Total Pageviews

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Verbal Abuse on a Flight

Heather is a Jet Blue crew member and published author of "Above and Beyond"

Dear all,

This happened between MCO and LGA last week....twas a fabulous team effort from the crew; Andy and Pam - pilots, Kathy Hall and Wayne Hewett - inflight.

Love and optimism,
Heather

Not a Leg to Stand On

Heather McKeown
Inflight

The man, very strong and very ebullient in manner wheeled himself to the entry door of my plane. He jumped out of his custom made chair and, with a smile and his hands gaining purchase on anything available, maneuvered his squat bulk into the aisle seat, front row. He had only one leg.
Behind him carrying a black haired baby, fairly bursting like a fat breakfast sausage out of olive skin, was his woman. She was, like him, hefty and full of such a brimming beauty. The fashion industry would call her obese but I thought her Rubenesque and lovely. I've never seen a more beautiful smile but it didn't last.

“Do I leave the stroller with you?” she asked as she dragged it onto the plane behind her.

“No, Ma'am. I'll take it and it'll be brought to the door of the plane after we land.” Bags hung from her every angle; elbows, shoulders, neck, back. I swear, I wondered why she hadn't balanced something on the top of her head on her overloaded march down the jetbridge. It occurred to me that her male partner must have needed all of his appendages so he could propel himself from point A to his seat.

As she sat down in the window seat, the baby, arms straight out of his cocoon was my invitation to ask if I might hold him. Without hesitation, the mother passed him to me and it felt so wonderful. That baby had heft and body, black eyes and trust. It felt so great to hold him but that was to be a short lived pleasure because the boarding was continuing hot and heavy. The parents took my little cherub and I could tell they were overwhelmed with so very many carry on bags that it would be a while before they got organized.

The first row of my plane is called 'the bulkhead'. I never sit in a bulkhead seat if I can help it. Why? Well, there's no place to store baggage under the seat in front because there is no seat in front. This means that purses, diaper bags, laptops, briefcases, big bags of food or you name it, goes into the overhead bin. Not convenient at all and certainly a pain when something's needed after take off.

When everyone was on board it became very obvious that the parents were in need of assistance in their overloaded, over packed, over the top abundance of needs and wants. I put all their assorted bags into the overhead bin but as soon as I closed it, about ten minutes before we were do to close the door, there was panic in their row.

“I've lost my cell phone! I've lost my cell phone!” came the cry from the woman.

This happens a lot, actually. Usually, it's a well-dressed businessman that races to the front of the plane saying, “I left my phone at the security check point!” Often, one of our pilots races off and retrieves it and all is well. This time seemed no different at the start, but the escalation rate of of the panic was incredibly fast. The reason for this was obvious. The father, so jovial in his introductory moments, was doing his best to silence his woman with insults. As he saw me approach, his smile returned and he became his outwardly affable self. “Oh, we'll find it. Don't worry. Where did you see it last?” he said in his sweetest most encouraging voice. The woman, now allowing her rich hair to fall every which way, as her thoughts and self-esteem scattered in the public eye, had removed everything from the overhead bin and was tearing through every bag in her wildest way. It was as though her life depended on finding that phone.

“OH God! OH God! OH God!” she chanted, almost in a daze. It wasn't just the loss of her phone, it seemed to symbolize her entire being as defined by her man. He was being despicable. Patronizing and whiny and insinuating and totally putting his own insecurities into words against the mother of his child. I'm not a bitter woman or man hater. Far from it. But when a woman's fuse is burned down to the raw explosive within, it's easy to see who holds the incendiary device. Did he think I couldn't hear him? I did. I watched the woman as she finally turned her face to his barrage of putdowns and pointed inquisition and said, “I saw it at security. It was at security.” With only a few minutes before departure, I leaned in and took the baby. She looked up at me and said, “OH! Maybe it was in the stroller! Where did you put the stroller?”

Because I work for a great airline, with teamwork in play among pilots, ground crew, flight attendants and the ramp folks, we can communicate needed information fast. The gate agent heard her, raced down onto the ramp, had the ramp guys open the bin and the stroller was retrieved, checked and, guess what? The phone was found and returned to the overwrought mom. (Dante – MCO or PBI)

The flight was to be a few hours long. The couple went from relief to darkness in short order. The constant pick, pick, pick of the man got the woman into a frenzy of anxiety. Nearly at the destination, we were called to her seat and there she was, holding her chest and breathing at an incredibly fast pace. “I-I have p-p-p-resss, p-p-pressure in chest. I I I I can can't b-b-breath!”

We got her on oxygen, called the captain and, because she was in no shape to answer questions, we inquired of her man, “Is she on any medication?”

“I don't know anything about it.” he said, looking straight ahead.

“Sir, it's not a good thing to withhold information from us now because we have to know what we're dealing with here. Does she have a heart condition?”

“I don't know anything about it.”

“Sir, we're not fooling around here. Tell us, does your wife take medication for anxiety or heart problems? Is she diabetic?”

“I don't know what she takes.”

My charm vanished. There was an empty seat between them and I put my body in it between the woman and her man, thus blocking their view of one another. As I smoothed her luxurious hair and rubbed her arm, as any mommy would a daughter, I whispered, “Do you get anxiety attacks? I have had them in the past and they're so scary.”

She had closed her eyes, but her nod was strong.

“Do you have a heart condition we should know about?”

She shook her head.

“Do you have diabetes?”

She shook her head.

OK, now we knew what we were dealing with. Anxiety.

My crew was great, as always. All information was communicated to the captain so preparations could be made for our arrival. The woman wanted no wheelchair, no paramedics, no attention, nothing special. Why? She didn't want to further embarrass her man!

I stayed in the middle seat separating the victim from her tormentor. He kept the sleeping baby on his lap like anyone would keep a lap blanket or cat. Just there. No caress offered. No support for a lolling head. WHY? We couldn't understand the disconnect he was capable of at all.

I leaned into the woman, rubbing her forehead, arm and keeping the oxygen in play
and calmed her with words, cold compresses and love. Yes, love. We talked gentle words into her ear and told her how she was so beautiful and lovely, obviously very smart and a wonderful mother. Words that we only had less than an hour to brand onto her abused brain. Words she may recall the next time her bully of a man thinks it clever to put her down.

The job wouldn't have been complete if a few chosen words weren't also directed into the ear of the man. I turned and put my arm around his huge shoulders. Now I was his mommy, too! “Sir, your words could be so gentle to the mother of your child. You could bring out all her inner beauty with an “I love you” instead of a sarcastic remark. You could be her hero instead of someone she fears. You could! It's just words.”

“I love her so much. I love her so much. But I say things to upset her, you know? And then she says something back and it goes on from there.”

“The next time you want to insult her, say, “I love you.” It also goes on from there...”

“I love her so much.”

“Then show her. Love is not enough. Respect has to be the other half. I hope you can do this.”

“I love her so much.” he said imploringly.


After parking at the gate, when everyone else was off, the man's wheelchair was brought up to the entry door. He bounced up on his one leg, his physical strength and bulk unstoppable as he rushed to his conveyance. He charmingly smiled at me as though he was the chosen one and was gone. His woman, baby, bags, stroller and shallow breaths in tact was left alone. Alone in her heart but not alone on the plane. She had us; Cat, the pilots, Wayne and me. One crew. One heart. One goal. As we helped her up the jetbridge with bags, child, stroller and low self-esteem, we coached her. “You deserve respect. Don't let him treat you so badly. Demand better treatment. If it doesn't change, realize what we see in you is the true you; smart, beautiful, a great mom, a loving woman. Leave him if you have to. You deserve better...”

He had stopped in an area not too far from the gate. “OH! I thought you were right behind me!” he jokingly said to her. She shouldered the baggage we'd carried for her, bent to look at her son, straightened her back, took a deep breath and walked forward. Blessed be.

Thanks Heather

No comments:

Post a Comment