My first reaction to this thread was ‘gosh, what a lot of words!' bit then I realized that it had a certain relevance to me.
On my last commute to the US, I had made a polite request / query that wine would be available prior to the meal. I was assured it would. (Meal? Ha! If I had downed the cardboard menu with a glass of Jet A1, it would have been tastier. [ But the seat pitch is the only one that contains my largeness.] ). Halfway through the meal, a male flight attendant stopped just short of me and discussed the state of the nation–quoting the entire Gettysburg address and the constitution; amendments in abundance. Finally, with one microscopic sample left on my plastic dish, he asked me what I would like to drink. ‘White wine please' I said, dryly. (Pause for groan) He plonked...yes, plonked the bottle onto my tray and went back, literally and physically, to the historic part of the creation of the 13 states. It was then that I had the temerity to take my own glass. "DON'T REACH!!!!!!!' Then he paid me the first real attention of the flight.
"I think you're showing aggression. You're an aggressive type of person."
These were the words he used, but what he was really saying was, "you just keep that expression up and I'll show you what power I've got." I had images of all of the crew jumping on me and chaining me just south of the pressure bulk-head. A lot or red warning lights were flashing. I could see the headlines. "Pilot arrested for REACHING at 80,000 feet." (Factored for press measurements) Shock horror. I remained very composed and managed to say quietly that I was a retired captain, 40 years in the business, and as an OAP, hardly a threat to the flight. ‘You should know better then.' he said, departing with a hi-g flounce.
It really happened...well more or less, but so did the bruises to my girls, administered by Scotch-soaked roustabouts, who for some reason got pleasure in crushing the buttocks of these poor kids with hands honed to bend steel pipe. Then there was the businessman who left the aircraft with bruised shins; he had made the mistake of annoying our queen bee. As he walked across the tarmac his pain was palpable. Then, quite recently one of our girls was pulled...no, wrenched from the flight deck by a passenger who thought that she had spent too much time chatting to the crew. Then there's the stories of just what nastiness can be put into a meal if a passenger is annoying enough. You get the point, a lot of tits for a lot of tats.
It takes a lot of skill and maturity to handle ‘the public.' Flying the aircraft is the easy bit. The
SLF pay your wages, but they must maintain certain standards. After all, their fellow passengers may be going to a funeral, the odds are that they will not want to join into a sing-song...well not unless they have just inherited a fortune. At least three millionaires? Well, they may just buy more seats-miles on average, but there are times that, as a passenger, I just don't want to sing, or laugh, or even smile benignly: I am pleased if they are happy, it's good for trade, but I don't what their happiness spilling all over me. They, and their poorer friends, need to be told firmly to behave as airline passengers, and have it explained, they have become for an hour or so, a very specific breed of traveler; one who is expected to take part in the overall effort to make the aircraft reach its destination safely. But what's the point? The odds are that not one of the choir will have even read the safety briefing.