: "Lasagna is NOT PASTA!"
Could've fooled me - at least the stuff inside is made of semolina [from the ancient Latin simila, meaning 'flour', itself a borrowing from Greek σεμίδαλις (semidalis), "groats". He wants to DEBATE me, and all I want to do is serve the rest of the seventy or so people who are waiting for their luke-warm food.

I felt like calling him a PAZZO, but that's not how I roll. The word "snarky" also came to mind...
"Do you want the Lasagna or the chicken?" I asked again, politely.
"I don't want to eat tonight." he says.
"Grazie mille!" I tell him --- and moved on.

Of the many, many things that I saw, did, and experienced while a flight attendant, this thing - the dealing with the people in the very first two rows of each cabin - is something I will most assuredly NOT miss!

____________________________________________________________________________


漢字はきれいに書かれていますが、乗客は不愉快です。
(NICE KANJI - NOT NICE PERSON)

On one Japanese flight, I was pushing the heavy bar cart up the aisle when I saw a young Caucasian man writing something in Japanese - in excellently-written Kanji. Being an aficionado of the Chinese-based characters that make up an integral part of the Japanese written language, I was very impressed indeed. I commented: "Your Kanji is BEAUTIFUL!"
The young man looked over at me with a sardonic expression on his face, and said: "I'm glad you approve!"
And turned back to his writing.

Because of him, I swore then and there I would NEVER EVER compliment another person on their linguistic ability, no matter what the persuasion.


 __________________________________________________________________________



♫  I BEEN EVERYWHERE, MAN! ♫
17 August, 2014 - I was on the fourth day of a 4-day pairing. In just four short days, I had been to more cities than Johnny Cash! Today was easy, though - just one teensy-weensy trip back home to Houston from a layover in Austin. I wasn't at all used to this up-and-down stuff. I wasn't used to arriving in an airport without having to show my passport and go through Customs and Immigration, either. This was a brief but hectic taste of what it was to be a "Domestic" Flight Attendant.
When I landed safe and sound for the humpteenth time, but happily home at last, I posted this on Facebook: “Day 4 so far so good. I had great crews! I told them at the beginning that I was strictly International, and asked them (jokingly) to please do me a big favor and help me out: I asked if they all could speak English with foreign accents, to make me feel at home.

They told me to go pound sand. Made me feel like I was back home all right - in New Orleans!!”

♫ STORMY WEATHER ♫

On one flight to Austin, I was the Lead - this meant that I made all of the announcements, etc. Our flight was an incredible ½ hour. The captain had advised us during our pre-departure briefing, that we were going to pass through the remnants of a Cat. One hurricane... that we should not do any service, but rather remain seated in our jumpseats for the duration of the long, ½ hour flight. Regardless of what occurs on a flight, announcements must be made, so I picked up the mike and made my usual, cheery welcome speech. I had no good news about refreshments, so I stated truthfully: "Ladies and gentlemen, at this point in my announcements I would have informed you that we would be coming in the aisles for a beverage service. However, the Captain has informed me that we should remain seated with our seat belts attached, because will be passing through a zone of.....TURBULENCE!!!    

As if on-cue, the aircraft shuttered and rolled noticeably from one side to the other,which startled quite a few - myself included. After the turbulence subsided, which it did after just a minute, I picked up the mike and said calmly: "See what I mean?"Robin Williams would have been proud of the laughs I got on that one!

𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓁𝑒𝓏-𝓋𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒻𝓇𝒶𝓃ç𝒶𝒾𝓈? 
Parlez-vous français? 

On that same flight to Austin, we had a layover. Those ½ hour flights can be exhausting!  We deplaned and quickly located the crew van which would take us to our hotel. I was a qualified French Interpreter, but at the time I was on reserve. My usual trips to Paris were relegated to the occasional flight, and other assignments naturally did not require the services of a French language speaker. As fate would have it, another person who was called out for this lengthy ½ hour adventure was another French speaker. Our Captain, it turned out, was Vietnamese, and he spoke fluent French as well. 

We boarded the small van, all conversing in French. Pretty soon, the driver, who was Tunesian, also joined into the conversation. Soon enough, he asked where we were coming from. We answered "Houston". He repeated his question - "No, where are you coming from?" We again gave him the same answer - not getting his meaning. 
"You mean you are on a DOMESTIC flight?" he asked, surprised.
We nodded. 
"It is a DOMESTIC flight, but you have a French-speaking crew?! he continued.
"Mais bien sûr!" I replied - but of COURSE!
My colleagues and I got a giggle out of that one.
     ⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜
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Just GET ME THERE!

A good friend of mine wrote me once: "one thing I wish pilots and/or flight attendants would
say is: 'over on the right is Lost Wages, NV, and off to your left...' - or whatever." Obviously it's
been a long time since he flew. They don't do that anymore because pilots are busy and
passengers really don't care about all that. They just want transportation.

Much has changed with air travel over my lifetime. Before, when I was a kid, one dressed
up and it was a big deal. People nowadays want you to shut up and get them there. That's IT.
Then they get off and gripe because flight attendants aren't friendly anymore!!! I refuse to
follow the perceived trend of not caring as I am by nature people-friendly and chatty.
But sometimes things go awry.

I was boarding a flight from Newark - a place usually known for its friendly, chatty folks, to
Scotland. The very first passenger to come aboard handed me his boarding pass. I smiled,
welcomed him aboard, and wished the gentleman a good flight. He instantly
SCREAMED at me: "JUST GET ME THERE!"

Sorry, that's the pilot's job, I thought, but I said nothing, stepped aside and let the charming
not-so-gentle-man get by to his First Class seat, where he treated the flight attendants there
dirt for the whole trip. Such nice folks!

____________________________________________________________________________________

GO AWAY!
On one flight there was a man who evidently did not want to be bothered. I asked him if he'd
like a beverage and there came no answer. I asked again, because I have been accused of
"deliberately" passing by a customer when they failed to tell me what they wanted to drink.
I asked the man a second time, and he screamed to the top of his lungs:
"GO AWAY!"
"Discretion is the better part of valor" Shakespeare wrote, and I proceeded to carry out his
instructions to the letter. I did not ask him later during the flight if he wanted anything, because
I had had an elegant sufficiency of conversation with that man.

IT's BEEN A GAS!!
I get the funniest complaints - smelly customers - large customers - whatever. One lady came into the aft galley and complained because the man in front of her was "farting." I told her that flagellation was a completely normal human activity slightly exacerbated by the lower pressure of an aircraft cabin. I furthermore told her that I had no right to confront the person in question about his bodily activities. She was not happy about my response. What did she want… a Champagne cork for him? 

༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶༶

@FINAL CHAPTER🕮

Q  I Need A Vacation from Your Vacation!

I was the Lead flight attendant on a flight out of Houston heading south of the border. Every
time I have ever been the person in charge, some crazy thing has happened, which is why I
avoided working that position whenever possible. It was, of course, a full flight. It is ALWAYS a full flight. Happily it was a short one - scheduled for just 1½ hours. Just a short hop over the Gulf of Mexico............. What could happen on a 1½ hour flight???     

As I mentioned before, there are people in this world who somehow feel the overwhelming need to bring an inordinate amount of attention to themselves during check-in, boarding, and subsequently throughout the rest of the flight. It's what they do. They enjoy the attention from their captive audience. 

Today, it appears, was no exception. During the height of the boarding is the most hectic part of the flight. Everyone is impatiently barrelling past, trying to get to their seats, bashing others around them indiscriminately with their backpacks and then stopping in the aisles for long periods of time -- meticulously putting their suitcases in the overhead compartments - while FIFTY PEOPLE behind them patiently wait as they carefully and SLOWLY align their carry-ons with the utmost of care - oblivious to anyone and everyone  waiting for them in an ever-growing line. In 22 years of flying, I NEVER ONCE saw some loud-mouth passenger holler in the aisle: "Hey buddy - MOVE IT!" Instead, the passengers exhibit an unparalleled level of patience and good will, not exhibited just seconds before.

During boarding, the First Class passengers, most of whom have already spent time in the flight lounge and been treated to an array of provisions, need now to be given pre-departure beverages as well. No airline ever examines the practicality of this from the standpoint of those expected to carry out this daunting task. I wonder how many First Class passengers even appreciate what needs to be done just so they can have yet another drink. The pre-departure service necessitates a great deal of scurrying around on their behalf - as a flight attendant must weave through a heavily-obstructed path through a narrow aircraft aisle full of rushing passengers, suitcases, umbrellas, little kids underfoot, and, yep, those darling backpacks which occasionally whack an unwary stew in the face - or elsewhere.

While slithering through all this, the Lead must also make several welcoming announcements as to what flight people have boarded - for the benefit of those who have absolutely no idea where they are flying to. [Strangely, there are many out there who fit into this category!]

When anyone has any questions, such as connecting flight information, how to find a taxi, or the price and availability at the NakaNaka Beachside Resort in Fiji, there is no better, more auspicious moment to do so than to ask the Lead while that person is making the necessary yet usually unheard welcoming announcements. This has the desired effect of causing slight mistakes which, oddly enough, are ALWAYS heard by nearly everyone aboard.

 

ENTER CRUELLA DEVILLE:  On this particular flight, as I mentioned, I was in the middle of getting drinks for our very thirsty passengers in First Class when I happened to notice some disorder amid the chaos. There were loud voices and there seemed to be some sort of big argument going on between an irate passenger and a member of the ground staff. (Been known to happen...)

The ruckus was approaching the aircraft and there were visible signs of it, as arms were flailing and heads were violently bobbing above the throng of people who were still filing into the plane. The source of the mayhem was a lady who - strangely - soon filed quietly past me much like a torpedo in dark, murky waters slinks by a non-strategic marker buoy leaving it unscathed on its way to detonate its lethal charge on the hull of some hapless enemy ship.

The charge exploded upon impact as this woman burst out into a verbal tirade worthy of being called an outrage of epic proportions. Despite the decibel level of her shrieking, I could not make out much - except something about missing her connections, and it being our fault. She yelled so badly at the Flight attendant in First class that I almost stopped the flow of customers to call our gate agents for backup. But just as quickly as the banshee-like outburst began, it was over and the noise level dropped to the usual boarding din.

We prepared the cabin for takeoff, and all was quiet on the Western Front... for now. We took our jumpseats, and began our taxi. I was sitting on an inboard, aft-facing seat which commanded an excellent view of the cabin. Suddenly a French passenger in an aisle seat halfway down motioned frantically to me and told me there was an emergency. I went aft to see what the trouble was, and the other passengers all pointed out the lady, yes, the shrieker, who was having full panic-attack - hyperventilating. I immediately informed the captain, who pulled the aircraft off of the active taxiway and onto a special area reserved for such aborted takeoff incidents. 

The First Officer exited the flight deck and I escorted him to where the panic-stricken lady was. He asked what was the trouble, and the lady reiterated her boisterous rant about her late plane out of Boston and her connecting flight, and that we all - each and every one of us - was personally responsible for this catastrophe. The First Officer told her to calm down - or, if she wished, we could return to the gate to get her medical assistance. 

There was a man sitting next to her who I believe to have been her husband. He was somber and looked like a person who had been embarrassed beyond words. During all this, he spoke not a word. I truly felt sorry for him.

The lady was asked to promise faithfully to behave herself for the remainder of the flight, and she agreed. We took off, and made the flight relatively peacefully, although during the beverage service she told me: "Well I guess everyone on this plane is going to blame ME for our delay!" [YOU THINK!??]   I did not grace that comment with a reply.

There was one further incident: After we did the beverage service, a few of us crewmembers were discussing the horrible way that this lady acted, when, as if on-cue, into the aft galley she stormed. Disney would have drawn a caricature of a mean, evil person with fire coming out of her eyes, nose, and mouth, snarling and spewing hate....and I would have signed off for that as a realistic depiction of the woman. 

Her face contorted in seething anger, she came up to the hapless young lady who worked in First Class and who initially bore the brunt of Cruella's wrath just minutes before, hissing and growling: "I WANT YOUR NAME!"

As quick as thought, the flight attendant replied defiantly: "I will NOT!"

I then stood up, grasped my ID in my hand and held it so she could easily read it, and said, about as firmly and deliberately as I have ever spoken to a living soul in my entire life: "This is MY ID. I am in charge of this aircraft. This is my employee number." Looked at her straight in the eye, and went up close to her, paused briefly for effect, and said: "You have done nothing but create havoc and mayhem aboard this aircraft ever since you first boarded. You have had your say! Now get back to your seat, sit down and be silent for the rest of the trip, or so help me I will have the authorities meet the flight when we arrive!" 

"Yes, sir." came a subdued reply, and she went back to her seat. 

I got a few pats on the back as I went up the aisle to take my jumpseat, and several folks thanked me for keeping my cool as they filed out of the plane when we reached our destination. Even the lady smiled slightly to me as she left. I was expecting her to follow up with a complaint to the company, and boy was I ready! 

We were all frazzled. That 1½ hour flight felt like an eternity. I was tired, nervous, and still very upset at what happened. I got to the Customs checkpoint, and was just placing my bags onto the X-ray conveyor when someone tapped me on my shoulder. 

"I want your NAME!" said a man in a serious voice.

I nearly broke down then and there - I looked at the gentleman and asked unbelievingly: "What did I do to YOU?!?!"

The man put his arm over my shoulder and said: "I saw the whole thing! That woman is going to complain about you to the company, and when she does, you call me as a witness. I'm FURIOUS! I am going to write a letter just as soon as I get to the hotel!"

Our crew was silent as we took the van to our hotel. No matter how beautiful, how nice, and how luxurious the accommodations were, I had a fitful night's sleep, thanks to that lady.

I forgot to mention our final destination. That is the best part. Our short 1½ hour flight was to CANCÚN, México!!! This woman made all that fuss for being an hour late to arrive at a VACATION RESORT !!!!

The rest of us needed a vacation from HER vacation! 
                                                                                                                         ⛱


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The above stories are true. No particular airline is mentioned here for legal reasons, nor should any specific carrier's name be implied. These stories represent actual events happening to me involving actual people, and this should be obvious because, as they say, you can't make this stuff up!

I am retired from a career in the airline and air freight industry.  I want to write down some of the things which I observed in my decades on the job. The job was fascinating and enjoyable, and always filled with the unusual, the unexpected, and the just plain BIZARRE. As I have said many times: "I could write a BOOK!" This is a beginning, and my working title is AIR LINES. I am putting some of this on my BLOG to test reactions from family, friends, and my brothers and sisters in the airline industry. To these last people, every last one of them I have been proud to work with, these stories may seem amusing, but I am willing to bet that every person who reads this could come up with dozens of stories which could top any of these - and that's fine. They should write their own stories. These are mine.
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Should you like to read some other stories of the air, here are some links:

AIRPORTS and airport frustrations:

http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2014/06/institution-of-aggravation.html

A serious medical emergency:http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2014/05/a-heartfelt-lullaby-tiho-noce.html

Miscellaneous stores from the Theatre of the Bizarre!
http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2018/08/air-lines.html

September 11 - my story:

http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2018/09/above-us-only-sky.html

An emergency landing! http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2018/09/fate-denied.htm

Being sent home: http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2018/10/air-lines-deportee.html

A childhood view from the ground:  http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2014/05/an-observation-autumn-1958.html

A comical international incident involving a Russian lady and her cat:
https://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2014/06/cat-tales-boris-and-pussy-patrol.html

★WELCOME PAGE: ★ 
Links to all of my stories can be found here: 

http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/p/welcome.html