Murray Airplane

Murray Airplane

Shasy and The Royal Service

My wonderful friend Shasy and I buddy bid together frequently as Flight Attendants.  This meant we would be guaranteed positions flying together for an entire month.  Shasy was a hard worker and always delightful company.  Years down the road she would introduce me to my beloved husband, for which I will be eternally grateful.  She was also consistently my voice of calm in any storm.  The angriest I ever experienced her was when she found out (whilst working on the plane with another Flight Attendant, whom she had never met before), that her Pilot boyfriend, Kent, of over a year, had just had the aforementioned Flight Attendant over the previous evening for a date at his house, where he loaned her Shasy's swimming suit to wear in his hot tub.  The paramour, Cat, who thought she was innocently describing her date with Kent, an available man, to her new co-worker, Shasy, went into great descriptive minutiae as she recalled Kent's courting methods.  Shasy and Kent had an agreement that they were dating each other exclusively, and Shasy kept some things at Kent's home, including a two-piece swimming suit to wear in his hot tub.  Cat was quite smitten with Kent after he cooked her dinner at his home, and then suggested they take a Jacuzzi together.  Cat replied she would love to, but didn't have swimwear under her clothes or in her purse.  No worries, Kent assured her, he had just pulled his "sister's" bathing suit out of the clean laundry and Cat was welcome to wear that.  "It's probably too small," Cat suggested.  The next thing she knew Kent left the room, and reappeared wearing Shasy's bikini to demonstrate that it should fit Cat just fine.  "Isn't that hilarious!" Cat shared with her girl-talking colleague.  Oh yes, Kent was quite the catch. 

"Hysterical," Shasy observed.

She called me from the airport in Memphis, Tennessee (U.S.A.) the first chance she got and when I heard her voice coming through my answering machine, I picked up the phone, just as Shasy was saying "I'm so pissed" in the tone and cadence one might use to inform another "I need to pick up strawberries from the store." 

When I was suffering from severe insomnia and my physician prescribed a sleeping medication, which I had never taken before, I was happily anticipating the prospect of a good night's sleep.                       

Lying down in my hotel bed, I took the tablet, and the next thing I knew Magic Johnson was having a party in my room.  Thinking to myself "I sure hope the party guests keep it down so I can get some sleep," I called Shasy to see if she felt there was cause for concern regarding the festivities in my room.

Her response to this information "You're probably hallucinating, sounds like you should just go to sleep."

"Okay…" I responded compliantly.

Every time I am reminded of this incident, I think of the Saturday Night Live skit from the 1970s when Dan Akroyd was portraying then President Jimmy Carter, with a dripping molasses Georgia drawl.  He sat in the Oval Office with Walter Cronkite played by Bill Murray.  They were taking call in questions when Dan/Jimmy received a phone call from someone named Peter.

President Carter:  Yes.  Hello, Peta?

Peter (on phone):  Is this the President?

President Carter:  Yes, it ee-is.

Peter (on phone):  I've just taken some acid…and I'm afraid to leave my apartment, and I can't wear any clothes…and the ceiling is dripping, and uh…I, uh…

Walter Cronkite:  Well, thank you very much for calling, sir…

President Carter:  Just a minute, Walta, this guy's in trouble.  Ah think ah betta trah to talk him day-own.  Peta?

Peter (on phone):  Yeah?

President Carter:  Peta what did the acid look lahk?

Peter (on phone):  They were these little orange pills.

President Carter:  Wuhr thay barrel shayped?

Peter (on phone):  Uh…yes.

President Carter:  Owkay, rahght, you did some arnge sunshahn, Peta.

Peter (on phone):  Very good of you to know that, sir.

President Carter:  How long ago did you tayk it, Peta?

Peter (on phone):  Uh…I don't know.  I can't read my watch.

President Carter:  Awright, Peta, just listen.  Everythang is going ta be fine.  Yure very hah rahght nay-ow.  You'll probably be thay-at way for about fahve mo-ore owuhs.  Trah tay-king some vahtamin B complex, vahtamin C complex…if you have a bee-a, go ahay-ed an' drink ee-it…

Peter (on phone):  Okay…

Recently, I was watching some political talk show and former President Jimmy Carter was the guest.  Toward the end of the program, President Carter (in his 80s by this point), and the host took some call-in questions.  A couple basic inquiries got through and were answered in a thoughtful fashion.  Then Oscar from Wyoming telephoned. 

President Carter:  "Yes, hello Osca.  How are ya'?"

Oscar:  "Is this President Carter?"

President Carter:  "Yes, it ee-is."

Oscar:  "Yeah, I was wondering why none of the callers have mentioned how smokin' hot you are."

The camera was locked in to a close-up of President Carter's face.  Of course the host tried to intervene, but the camera didn't leave the former President.  His expression was sort of an amalgam of horror, utter speechlessness, and perhaps a pinch of raw sexuality.

The first time I flew with Shasy, we were sitting on the jump seat beside each other, and I glanced down at her outstretched hands.  A sharp startled intake of breath preceded my thinking "Dear God!  What's wrong with her thumbs!?!  They're toes!  She must have lost her thumbs in a farming accident and they replaced them with her big toes."

I didn't say anything about the bizarre phalanges.  "It would be too traumatic for both of us," I thought.  After we had flown a few trips together, Shasy and I were standing in the galley with another Flight Attendant, Hester, when I saw Hester recoil.  "What's going on with your thumbs, Shasy?"

‘Oh, no, she did not just say that!'

"I have toe thumbs," Shasy nonchalantly replied.

‘I knew it!  It was a farming accident wasn't it?'

"It's genetic.  My Mom has one toe thumb and one regular thumb," she explained.

Improbably, just a few years ago, my family had a neighbor, Mac, who was very friendly and talking with me through the backyard fence one day.  He was resting his hands on the gate, when I saw them-more TOE THUMBS!

‘Are you kidding me?'

During Mac's and my conversation, by happenstance, we discovered that we both knew the same Plastic Surgeon.  Mac said "Oh yeah, he's the one who sewed my toes onto my hands."

‘Whuh…whah…huh??'

Mac continued, "I was working in my woodshop, when I got both my thumbs caught in my table saw and they came right off and flew across the room.  We brought the severed appendages into the hospital, but the surgeon told me both thumbs were too badly damaged to re-attach, though he could remove my big toes and sew them on in their place, if I wanted him to do that."

‘Right.  Sure.'

"So, that right there," he held up his left ‘thumb,' is the big toe from my left foot.  And this is the big toe from my right foot," he displayed his right ‘toe/thumb.'

"Well, if that doesn't put pepper in the gumbo." 

Shasy and I usually bid for a particular U.S. domestic trip that laid over in Bangor, Maine the first night and Washington, D.C. the second night.  The trip was nicely set up and-as were our main priorities then-both destinations had great places to run/work out, decent bars with live music (where the bands were usually amenable to patrons joining them on stage), and interesting places to visit if one were so inclined:  Bangor, Maine-the picturesque rocky coast of Bar Harbor, the horror genre author, Stephen King's house, which was surrounded by a black wrought iron fence with gargoyles on the gates.  If you drove by at night, there was always one light on in an upstairs window, with the drapes slightly parted as if he were watching you.  Washington, D.C.-The Supreme Court, The White House, The Smithsonian, blah, blah.  Shasy and I liked just the same layover activities and spent nearly every waking minute together while on a trip.  This prompted one southern gentleman on our crew to drawl "Way-ell, I'll swan, yew two are just like peanut butter and jelly."  From then on, any time Shasy was having a tough moment I would say "Peanut butterrrrrrr…"

To which she would tolerantly and obligingly reply "What jelly?" 

This trip had one very long leg, from Dallas/Fort Worth to Boston during which we offered a "Royal Service" in First Class.  This included:  a hot towel service, linen table cloths, linen napkins, cocktails/beverages and hors d' oeuvres, three choices of wine, a salad course with two choices of dressing, three entrée selections, four choices of hot bread with dipping sauces and freshly ground pepper and/or freshly grated parmesan cheese, a coffee and/or liqueur service, your choice of strawberry, chocolate, or butterscotch ice cream sundaes-with warm sauces, and optional whipped cream, nuts, and cherries, or a choice between raspberry and lemon sorbet, then another hot towel service, and a fruit and cheese service before landing.  Now, what human being needs that much food in a four hour period?  Per our in-flight training, we were basically airborne pushers for our captive, gluttonous junkies.

‘Hey man, wouldn't you like a little whipped cream with that sundae? It is suh-WEET!!  I'll hook you up with some primo nuts to go on top, just 'cause you're a frequent flyer-I don't do this for everyone.'

The service required two Flight Attendants, and Shasy and I took great pride in providing our passengers with an elegant, seamless service for the three-four hour flight.  One evening, Shasy was the "cabin" person-who dealt directly with the passengers-and I was the "galley" person-in charge of preparation and set-up.  Shasy and I spared no effort to give our clientele every extra-to include making a steaming pit of fog with dry ice in the middle of the hot towel tray (just for ambiance), and warming cups before pouring coffee, so that the china wouldn't cool down the beverage.  We had begun the coffee service, and I was pouring away while Shasy delivered.  As I was on about my tenth cup, I glanced down into the steaming silver coffee pot and saw a pair of testicles at the bottom.  Gasping, as Shasy came around the corner, I showed her the evidence that we had been serving scrotum brewed coffee to our First Class occupants.  We both stood there aghast as I took some tongs and fished out the gonads-never imagining this would be a task required of a Flight Attendant for a prestigious airline-I mean maybe one of the commuters…but anyway-the testicles turned out to be a blanched lemon and lime, which catering had inadvertently left in the coffee pot.  As shocking as this was, we decided it was a far more favorable outcome than the one we originally thought we were facing.  We fell into tear filled convulsions of laughter.  One of us would finally compose ourselves, then the other would lose control.  Finally, struggling-failingly-to maintain some sort of decorum, Shasy headed back out to her cabin duties and was immediately asked by a gentleman "This coffee has such a unique flavor-what kind is it?"

To which she replied "oh…, uh…, um…, it's a special blend that only our airline makes," (as if it were a family secret about which we could not divulge a thing).

‘Yes, a delectably special blend of tropical citrus fruit rinds and ground coffee beans beautifully presented and piping hot…mmmm.'

Honestly, can one think of an occasion when visiting a fine restaurant that the wait staff neglected to offer "Would you care for a lemon or lime wedge with your coffee?"  An omission such as that would be very tacky.

 

Lori Culpepper Dinsmore

About the Author

Folie has Several BLOG

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About the Author Lori Culpepper Dinsmore

There is a psychiatric/psychological diagnosis called "Folie a Plusieurs," which is a French phrase literally meaning "Madness has Several."  This disorder was first discovered by French Mental Health Professionals, thus the French name.  The illness may occur when people are so enmeshed with each other they actually adopt the psychosis or psychoses of their companions.

The imagery which the phrase~Madness has Several~evokes, for me, is simply enchanting.

This is my portal into my own folie and joy.  I am a former Flight Attendant for a major U.S. airline, where I traversed the globe for eight years.  As a natural progression, I then went into Psychiatric Research at a State Psychiatric Hospital, where I (under the tutelage of the Psychiatrist for whom I worked-along with a team of colleagues), was a published author concerning such hot button issues as "Total Cotinine in Plasma: A Stable Biomarker for Exposure to Tobacco Smoke."  Have you read it?  That one stayed a little below the non-scientific community's radar.  But, then came "Initiation of Daily Smoking and Nicotine Dependence in Schizophrenia and Mood Disorders."  After this one leapt off the presses, I was lucky to be able to make it through the grocery store without hordes of photographers and autograph seeking, chain-smoking, mentally ill persons obstructing my path.

Currently, I am a Stay Home, HomeSchooling Mother to a ten year old Human Boy, a four year old Bloodhound Boy, and a six year old Retired Racing Greyhound Boy.  My Husband (also a Boy), Jonathan, and I have been married for 15 years.

They are my treasures.

I also write.  Here is my lens for the epoch we all (every presence) share-past, present, and, God willing, future.  These are my hopes, ruminations, and of course, delirious thoughts…but what always burns most vividly is the beautiful laughter.

Détenir sur étroite à la folie avec mon âme folle ma pretties.

  

Lori Culpepper Dinsmore

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