Post the First -- Airline Staff
May. 15th, 2005 12:02 amI love them. Love them, love them, love them.
I love train people and bus people too, but for now, airline staff.
All the people everyone bitches about. Security people. Desk Staff. Flight Attendants. The guys who point you in the right direction over the tarmac for your plane.
I have flown in times of great joy, and for pleasure. I have flown in times when I was exhausted, sick, grieving, shocked, injured, ill...
I have been stuck in airports for hours. Days.
I have gone into security completely organised and together, and I have gone through with things I ought not to have had, through carelessness, and with all my stuff in heaps in my arms, flustered and silly and stupid and slow.
And I have been treated, almost uniformly, with great courtesy and often with marked kindness. The kindness is sometimes a bit rationed and professional; there is a sort of mass market quality to it on occasion.
I don't mind that; what matters is, it's there and it's what is needed.
Airline staff have found me new flights. Food. Water. Maps. Bathrooms. Tampons -- from their own purses. Tylenol. Pillows. Blankets.
They have helped me when my fibro was kicking up and I suddenly couldn't manage my bag. They have walked me through simple instructions when my flights changed and I landed at a different airport than expected and was idiotically panicked.
And all I've ever had to do was walk up to them and say "I need help."
I love them.
I love train people and bus people too, but for now, airline staff.
All the people everyone bitches about. Security people. Desk Staff. Flight Attendants. The guys who point you in the right direction over the tarmac for your plane.
I have flown in times of great joy, and for pleasure. I have flown in times when I was exhausted, sick, grieving, shocked, injured, ill...
I have been stuck in airports for hours. Days.
I have gone into security completely organised and together, and I have gone through with things I ought not to have had, through carelessness, and with all my stuff in heaps in my arms, flustered and silly and stupid and slow.
And I have been treated, almost uniformly, with great courtesy and often with marked kindness. The kindness is sometimes a bit rationed and professional; there is a sort of mass market quality to it on occasion.
I don't mind that; what matters is, it's there and it's what is needed.
Airline staff have found me new flights. Food. Water. Maps. Bathrooms. Tampons -- from their own purses. Tylenol. Pillows. Blankets.
They have helped me when my fibro was kicking up and I suddenly couldn't manage my bag. They have walked me through simple instructions when my flights changed and I landed at a different airport than expected and was idiotically panicked.
And all I've ever had to do was walk up to them and say "I need help."
I love them.