Coffee, Tea or Me? Read Free Page A

cups, magazines, and Kleenex, I made the mistake of asking, “How come the cabin cleaners didn’t work on this airplane?”
    I was glad I asked. It brought forth from our senior stew an actual chuckle.
    “Boy, oh boy, oh boy,” she said with a resigned shaking of her head. “Cabin cleaners? They have worked on this bird. Don’t you know you’ve always got to clean up after the cleaners? What they don’t teach you in school these days.”
    We were taught about the cabin cleaners in stewardess school. We were taught that this dedicated group of men worked hard to provide our passengers with the cleanest, neatest, and most pleasant airplanes anywhere in the free world.
    “Buncha pigs,” Rachel muttered under her breath as she retracted a crushed cigarette package from between the cushions of a seat. “Damn pigs.”
    And then the passengers started coming aboard. First came two ramp agents carrying a wheelchair between them. In the chair was a little old lady covered with a large sheet of plastic to keep the rain off. When the chair was safely inside, we removed the plastic and helped her into a seat by the window.
    “I don’t want to be by the window,” she said.
    We moved her to the aisle seat.
    “I think it would be safer in the front,” she said.
    We moved her to the front.
    “Is this a really safe place?” she asked.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Good.” Always treat a first-class passenger right.
    Next was a disheveled young mother with four children, the youngest about one and the oldest about four. She carried two of the kids, a ramp agent carried another, and the eldest ran ahead of everyone and jumped into a seat by the window in the first-class section.
    “Billy,” the mother bellowed. “Back here.”
    He didn’t move. She deposited her two human packages in seats, ran past the ramp agent who valiantly tried to ward off his parcel’s attempts to tear off his glasses, and grabbed Billy by the collar.
    “I told you to be good. I told you you wouldn’t have ice cream, candy, toys, soda, cake, or cookies for a year if you weren’t good on the airplane.”
    He started crying and I felt a strange face and voice, mine, might help. I leaned over the seat and said, “I’ll give you a pilot’s ring if you do what your mother says.”
    “He’ll do what he’s told without bribes,” his mother snapped. She pulled harder on his collar and he finally capitulated, crying all the way back to the others. The ramp agent had placed his ward down in a seat, but she was now in the process of getting up for a romp down the aisle.
    Rachel smiled at the mother. “They sure are cute kids,” she said with a surprising note of sincerity. “I love kids.”
    The pre-boards in place, the rest of the passengers started filing on, each soaked despite the big black umbrellas supplied by the agents at the terminal door. Our senior stew was up front in the cockpit with the crew, and we stationed ourselves near the door to greet the passengers as they came on board. We asked to see each ticket until some man yelled from the steps that he was getting soaked. Obviously, we ought to let them come aboard before checking tickets. We finally just waved them through with a smile and cheery “hello.”
    We also threw in little quips like, “Welcome aboard.” “Glad you could come today.” “Some weather, huh?” “My, you’re wet.” “Watch out for that umbrella.” “Please close the umbrella before entering the aircraft.” “Aaaaaaaaaaah,” as an umbrella spoke gouged Rachel’s arm.
    One young man, much too collegiate for his thirty years, came through the door with a large package under his arm. He handed it to me.
    “Here, tiger, take good care of it, will you. I’ve got a lot of money tied up in that piece of hi-fi equipment. You should see my rig . . . tiger.”
    The next man, shaking the water from his head like a dog in from the rain, asked, “Is this the Rochester flight?”
    “No, sir, it isn’t. This