We all strive to believe that positive attitude makes one invincible. Nothing can defeat one's morale so long as he keeps his cool and smile. So was the mindset that many of us junior crew carry on board, only to find this massively skewed theory readily debunked on any flight to India.
Let's just call it a contest in seeing how quickly one's patience disintegrates and one's smile erodes into a burnt out scowl. Starting from the moment passengers board, requests for water go wild. After operating so many flights with Indians on board, I unwillingly begin suspecting that dire thirst is an inherent ethnic issue (from personal experience, 8 out of 10 passengers who ever requested for water before take-off and/or a second or even third drink after meal service is South Asian).
Poking your body out into a cabin equals sending yourself into a gas room packed with thirsty predators. As I entertain one passenger, ten others around flail their arms and break into a vexing chorus of "Excuse me! Ello! Excuse me!" that creeps into the very ends of your nerves. Couldn't you see that I am attending to others? Can you not wait?
Torture goes up a notch once meal service begins. "May I get you something to drink?" I ask as I lower the meal tray. They joggle their heads in tandem, the Indian way, their faces void of any expression. Experience tells me that's a "yes." "Would you like Orange Juice, Apple Juice, soft drinks, wine?" Their heads tilt from side to side, so still it's almost zen-like. I hold up the jug, "Some water?" More joggling. Alright, that's it. These are the times when you decide for the passengers. I hand over the glasses, but before I even unbrake my cart and move on to the next row, a passenger hands me his empty glass.
"Some moorre waturr." He says, tilting his head slightly side to side. "Here you go," I pour him another glass and unbrake my cart. "Ello!" another other passenger anxiously calls out - he too wants a top-up. I take a glance at my water jug - only serving two rows down it has nearly been emptied. How the hell will I get replenishment so soon? Then finally as I am about to start with the next row, another passenger decides to have another drink as well. This is how meal service to India becomes an endless and time-consuming repetition of reaching for a jug, pouring, handing over, replacing the jug, then reaching for the jug again, then again and again, all the while with an irritating soundtrack of "Excuse me! Ello! Excuse me!" and the overwhelming aroma blend of curry and body odour. You take a look down the aisle with hundreds more passengers awaiting and seizing you, then you turn around and longingly see the emergency exit. Which way would you go?
Let's just call it a contest in seeing how quickly one's patience disintegrates and one's smile erodes into a burnt out scowl. Starting from the moment passengers board, requests for water go wild. After operating so many flights with Indians on board, I unwillingly begin suspecting that dire thirst is an inherent ethnic issue (from personal experience, 8 out of 10 passengers who ever requested for water before take-off and/or a second or even third drink after meal service is South Asian).
Poking your body out into a cabin equals sending yourself into a gas room packed with thirsty predators. As I entertain one passenger, ten others around flail their arms and break into a vexing chorus of "Excuse me! Ello! Excuse me!" that creeps into the very ends of your nerves. Couldn't you see that I am attending to others? Can you not wait?
Torture goes up a notch once meal service begins. "May I get you something to drink?" I ask as I lower the meal tray. They joggle their heads in tandem, the Indian way, their faces void of any expression. Experience tells me that's a "yes." "Would you like Orange Juice, Apple Juice, soft drinks, wine?" Their heads tilt from side to side, so still it's almost zen-like. I hold up the jug, "Some water?" More joggling. Alright, that's it. These are the times when you decide for the passengers. I hand over the glasses, but before I even unbrake my cart and move on to the next row, a passenger hands me his empty glass.
"Some moorre waturr." He says, tilting his head slightly side to side. "Here you go," I pour him another glass and unbrake my cart. "Ello!" another other passenger anxiously calls out - he too wants a top-up. I take a glance at my water jug - only serving two rows down it has nearly been emptied. How the hell will I get replenishment so soon? Then finally as I am about to start with the next row, another passenger decides to have another drink as well. This is how meal service to India becomes an endless and time-consuming repetition of reaching for a jug, pouring, handing over, replacing the jug, then reaching for the jug again, then again and again, all the while with an irritating soundtrack of "Excuse me! Ello! Excuse me!" and the overwhelming aroma blend of curry and body odour. You take a look down the aisle with hundreds more passengers awaiting and seizing you, then you turn around and longingly see the emergency exit. Which way would you go?
2 comments:
Alvin!
I'm horrified! I ALWAYS ask for water before the flight takes off...oh god. And I thought I was so unIndian...
I am laughing hysterically... don't become statistics!
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