Fuck the corporate pigs!

So the shit is really hitting the fan at my company right now. The pilots are on strike, except for some military flights, and a bunch of 'em have been suspended without pay - my father included. The thing is, without getting into all the boring logistics of company business, we're actually a hugely profitable airline. The pilots were in negotiations for their new union contract, and the company took advantage of the situation to try to force them into a scope clause merging their seniority list with that of an airline our company acquired last summer. Part of the new deal is getting rid of us flight attendants, too, as we're unionized and expensive compared to the flight attendants at this other company. Corporate greed is the bogeyman here - it's almost like we're damned if we do, and damned if we don't because the success of our operations clearly hasn't made much of an impact over at HQ. It's all about expanding operations so the corporate fat cats can continue rewarding themselves with six-figure bonuses, etc.

The last time pilots at our company went on strike was 1978 - and it lasted for three months, and culminated in a pilot getting shot.

So anyway. I go on call tomorrow, but I'm thinking I'll end up sitting at home for awhile as things are so screwy out there, what with planes sitting around, unmanned, etc. I'm considering joining the picket in Atlanta. We flight attendants have a No strike, no lockout clause in our contract that prevents us from conducting a so-called "sympathy strike," but we're free to join the pilots on the picket line. What do you think, is "Fuck you fuckers!" a good catchphrase for a sign?

Check, please.

Summerville, Saturday evening. Me, my mom, and my stepdad. My stepdad's desire for an omelet at 7p.m. propelled us in the unfortunate direction of Perkins restaurant.

We were waiting for our food, and seated near a table full of rather uncultured-looking folks. Okay, I won't mince words here.. the entire family of six had the glazed, beady-eyed, piggish look of generations of inbreeding and poor dietary choices. I know it's mean and judgmental and blah blah blah, but you'll see why. We were minding our own business, when suddenly my mom murmured, "Whatever you do, don't look to your left."

Of course my head snapped to the left fast enough to give me whiplash, and my eyes fell on the splattery sight of a pile of vomit next to their table. Apparently, the daughter, who looked to be about 12 or so, had gotten ill and been rushed to the bathroom. The timing was such that our food was just arriving. We looked down at it. We looked over at the puke. We waited. No one came along to clean it up. The family sat there, poker-faced and silent. I felt kinda bad for them at that point, but possibly not as bad as I felt for myself. My mom made a comment that she hoped a waitress didn't rush by without looking down and slip in it.

I noticed a booth across the room that'd been recently vacated, and suggested we move. With as little fanfare as possible, we gathered our things and transferred them. It took more than one trip. As I was collecting our beverages, one of the remaining family members made some snarky comment to the tune of: "I hope one of y'all never gets sick" as though we were switching tables merely to humiliate them. Before any hope of restraint, I snapped, "We're not trying to make you feel bad - we just don't want to look at it while we eat!" and stalked off. In retrospect, I was unnecessarily polite. Clearly that's not something they're used to, anyway.

Oh, and did the good folks at Perkins offer to pay for our meal (which by the way sucked anyway)? Three guesses, my friends. The first two don't count.

Moral decay in Airhostessia

What to do when you suddenly realize your friends to be severely morally impaired? I have two flight attendant friends who are currently dating married pilots. One is in the midst of a divorce herself, and has a sorta fuck-all, laissez-faire attitude to what seems to be life in general at the moment. Her beau is not only married, but has two small children and no apparent qualms about getting any flight attendant ass that he can - he actually drunkenly pawed at me about a year ago. I was not impressed, but apparently she is.
The other girl is a rose-colored glass-wearing, walking cliche. Her boy has been married "only" a year and his wife is just the absolute most scathing bitch in the world, she virtually deserves to be cheated on (I hope my heavy sarcasm is seeping through here). Apparently he managed to ignore what a horrific cunt she supposedly is for at least a little while, because (surprise!) she's just announced that she is pregnant, and though he'd been feeding my friend a line about leaving her and marrying my friend, he's now determined the proper course of action to be "doing right by his wife" by sticking around for another year or so, whilst my friend languishes in the wings. Don't misunderstand me, I think she's a fool and probably deserves the emotional anguish she's inviting upon herself. But I do find her a mite less guilty than the other one, who approaches her situation with all the sentimentality of a high-ranking Nazi.

Oh well. My position is, I'll still hang with these girls, but I won't respect their choice and I won't be shy about expressing that if they ask. I'm not going to harass them. I have my plate full enough being my own moral compass, I don't need to start playing angel to someone else's shoulder. The weird thing is they've sort of bonded over their mutual indiscretions and, when I hang out with the two of them, it's like I'mthe one with people behind her back exchanging glances. Whatever, dude. I'd so much rather be single... I'm not one for moral proselytizing, but if I just blog it, I'll be less likely to explode on one of them. They don't need my help - the self-destruction inherent in their actions will provide its own consequences.

mystalk

Far be it from me to malign the obsessive, time-sucking void known as myspace, as I admit that I dearly love it, despite the issues of codependency it has created in my life. I mean, I can keep up with my friends from afar in a way much more visually and aurally stimulating than e-mail, and I don't have to actually contact them to briefly ascertain that they're still breathing and haven't been subjected to any calamities or so forth.

However, myspace's stalker-friendly format is really starting to allow certain shameless behaviors of mine to thrive. Let's just say I'm having some difficulties not religiously scrutinizing a particular profile. Myspace makes it harmless and easy to be pathetic and stalkerish.

But perhaps, my friends, that is not such a bad thing. My argument (if, for instance, I was called out in regards to these little mystalks and had to resort to inexplicable defensiveness) could be that myspace serves as a sort of social placebo for those of us who are subject to momentary lapses of sanity on a more or less regular basis. It satiates some moronic need to give in to emotional neediness, and prevents us from making asses out of ourselves in real life.

Right? Yeah? Okay. I'm limiting myself to twice a week. I swear.

Guten tag.

Things have been hectic for this disgruntled flight attendant lately, folks. Right now I'm staying in a charming little Bavarian town outside of Ramstein air base in Germany, which is lovely. My three-day interlude here has been largely recuperative, though, as it followed some serious sleep deprivation forced on myself and my crew members by the lying bastards at my company.

It entirely too long of a story to painstakingly hammer out at the moment, so here are the highlights:

Due to the recent deaths of important figures in both Kuwait and Bahrain, some of our operations in the Middle East were compromised. In order not to lose copious quantities of cash, my company had to scramble to replace a crew that had been waylaid in Kuwait and stranded, as they'd closed the airport for visiting dignitaries, etc. We were the replacements, though in doing so, we were breaking the union contract as well as several pertinent FAA regulations, company policies, and so on. As should have been our right, we attempted to get out of what became a 32 hour workday, but had no such luck, as company tactics included threats of suspension, guilt trips (for the sake of the soldiers we were letting down), lies (that the Bahrain airport would also be closing and that we, too, would be stranded if we didn't take this flight), and so on.

All in all, it was a dirty piece of business and after all of that abuse, I relapsed and ended up with swollen glands and a fever.

So anyway.

In other news, I brought three books with me, thinking that would be enough for a 2 1/2 week trip, including: The Poisonwood Bible, A Million Little Pieces, and, The Kite Runner. After becoming a temporary insomniac for four days, though, I ran out of reading material and am now reduced to reading a western romance one of my crewmembers lent me. It is insipid, but juicy. Kind of like my life.

My love is cheap.

I just flew with my dad. Well, technically he did the actual flying, as he's the pilot and all. We didn't know we'd be working together, but randomly just ended up doing a Norfolk, VA to Shannon, Ireland leg. I'm spacey-tired right now. Anyway, he just gave me a rum and Diet Coke and twenty euro and some odd change. Love that guy.

I hate to say it, but..

I mean, I even shudder to think it. Does 2006 not like me for some reason? Did I offend its delicate inner nature with some unknown, grievous offense? Did I just expect too much?

Judge for yourself. Here are my (admittedly fairly minor) so-far calamities of 2006:

1. I developed a beastly, hacking bout of bronchitis, as previously described.
2. Crew scheduling screwed up my schedule by double-staffing several flights, making my first month of a set schedule in a year, um, not set.
3. Mojo arrived home today limping for no discernible reason and now, when he sits, he does so holding up one of his forepaws, like a little old man going, "Excuse me sirs, I've an objection"
4. People keep discouraging me from dating a boy I'd really like to date. This may not seem so calamitous, but their admonitions come right after an exchange between myself and said boy that led me to believe dating would be likely if not imminent.

I know it's so 2005 of me to bitch about my every little problem, but um, too bad. It's my blog, not yours. ;)

I have bronchitis, but bronchitis doesn't have me.

Ew. I'm writing this out of sweat-induced insomnia. I have a fever. I'm sweating like a whore in church. I have to keep pushing my cat off of me because he's like a furry radiator. I want my mom. There, I said it! Yes. I want her to make me get in the bathtub and bring me Saltines and apple juice. Mott's. In a plastic Rainbow Brite mug. Well, it was actually Twink. How the hell did I remember that fuzzy white thing's name? My illness must be giving me special powers of remembrance. The fall of the Babylonian Empire? 1453 A.D.! Wow. Apparently the application of heat to my brain has rendered me a genius. That's it! I'm off the anti-biotics!

Nah, no I'm not. When I cough, it ends in a bizarre sort of squeaking that really kinda freaks me out. Besides, if I stay this sweaty and glandularly swollen, no one will ever make out with me again. And we can't have that.

Unnngghhh.

The time has come, the Walrus said, to get your congested, phlegm-spewing ass to the doctor. And I think I should listen to him. I've lost the race, friends, I'm SICK. Damn carryover germs from 2005 making me miserable!

I'm trying to be more positive this year, but I absolutely hate going to the doctor. I think I've mentioned this adversion before. And since I still haven't gotten myself a regular doctor, I'll be going to the cesspool that is known as Doctor's Care. Oh, it's so gross. There's always tons of people hacking and sucking back snot, and you have to wait forever. You can virtually see colonies of germs hurtling through the air in that place.

And since I hate the doctor, I generally have like ten things to ask him/her for once I finally do go. This time, apart from some sort of antibiotic or something, I need prescriptions for 1. a daily allergy medication, 2. asthma inhalers, and 3. ambien, if he'll give it to me, for work-related sleep issues.

Ahhhh. The exasperation of me - wish me luck, guys. Both of you.

Twilight Zone marathon = happiness

Ah, what a relief the new year always is.. I'm determined to get on 2006's good side early by extolling its merits to anyone who will listen, while simultaneously maligning ol' 2005. So far? I think it likes me, but we'll have to see how lucrative a partnership it turns out to be. I'm optimistic.

Among my goals for 2006:

-learning a new language, or at least brushing up on French for my upcoming Paris trip. Someone came up to me last night and said, "I heard you speak like four languages." Wow! Isn't it fun when there's good, flattering gossip going on about oneself?

-cook for myself more frequently. I think I got burnt out from cooking by dishing up slop to the general public in a rat-infested, sweltering kitchen for six years (five and a half of which I've managed to suppress from memory).

-quit smoking. I'm cringing and compulsively reaching for a cigarette as I type this. But I have a tentative plan - hypnotherapy. Don't laugh. It worked for my aunt.

-apply a heaping dose of discipline to several areas of my life: writing, exercise, hygeine (just kidding. or am I?)

-try not to use as many parentheses in my blog. I can't commit to cutting them out entirely, as I'm quite fond of them as far as punctuation goes. At least I'm not addicted to ellipses. There's one guy I work with who sends out lots of mass e-mails to everybody, and at the end, he just puts his name like this:

blah blah blah..

Devashan....

Oh my GOD, something about that just drives me up the wall. It feels so anti-climactic somehow. Like, tune in next time to see this cliffhanger resolved.
And his e-mails aren't even the slightest bit interesting. Bastard...

-Kay, maybe this would be a good time to resolve to be a little nicer to people that irritate me. There's also this girl who I fly with whose favorite expression is "Easy cheesy" and it makes me absolutely crazy and I imagine flaming death rays shooting out of my eyes and melting her face. Isn't that horrible? I think I'm okay, outwardly, but God, I'm a bitch in my head.

Happy new year out there.