TALL and TANNED and YOUNG and LOVELY

(but so unhappy!)
Heather McKeown-Inflight

It was Fort Lauderdale to JFK or the other way around or maybe it was West Palm Beach to LaGuardia. After so many landings and take offs, I don't even know where I am half the time. Well, whatever the city pairing, I know it would be next to impossible to erase the woman from my memory, even if I wanted to.

        She was first to board. Her appearance, so striking, gave a first impression of wealth, private schooling, a Bachelor of Liberal Arts and the job of handling the family's philanthropic foundation. First impressions are often incorrect. Maybe she was just suffering from an enlarged sense of entitlement wrought and enabled by the world's common belief that physical beauty deserves a pass. Her height must have been close to six feet tall and between her exquisite boots and longish, glistening hair was a first class lean body in fitted jeans and tailored blouse. Her skin, tawny and without a single crease, was evidence of a healthy outdoor life without the usual symptoms of overexposure displayed by the nouveaux riches or those who think the five days of annual beach combing must be spent doing only sunbathing without the benefit of sunblock. Shoving her baggage into the overhead bin and taking her seat in row two, aircraft right, aisle seat, she gave no response to my greeting. In fact, as others boarded and returned friendly words as they passed me, she said , “Do you THINK we'll get out of here? Can you make them get to their seats any fastah?” We were on schedule and, although it was a sluggish, herding cats sort of procession, new faces stood before me one after another.

        Suddenly there seemed a lightning-fast movement happening within my periphery of my vision. Snapping my head to the left I was surprised to see the leggy woman heaving a big bag into the overhead bin and forcing it backwards. It didn't fit so she whipped it out and crammed it back in a different way. She pushed and shoved and compressed that poor bag until she could slam the bin door closed. Now, I was a dairy farmer, and I've delivered calves easier than the way that bag was delivered to its temporary holding area. Seriously, the strength it must have taken to extricate and replace that abused baggage was extraordinary. The owner of that reshaped bag inched his way passed the Amazonian woman and cowered down into the seat beside her. I hate to tell you, the meek do not inherit the world, my friends. When she'd returned to her seat, I leaned over and said, “Thank you very much for helping with that bag, Ma'am!”

        She gave me a dead eyed stare and said, “You think you can get us out on time? It's just ridiculous, this slowness. These people don't know what theyah' doing. We'll nevah leave on time! Do you HAVE to talk to every one?”

        “Don't worry, we'll make up time in the air. We'll probably get in early, actually. There's a heckuva tail wind.”

        She just shook her head and returned to her reading. I continued welcoming folks and making announcements strongly suggesting people step out of the aisle. Gosh, it was a horrible boarding. Nobody was moving. Nobody seemed aware that the people behind needed to get to their seats before any take off. Those of us in the industry often talk about how people return to infancy the minute they cross the threshold of a plane. When lead by the hand or pointed in the right direction, they regain a modicum of awareness, but, more often than not, they're like sheep to the slaughter and have no clue how to put one foot in front of another. Paralyzed by indecision after suffering the abuses of traffic on their way to an airport, the maze of lines, the insensitivity and invasive antics of TSA inspections then the actual finding of their departure gate, a glaze covers their eyes and each step takes Herculean effort. Insecure from about the parking lot until they actually find their seat, the passengers just blindly cover this distance even as they expect to fall into a snake-filled pit along the way. Bless their hearts. Bless their hearts. As previously stated, this particular boarding wasn't going well. So many carry on bags, coats, people who were unaware of the etiquette required on public transportation and just generally in the blur that defines air travel to the majority of travelers. To the obviously impervious to suggestion people, I announced time and again, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please step out of the aisle once you find your row because it's a completely full flight and the people lined up to board are freezing out on the jetbridge.” Another announcement, oft repeated during this terribly slow boarding was, “Please, if you have a winter coat, DON'T put it in the overhead bin until we get all the big baggage up. We'll try to find a place for your coats after everyone's aboard. Thank you for your cooperation.” There was no cooperation at all. We started gate checking baggage before the last thirty people boarded. The gate agent took all the bags I'd confiscated at the front door before beginning his march down the row of people out on the jetbridge to do the same for those customers still freezing out there.

        By the time we closed the door and a final headcount was made, we were full and about eight minutes late. Shifting from left to right buttock, the woman in 2D was righteously upset. “You're always late! Why do you let people fly with all this carry on?” I didn't remind her that, along with her tennis racket, I happened to notice that her bag wasn't all that tiny. Gorgeous, yes. Tiny, no. Being the bigger person, figuratively speaking, I just let this observation go without mention.

        Throughout the flight, I tried to extend service to the disgruntled woman. Usually, a foray into conversation is easy if anything being read can be the subject of discussion. Reading UNORTHODOX, she sat and appeared completely unaware of anyone in her immediate vicinity. Without looking up, she dismissively handed me trash, I said, “I used to teach Holocaust Studies.”
“This book isn't about the Holocaust.” she hissed.

        “I know what the book's about, but it's relevant to the subject in its own way.”

        Without acknowledging my weak attempt at reconciliation, she pursed her lips and returned to her reading. I returned to collecting garbage. Some people are just unhappy and boy, this woman was either having a bad day or a disappointing life. Maybe her private jet was on the fritz and she'd been forced to share a ride with those she deemed the untouchables of society. Perhaps she just detests commoners in general and flight attendants in particular, but, whatever ruled her behavior, it was obvious that nobody on that plane lived up to her expectations.

        We landed twenty-five minutes before the scheduled deplaning time. Tailwinds rock! The main door opened and the agent and I exchanged greetings, baggage carousel information, special assistance requirements and then I stood back to allow the customers to deplane. The first few people said fond good byes to the crew as they passed. About the fifth one to leave, the woman didn't look at me but said, “You have to talk to everybody? Just let me off!” Pushing past me, she stalked off in a huff. The man behind her looked at me, shrugged and rolled his eyes before we exchanged smiles and fare-thee-wells.

        We were twenty-five minutes early, a farewell greeting, even if it includes a hug, takes almost no time at all and she was off before 145 other people. It's difficult to comprehend such malignant narcissism.

                I guess the reason this woman was put on my plane, in my path and remains so vividly in the tomb of my mind, is that she exemplified something I never want to become. Tall, tanned, young and lovely would work for me, but that terribly overbearing, under appreciating, domineering, unhappy and just plain dismissive personality isn't one to be envied, let alone emulated. “Have a nice day.” “Thank you for flying with us.” “Welcome to your destination.” “Good-bye.” All forays into any final attempt to encourage a positive response was lost on her. Skin deep or thick skinned? Sad, sad life of privilege or a happy, happy life of me, me, me.

Special thanks to Janet Braegger, my sister in blue, for the entitlement angle!

Thanks Heather