Confessions of a Hostie Read online

  ‘Oh my God, he’s hit Damien!’ I cry.

  I race toward Damien, who comes to his feet, staggering, holding his face. Blood is gushing from his nose.

  ‘Oh my God, oh my God!’

  Several passengers begin venting their anger at the Polynesian man, and he is ready to fight them all. I grab Damien and get out of there as quickly as I can. I help Damien to the galley and one of the other flight attendants, Deb, who has also witnessed what has happened, sends an emergency call to all the crew stations. I attend to Damien’s injuries while Geoff comes down the back to fully assess the situation. Damien’s nose is badly broken, and there is a lot of blood. We are all trained in First Aid, so I sit Damien down in the galley and lean him forward, and then get him some towels to help stem the flow of blood. Damien is very distressed, silent from shock. We are all shocked.

  Geoff makes an instant decision to have the Polynesian man arrested when we land. He also decides to have him restrained in the meantime. He phones the Captain to inform and confirm his decision, and then leaves the galley to return with flexi-cuffs. The decision to restrain the Polynesian man was an easy one to make. How we should go about executing it is not as easy.

  The Polynesian man is almost as big as the whole crew combined. With Damien now out of the equation, there are only six of us available onboard – three girls and three guys, including Geoff – to help with the massive task of restraining him: Geoff is almost sixty and not in the greatest shape; Julian is a little gay guy who looks like he could be knocked down by a feather; all three of us girls are petite (and Jo is still in the front cabin). Rod is a burly straight man, and our only real hope. However, he’s not enough. We can’t risk injuring one of the pilots, so Geoff asks for volunteers to assist him and Rod. To my surprise, Julian agrees to help. I put up my hand as well.

  ‘You can count me in. I can kick like a mule.’

  Deb volunteers as well, but Geoff stops her. ‘If there’s too many of us, we’ll only get in each other’s way.’

  Geoff then turns to the three volunteers and says, ‘Thank you. This is not going to be easy. We need to act fast as he is already arguing with some of the other passengers.’

  Geoff is an extremely wise man and a brilliant leader. I can’t help but think that he would have made an extraordinary military general had he chosen a different career path. As he prepares us for battle, he discusses tactics.

  ‘This guy is huge, so I suggest that we try and slip the cuffs on him while he’s in his seat. He won’t be able to move much then. If we come in from behind and don’t allow him to get up, we might be able to get the cuffs on him. That will be your job, Danielle. We hold him down, and then you slip in from behind him and slap on the cuffs. OK?’

  I am shaking like a leaf.

  ‘OK.’

  Geoff continues, ‘First things first, I will go out there and assess the situation. I will quietly try and move away the passengers seated behind him. Just in case, can you back me up, Rod? Danielle and Julian, you stay a few paces behind us. Deb, you stand by the phone, where you can see us as well as communicate with the flight deck and with Jo if things go wrong. OK, let’s do this.’

  My whole body is trembling as I carry the cuffs behind my back and follow the boys down the aisle. Some of the passengers are still arguing with the Polynesian, and he raises his fists at a man sitting in front of him. The man being threatening is fearless, unwilling to backing down. He sees us walking down the aisle, and I can tell that he knows what is going on. Geoff makes eye-contact with the man, and they have a brief moment of understanding.

  The Polynesian still has his fist raised in anger, but is seated.

  Geoff quietly approaches the two passengers seated behind him and beckons for them to move out of the way, which they do. I am getting more nervous than a dog with a long tail in a room full of rocking chairs.

  Geoff and Rod move into the vacated seats. On Geoff’s command we all jump on the Polynesian’s back, pushing him forward whilst Geoff and Rod grab an arm each. The passenger in front joins in and pulls the Polynesian’s head down. Other passengers join in as well, helping us restrain him.

  We have made the big man very angry, and he doesn’t like it one bit. He thrashes about violently, even reaching for us, slapping away some of the limbs that have crept onto him as if they were bugs. However, we don’t give in to him. Little Julian has straddled the big man’s back and is riding him like a wild bronco. As the Polynesian is very drunk, out of shape and out of breath he soon weakens, and we are able to get his hands behind his back. It’s time for me to cuff him now.

  I have used handcuffs in training several times, and they seemed easy to use in a classroom, but it is a totally different scenario trying to put them on an angry, thrashing brute in a confined space and surrounded by so many struggling limbs. Just as I thought I might never be able to get the cuffs on, the Polynesian must have realised the gravity of the situation and stops fighting.

  Finally, one wrist and then the other. Snap. It’s done.

  My adrenaline is flowing wild, if there were an area I could collapse into, I would.

  Geoff remains calm, and as the limbs peel off the caged beast, he talks to the Polynesian and informs him that he will remain cuffed for the duration of the flight and the authorities will take him away when we land. The big man is angry, but it seems the seriousness of the situation is finally dawning on him.

  Geoff consults with Rod, Julian and myself, and then decides to move the man to our crew-rest area. There are no bunks on this aircraft for the crew, just four standard passenger-seats with a curtain for some privacy. The Polynesian is abeyant, and with our assistance we help him to his feet and lead him to the crew rest.

  There are certain legal responsibilities to be carried out in situations like this. Geoff is the ultimate professional as he liaises with passengers and crew, and helps them fill out the witness forms that we carry onboard. He is also very caring, and the crew’s wellbeing is at the top of his list.

  I go back to the galley to console Damien. He is a little better, but still in shock. I barely have the chance to stop shaking when Ms. Curdle-face pokes her head through the galley curtains and starts shouting about how she has had her call-light on for ten minutes but no one has come to serve her yet. Damien stands up, with blood all over his face and his uniform. He looked like he wanted to spit some blood into the evil woman’s face.

  Damien speaks for the first time since being hit, ‘Are your eyes freakin’ painted on?’

  I take over, ‘Ma’am, you obviously haven’t had a chance to see most of the crew restraining and handcuffing a passenger. We will forgive your ignorance and insensitivity, and I will get you a drink now. What do you want?’

  I think she knows that our level of tolerance for her is lower than a snake’s belly, so she takes her drink and leaves quickly.

  ‘You know that I can say anything I like to the passengers because I am concussed and in shock!’

  Damien gives me a little wicked grin, and I’m assured that he is definitely OK. I grin back at him.

  lady godiva rides again

  All the violence and commotion has not diminished the wants and needs of the other passengers. The lights have been turned down in the cabin, and the crew are hoping that some of the passengers will finally fall sleep. That doesn’t happen though. The cuffed Polynesian is one of the few who do go to sleep. Geoff has collected the witness forms and is ready to sit down to fill out the endless reams of paperwork that accompany an incident like this. Damien is seated on a crew jump-seat near the galley. His nose has stopped bleeding, but both his eyes are black and puffy.

  Damien looks up, ‘I feel like I’ve been partying at the Mardi Gras for a week, except not in a good way. I must look like hell?’

  Yes, he does. He looks like he has been ten rounds with Mike Tyson. But I don’t tell him that.

  I reassure Damien that he will bounce back to his former pretty self within no time.


  I haven’t even had time to snack on something, and I am starving. Just as I search for a bite to eat, another woman enters the galley to tell us that the young girl – yes, the one who is not the sharpest tool in the shed – has taken some sleeping tablets and is behaving ‘strangely’. The last thing I feel like doing is dealing with a drunken girl who has taken sleeping tablets.

  What the hell is she thinking? She is not thinking – that is the problem.

  I thank the lady for informing me about this and reluctantly make my way to the young girl. I see that she is delirious, mumbling something about being on a train and then something about a Barbie doll. This girl had her TV antenna up when she came onto the flight, yet she wasn’t getting its full reception. Thanks to alcohol and pills, whatever reception she was getting is now fully scrambled. I don’t have a lot of patience for her, but spend some time trying to tell her that she is on a plane, not a train, and her Barbie doll is nowhere to be seen. At the end of ten minutes, she still doesn’t even know her own name; however, based on the dealings I’ve already had with her, she may not have known it in the first place.

  I would normally walk someone around the cabin in this situation, but decide to let this girl sleep it off. When she finally sleeps I slink back to the galley to rummage for something to eat and to tell Damien about our brain-dead friend’s antics. As I try to scavenge any morsel of food, Damien stands up, turns to me and points towards the aisle. ‘You are not going to believe this!’

  I look down the aisle to see the young girl staggering towards us. That is not the unbelievable thing that Damien pointed out though. She is naked, totally and utterly naked.

  I grab the only spare blanket I can find and wrap it around her. She is totally oblivious to the fact that she has taken off all her clothes and is muttering ‘toilet, toilet’. I throw her into the toilet, close the door and stand outside, guarding it.

  Deb returns from delivering drinks in the cabin and I ask her to call Geoff again. I need some pyjamas from the front of the plane, if there are any.

  Geoff arrives with the last pair of pyjamas onboard. I tell him the story, and he chuckles. He is amused but not surprised; this has happened several times before in his career.

  The young girl has been in the toilet for some time now.

  I knock on the door, ‘Are you OK in there?’

  No answer.

  Geoff also tries, but there is still no answer.

  I explain to Geoff that I have given her a blanket to cover herself. Geoff knocks a few more times, and then he decides to go in. He pushes the bi-fold door open to find the blanket crumpled on the floor and her sitting on the toilet, fast asleep with her legs wide open.

  ‘Hello, vicar,’ I hear Geoff mutter as he closes the door again.

  He hands me the pyjamas and says, ‘I think you better handle this one, Danielle.’

  She is out cold. Although small and thin, trying to dress a collapsed rag-doll is almost impossible. She partially comes to as I slip the pyjamas on. I help her out of the toilet and back to her seat. Just as I am about to leave her, she throws up all over herself.

  Could this flight get any worse?

  In the meantime, Geoff had gone over to check on the Polynesian in the crew rest. He approaches me just as the young girl finishes vomiting and passes out again.

  Geoff really does find the situation amusing and bursts out laughing.

  Not seeing the humour in the moment I ask, ‘What is so funny?’

  Geoff explains, ‘The big fellow in crew rest has just woken up and wants to go to the toilet. When I told him he wasn’t allowed to go, he has called me every name under the sun.’

  Once somebody is handcuffed onboard it is policy, as well as the law I guess, that they cannot be uncuffed until they have been handed over to the appropriate authorities. The Polynesian will be unable to use the toilet for hours.

  Geoff continues, ‘This young girl is now throwing up, and I will bet any money that she will soil herself shortly. Why don’t we make them a couple?’

  Unsure of what Geoff means, I ask, ‘What do you mean a couple?’

  ‘Let’s put her in the crew rest with King-Kong.’

  Geoff does just that, and after about fifteen minutes I go to check on them. I open the curtain just a smidgeon and take a quick peek, already sure that one or both have indeed soiled themselves. I race back to the galley to tell Damien, ‘You must come and see this. This will cheer you up immensely.’

  Damien follows me to the crew-rest area. The young girl is lying out cold there. The man responsible for his injuries is sitting in a pool of his urine and covered in vomit – not his vomit, but the young girl’s – and he looks exactly like you would expect someone to look if they were handcuffed, facing jail, hung-over and sitting in your own excrement and covered in someone else’s vomit.

  Damien looks at the Polynesian and grins from ear to ear, ‘You, my friend, have just learnt how karma works’.

  mai tai madness

  After what can only be described as a night in hell, we finally arrive in Honolulu. The weather outside is in direct contrast to the storms we have endured on the aircraft.

  However, before the passengers can leave, four of the biggest security officers enter the aircraft. It is US policy that in situations like this, the cuffed prisoner must be removed before any passengers are. The Captain has made a PA throughout the cabin, clearly explaining this procedure and requesting the passengers to wait until the Polynesian man had been taken away. There could be nothing more humiliating for the Polynesian man than being escorted past all the passengers, with his hands behind his back, his eyes looking down and his clothes covered in vomit and excrement.

  Nobody should have had any sympathy for his behaviour and his predicament, but later – and this is a completely uncalled-for reaction – one of the cat owners seeks out the captain and tear strips off him, loudly and in front of everyone, about how disgusted she is with our airline for the unnecessary shaming of the Polynesian man. She suggests that the man should have been taken away after the passengers had disembarked, rather than having him walk through the cabin, handcuffed and escorted, in front of the other passengers.

  Even with the captain clearly reiterating that this procedure was in fact not our airline’s policy, but the law and procedure followed across every airport in the United States, her mind is probably in her kitty’s litter. She continues her verbal barrage.

  ‘I will never fly with your airline again!’ If she is so unreasonable and short-tempered, she might get restrained herself in the future, after a similar outburst. It is my experience that if people are unreasonable once, they will be unreasonable again, and again. I chuckle to myself as I imagine the irony of this woman being handcuffed (by another airline’s crew) and being led through the cabin in front of all the other passengers.

  The young girl, who is a few flowers short of a bunch, has escaped being cuffed herself by the sheer fact that she passed out and slept for the remainder of the flight. She was asleep even when security took away our Polynesian friend. We have been instructed to not let her leave the aircraft as Geoff has asked for a doctor to check her out. There is no need for us act as she is still passed out.

  Unfortunately we cannot leave the aircraft until all the passengers have gotten off. By the time the doctor has come onboard, woken the young girl up, examined her and then assisted her to the aerobridge, a further twenty minutes have expired (along with what little patience we had left). None of the crew members have had any time off, and none of us have gotten a chance to eat. We can barely talk, let alone function. All we want to do is get to the hotel and collapse; the authorities, however, have other plans. We are all required to be interviewed over the Polynesian man’s restraint and subsequent arrest. Even the FBI wants to have a chat.

  Our airline has also requested that we stay back for a debriefing session. Our company doctor is on hand to assess Damien’s injuries, and a psychologist has been called to assist us dur
ing the debriefing period. We are forced to wait a further lifetime for the psychologist to show up.

  Suddenly, Geoff stands up and angrily says, ‘I think we’ve all had enough’. He then leads us all onto the crew bus. It is the first time I have seen Geoff so angry, and ironically he is fuming at our employer, rather than the incidents or the people that have caused all this drama.

  When we get to the hotel I hardly have the energy to push open my room door. I usually have a shower and then set the alarm to allow myself four hours of sleep before I can hit the shops. This time I just fall onto the bed and fall asleep.

  I wake up to find myself fully dressed and lying on top of the bed. I feel like I have slept for five seconds, but the bedside clock tells me otherwise. It reads 5:15.

  5:15? Is that at night?

  I look at my own watch. It is 5:15 in the afternoon.

  Well, there go my shopping plans right out the door.

  The crew has organised to meet downstairs at 6:00 p.m as usual. I rarely do the crew-drink routine these days, but after the ordeals we’ve been through, I need a drink – a damn big drink!

  Every crew member turns up for drinks. Even Damien has turned up, with a plaster stuck on his nose and with sunglasses that hide his black eyes. He has recovered from the initial shock and is now revelling in all the attention he’s getting. We all walk to one of my favourite bars in the world, Dukes, located right on the beach at Waikiki.

  I order what almost every tourist orders in Hawaii – a Mai Tai. It barely touches the sides, so I order another, and another. They go straight to my head. It dawns on me that I haven’t eaten anything for over twenty-four hours.

  ‘Food. I need food!’ I slur to Damien.

  We all stagger along the beach to another beachfront institution called the Shorebird. They give us a crew discount. Our airline doesn’t give any discounts to the Shorebird’s staff, but for some reason they, as well as a lot of other places, give us cheap food and cheap booze.