Blood, sweat, and tears

[This is an unpublished entry from Feb 2011 that is now finally finished and published, May 2011] 

I wake up to my morning call last week sensing that a system crash is imminent. It is the second day in a row I get up before dawn, put on my hospitality face, and go to work anticipating another day that consists of rushing from the second I board to the moment I haul my body out the aircraft. Before this day were countless similar days and weeks that, in reminiscence, seem to merge and compile into a vertical slide down an infinite chute where the only sound of time ticking came from my body's time bomb.

This downward slip was rarely interrupted by sufficient proper rest, made worse by poor quality sleep. The last few months saw two seasonal peaks, where Christmas and Chinese New Year arrived practically unseparated this year. Coincidentally, I flew record hours during this period of time, with my total number of flying hours well above the monthly average. Looking back, I see a nebulous mosiac of thousands upon thousands of faces I have come across within the matter of weeks - holiday makers, boisterous tour groups, overseas students, all too many children and infants, and hordes of mainland Chinese. Somewhere in this mosaic I vaguely see myself, eye circles deepening.

And crash I did.

I collapse in bed after a 12-hour flight, jolting awake after only three hours to a missed call thinking it was an alarm for my next flight. Sometimes I see myself at work in my sleep. I see the onset of depression. The stress of this race against time inflight every day - of handling full-load passengers, of exceeding duty free sales target, of winning our supervisors' fancy - has all but little by little wringed me into a tight rope so tense and thin it finally snapped. My dwindling physical health, as indicated by insomnia, a frequently upset stomach, confused body clock and perpetual fatigue, along with my crippled sanity, have reached its threshold - I could no longer go on like this.

Yes, I have bumped up my bank savings during this period; I have achieved record sales and reached new heights in my career as a Elite Sales Team member. But this did not come without buckets of blood, sweat, and tears. And how many passengers - sitting in their seat receiving their meals and drinks from a graceful flight attendant - ever think of us as more than just waiters and waitresses going on holiday?

Hong Kong welcoming the new decade

[Any thought or comments? Share with me!] 

What juice?

Sometimes passengers do come up with the most nonsensical... requests. They could be entertaining at times, but usually so stupid that they make you scratch your head wondering if he is serious or is just playing funny. Next thing you know you will be rushing back to the galley sharing with your colleagues what a moronic thing you just heard. 

On my flight back from Bangkok, a Pakistani vegetarian passenger is upset that he is not given his drink of preference while consuming his special meal, which as an industry-wide practice is served prior to commencement of the regular meal service. By the time my cart arrives at his row, he has nearly finished his meal. I politely offer him some coffee, tea, or other beverages.

"Why do I have to have my meal first?!" The passenger blurts out furiously, "Why can't I be served with the drinks?! Am I supposed to have my drink after my meal?!" Whoa. Point taken. Due to a very short flying time and the sheer number of special meals on this flight (this flight connects from Colombo), our flight purser did not take drink orders to be delivered at the same time with the special meals. Instead, a glass of water or juice is first given and passengers are offered second drinks as our carts arrive.

Slightly taken aback by the passenger's reaction, I empathsize and explain, and once again offer him our selection. What more am I to do? Still raging, the passenger glares and asks with the top of his lungs what juices we serve. 
- "Apple juice, orange juice, and tomato juice."
- "What?" As if in disbelief, he demands again, "what juice you have? Is that all there is?" 
Alright, no time and patience for this nonsense. Just get the drink, move on. To make myself clear, I repeat, "apple juice, orange juice, or tomato juice (smile). Which one would you like, sir?"
-"You don't have strawberry juice??"

Strawberry juice?
Okay, mango juice, guava juice, even breakfast juice I've heard from passengers before. That I can understand and forgive, especially from Filipino passengers who are accustomed to the former two in their country and... maybe Aussies for the latter one. But 'strawberry juice'?? I know it is delicious but does this moron really think he would ever get strawberry juice on an airline, and in Economy Class? I pass him his orange juice and move on.

[Any thought or comments? Share with me!]