Seat backs and Tray tables

There was a crunch, a grumble and a high-pitched whirring sound. "That was just the engine, folks. Don't worry about it." Chuckles, a few genuine and a few nervous, came from the group of passengers sitting in the seats of the Brasillia 120 as it pulled away from the little county airport of Sheridan, Wyoming. I resumed my safety briefing. "This aircraft is equipped with four emergency exits. The door through which you entered is opened by...." I continued on through the flotation devices and fire extinguisher operation until I was satisfied that most of them had paid attention to most of the information. I performed my final compliance check to make sure that these fully capable adults had listened to me when I told them to put their iPods away and open their window shades. Satisfied, I sat in my jump seat, buckled my lap belt and called the cockpit. "Lets get this bird in the air," I said, which is code for "The cabin is secure and ready for take-off."

My original thought when applying for the job of an airline flight attendant was mostly about making connections and determining whether or not I liked the lifestyle of a frequent-traveling-jet-setter. My imagination painted the idea of working in the airline industry as glamorous, as I visited new destinations, met interesting people and held the mystique of someone who got to wear a sweet uniform and wings and who walked right through security with so much as a nod. The reality of eating meals from either fast-food establishments or out of Tupperware, watching more TV in a week than I have in my previous lifetime, and getting to know hotel employees in Williston, North Dakota by name, was a little different than what I had envisioned. But hey, if I want to be a pilot someday and wish to log a few hours as an airline pilot, I may as well get an inside look at the daily grind before completing all my flight training and locking myself into a new career.

"Sir, would you like coffee or water?" He looked at me and without even blinking said, "what kind of juice do you have?" I cleared my throat. "I have coffee and water." Silence for a moment. "Do you have Sprite?" In the future, I will not complain about learning V-Speeds, minimum equipment lists or weight and balance information. My only hope is that there will not be any coffee in the cockpit.

The longest PM half trip.... ever.

Being back in Buena Vista and resuming my great love of serving coffee has allowed me to see a lot of people I haven't seen since last spring. Some of these people are wonderful and it has been great to get caught up again, but some, like one short customer I saw recently reminded me of another summer adventure from 2007.

I must start this story by prefacing that I will not use real names since the Internet is used by so many people, even third-graders. Thus we will call the main character.... Little Timmy.

Last August I finally got checked out to be a trip leader on the river. I was about to embark on my first single boat trip. I was a little nervous at this new undertaking and the responsibility it represented. It was nearing noon and I was wondering where my guests were, so I wandered into the front office. Lillian, the office manager was there and introduced my to the first party to arrive. I was surprised that I recognized them. Little Timmy was one of the children I had babysat when I was just a youngin'. He was also the child I dreaded sitting for the most. By far. At the age of two, he was talkative, precocious and hard to entertain. Apparently not much had changed in the last six or seven years. He came rafting with his father, aunt and cousin. I put on my best game face and started answering the barrage of questions.

"What's this?" he asked, grabbing the flip line with carabiners fastened about my waist. I described how to use the flip line as I moved his chubby fingers away from my groin area. I tried to fit him with a splash jacket and he asked what it was made out of, he asked how long the ride to the river would be, he asked why I was wearing sandals, he asked if I thought it was going to rain, if he was going to be allowed to paddle. No, most definitely not because I needed him to just hold on and help me spot wildlife along the way. As the constant stream of questions and stories continued, I met the other two people on the trip: an older woman and her adult daughter. The woman turned to me and asked, "Is that thing coming with us? I specifically asked to be on a boat without children." I asked the office manager about the mix-up and she told me I was the only guide available that afternoon. I would just have to make do and try to keep the peace. I later found out that the woman was a retired elementary school teacher and was over children. I am not making this stuff up.

The trip itself was relatively uneventful and far from silent. I tried my best to keep Little Timmy occupied with talking to me as quietly as possible. I could not keep him from screaming at a high pitch through each rapid however. At the end of the trip I learned the hard way that single boat trips often travel much more quickly than trips with multiple boats. I overestimated my arrival time by about forty minutes. Forty minutes wouldn't be too bad at a lovely take-out like Heckla Junction on a warm, sunny day, but on this particular afternoon, about the time we arrived, it began to rain and then hail. The disgruntled women made their way to the outhouse to wait, while I sat with the boat and Little Timmy and tried to answer his many questions about why we were sitting next to the river, in the rain, without a ride.

Needless to say, I didn't receive a tip at all, and the story would simply fall into a long list of memorable rafting stories, if Little Timmy lived in say, Massachusetts. But this little boy lives in Buena Vista and apparently drinks coffee. Perhaps next summer, they will go rafting with Noah's Ark.