Travelling Thoughts

Today’s prompt actually hit some, even if I left the profession 14 years ago. I am, of course, talking about Cabin Crew, or Flight Attendants for your Americans out there. More importantly, I am talking about the fact, that we are not there just to serve you coffee.

I used to work as Cabin Crew, and over those years I lost count of how many times passengers treated us like flying waitstaff. You know the look—the snap of the fingers, the “excuse me” that’s really a command, the assumption that our entire job description begins and ends with how quickly we bring you a second mini bottle of white, especially during meal service.

But here’s what most people don’t understand.

We’re there to get you out alive.

That safety demonstration you’re ignoring each and every time you fly? The crew has memorised it for every aircraft type they operate, and are recertified on it every single year.

Those doors you’re leaning your bag against? Even after 14 years of flying only as a passenger I still know how to open them in under ten seconds while a fire burns on the other side.

That “unexpected turbulence” that sends your drink flying? We’ve spent hours training on how to secure a cabin of two hundred panicking people while the plane drops, and all this whilst looking cool as a cucumber.

The coffee is just the visible part. The real job happens before takeoff and—if everything goes wrong—when you least expect it. Been there, holding a doctor in place whilst he is fixing a wound in turbulence. Told the Captain that “I’d appreciate it if we landed five minutes ago” because of a dying passenger. I’ve stood there, listening to complaints about how they should have been let off from the plane before ambulance crew fetched a critically ill patient first.

The cabin crew is trained in firefighting, first aid, evacuations, security threats, and how to keep a plane full of people calm when every instinct says to panic. We know how to spot human trafficking. We know how to manage a medical emergency at 38,000 feet with nothing but a first aid kit and a fervent prayer.

Yet the coffee is what you see. The safety is what you don’t.

So next time you fly, feel free to ask for another blanket. But maybe drop the finger snap. That person in the uniform? They’re not waiting tables. They’re the reason you get to complain about the meal later, instead of wondering what an evacuation slide feels like.

If you enjoyed this post and want more stories from the skies—and the road—consider buying me a coffee. Your support helps me keep writing about the journeys, the hidden truths, and the perspectives you won’t hear from the boarding gate. Every cup fuels the next story.