Pride or Avarice: the contemporary Chinese struggle

Once again, the Chinese have made international headlines. But this time it isn't for the whooping success or the glory of hosting a prodigious Olympic Games - rather, it is the mounting scandal of tainted milk that has made such newfangled pride ephemeral like fireflies and undid all renewed optimism towards all things "Made in China." Since previous food scares involving eggs, freshwater fish - even soy sauce, this privation of ethics, driven by greed of the minority few and tainted by unrestrained capitalism - has put the nation to shame over and again.

This greed and obscured superego, unfortunately, does not trouble only the big guys in the factories, but trickle down to the very civilian that travels across the globe. The obsession for all things "free" and the maximization of value for personal gains, regardless of one's actual need, can be said an ugly human nature; it may also be said to be a reality in contemporary Chinese society.

Once, a mainlander came to our galley and asked for twenty-six - that's twenty-six! - packs of playing cards. Twenty-six? Yes, these are souvenirs that we give upon request for enjoyment inflight, but twenty-six? We barely even carry half a dozen in the galley! "Er shi-liu? Nin ganma na-me tanxin??" A senior colleague actually chastised the man. "Twenty-six? Why are you being so greedy?" The passenger then sheepishly adjusted his request: "Na-me... geiwo liangfu haole (well then... just give me two packs then)." Not surprisingly, in my experience, 9 out of 10 passengers who ever requested for free playing cards on my flights are Mandarin-speakers. Not one ever opened the packet inflight.

The fear for missing out, or letting potential gains slip through one's fingers, takes various shapes and forms. Once, a mainlander seated among a whole tour group demanded for a pillow, and all crew feared exactly what drama was to ensue. When one pillow comes in sight, no matter how discreetly the crew tries to hide it, there immediately ignites a centenary Battle for Pillows. One Chinese notices the other getting a pillow, then no way in hell will he be left out. "Ehhh! Geiwo yi ge! (Yo! Gimme one!)" The crew flees, only to succumb to what's inevitable, and returns with the precious few remaining cushions that are oh so difficult to gather in the cabin. Before the pillow actually makes it safely to its primary suitor, various strong arms - accompanied by aggressive outcry and frankly plenty of rudeness - have reached out and grabbed them from her arms. More raucousness follows among those who feel they got cheated. There are only so few pillows on a short flight. Do they really need the pillow? No.

Working on steep slopes

Recently after we took off from Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, a fellow crew tripped and tumbled down the Business Class (J-class) cabin so steep she could have theoretically rolled all the way to the tail had she not slammed hard against our galley-side lavatory with a sickening whhhaam.

Steep slopes - yet another potent work hazard - are common on short flights where severe time constraints mean cabin crew are off to work immediately during ascent. Seatbelts unbuckled, shoulder harness released - we begin the calorie-burning, mile-hike up the galley. When the world around you is still leaning at an angle, literally, it feels like climbing on a treadmill - only that we look kind of funny straddling at an angle, too.

I once saw a peculiar little grape bouncing, skipping and hopping down the aisle from J-class and made its way through the Economy cabin. Everything on the galley-top rolls backwards. Sometimes the cabin can still be so steep that we stand at 35 degree angle, parallel to the suspended curtains. Now imagine dragging a full cart out against gravity. Weighing over hundreds pounds (that cow can be quite deceptive on wheels), a fully loaded cart can break a back.

On this flight, soon after I secured my balance in the galley, I witnessed our Senior Purser in front tripping and began her hair-raising number. Remember the scene of Titanic sinking? Only that she wasn't sliding down; she looked like she got hit by a truck. As I rushed forward in hopes of intervening a pending, unsightly crash down the aisle, she took a slight turn and smashed hard, face first, against the lavatory door. She then keeled over, hand on her chest, face twisted in agony. We held our breath, rushing forward to assist her, but were more or less relieved that she did not roll down the aisle. The damage would have been real ugly.

Alcohol at 30,000 ft: the Japanese lady who got drunk

Passengers drink on a flight for various reasons. Aussies consume lots of reds and whites because it is a lifestyle. Japanese men chug their Asahi beer because it is part of their diet. Indians demand lots of Whiskey for yet unknown reasons. The mainland Chinese, um, concoct bizarre "cocktails" because it is a novelty, but even more so because alcohol appears to be flowing "free"-ly inflight. No matter their background, the average passenger takes liquor inflight as a sedative, while others use it to exhibit worldly sophistication.

It is no news that the effects of alcohol double at 30,000 feet. While I have yet to witness fist fights and exhibitionist behavior induced by intoxication (trust me, these happen!), I have seen something recently quite of lesser aggression, but no less embarrassment.

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A petite Japanese young woman boarded my flight to Bangkok with a few bags and a big bleached hair. No sooner was lunch served that she was found passed out sleeping. My colleague, who was in charge of tray distribution, skipped her after several unsuccessful attempts to wake her. Half an hour later, a call light went chiming like crazy. My colleague rushed out only to get entangled in a mind boggling encounter with this woman, where language barrier limited both to body language.

We reckoned she was upset because she woke up without a meal. Explaining to her that we attempted waking her was challenging enough, try explaining to her what we had on the menu (how does one enact "beef" with body language?). In an act of frustration, she held up a peace sign - like local and Japanese girls do all too often when posing a picture - only that her attitude was less than kawaii. Two glasses of led wine. Suspecting that she already had a hangover, I hesitated giving her more than one, but given her persistence, We granted her wish.

Up till descent, the second glass was untouched. She has long since passed out. I woke her to get her seatback straightened and dumped out her wine for landing. Soon after the last passenger disembarked, I came to a sight never quite seen before - the woman still strapped to the seat, snoring. I looked at my colleague across the aisle, who asked after a pause, "is she drunk?"

"Ma'am, excuse me, Ma'am?" I gently tapped her shoulder, trying my best to keep a straight face. She reluctantly stirred in her seat, her soul still wandering elsewhere. "Um, we have arrived in Bangkok." Her soul slowly returned, though her body was still strapped to the seat.

She began murmuring, her head swaying and her hair more disheveled than ever, she began fondling with her seatbelt buckle like a child would a logi-cube. She weakly fiddled with it to no avail while I was feeling increasingly awkward staring at her with such disbelief. You're so not going to have me sticking my hands into your crotch to undo the seatbelt for you! But when I gave up waiting, I quickly but cautiously reached in and did her the favor. She then deliriously floated off, her face now comically flushed with humiliation and confusion. She began tumbling down the aisle. "Ma'am... you forgot your bags."

The true humiliation has yet to come. My seniors up front stared with wide eyes as she finally made her way to the exit. She subsequently stumbled out in a wide zigzag fashion onto the airbridge teeming with Thai cleaners who began gathering for such a delightful sight. "Mao?" more than twenty cleaners exchanged funny looks then turned to me, "mao?" Watching the poor lady weaving across the bridge, stopping, and sporadically keeling over, I answered assuredly, "yes indeed, very." Even though I know only a few words of Thai, it won't take an expert to guess this one.

Head over heels with the reek of head and heel

Twelve hours after I returned from Delhi, the pungent smell of mutton curry and body odor lingers in my blood. Perhaps I was feeling particularly nauseous the other day, but an unmistakable reek on my aisle sent me gagging throughout work from Hong Kong to India. It did not help that I got up before five for work that morning. Each time I pass by rows 60 to 65, I was more certain that I wasn't hallucinating, though I would soon be should that reek persist.

Alas. It was remarkable. A spectacular concoction of greasy hair, unwashed for three weeks perhaps, perspiration, and the atrociously sickening, acrid stench of athlete's foot. It sure did awaken my senses. Roquefort, anyone? Just who was the culprit? I scanned my area for the offender every time I walked pass (my gut wrenching more each time) but could not pinpoint a particular passenger.

My olfactory suffering found common ground when a passenger, Indian himself, brought up his complaint. "It smells reeeally bad here, can you spray something??" You mean spraying on your country-mates? This is how I replied him: "Yeah, I notice that too" - I cringed in pain, but relieved that someone shared my pain - " I will do something right away." Sir, the problem is not the aircraft, it's the people.

I took a disinfectant spray and squirted a dozen times along the aisle as I sped by, hoping to detoxify all the bare feet jutting out. For an instance, the cabin turned refreshingly lemony. By the time meals were served, the de-appetizing sourness has returned - so much that my colleagues all walked their way around the other aisle.

That same passenger had repeatedly complained about the reek such that my partner had instructed him to move to another zone as the last solution. It was also then that I noticed the stench leveling off during the latter parts of the flight.

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P.S. Upon arrival to Hong Kong and as soon as the cabin cleaners boarded the aircraft, the first thing they said was, "damn, what's with this curry smell?!" Even the toilet bowls smell of curry. Whenever I get on an aircraft and smell curry, I know where the plane just flew back from.