Spring Broken

Ah, Spring Break...

Lines out the door. Bags spilling from carts. Teenagers let loose. It all adds up to the most dreaded time of year...Spring Break. Sure, Christmas and Thanksgiving are crazy busy with people and bags everywhere, but only Spring Break allows teenagers and 20-somethings to run amok. Not so long ago I was a ramper and a University student at the same time. The second to last day of classes (because I was usually alone on the last day) before break, saw students excited with anticipation. Not me. Every time I heard someone say they were headed to Cancun or Lauderdale, I wept a little. Really, tears were in my eyes and pain radiated throughout my body as I knew not only how much luggage they would bring but was also keenly aware of how they would behave.
     First of all, I was assumed that most would sleep through the alarm and be at the counter at the last minute then have a fit that they had to wait so long. And as far as the minority of Breakers that showed up early, I knew that once they got past TSA, the upperclassmen (aka, those 21 and older) would head straight to the bar so they could feel grown up with a Bloody Mary. That's when the real trouble would begin. Alcohol + a 21 year old headed to the beach with his peers= trouble. But hey, we get to stay below wing and just deal with the enormous bags they packed. Although some of the younger guys (and those that think they are younger guys) venture up to the concourse to see what the Breakers look like. Male and female rampers alike look forward to seeing what the Breakers are wearing this year. Yeah, that's it....they want to see what's in fashion.

     Unfortunately for some of the freed students, they have one too many at the bar and either miss their flight or act like such jack-asses, they get thrown off the plane. I overheard one inebriated young man, who the captain ejected along with 11 of his friends, calling his daddy to make everything ok. While he did this, the aircraft pushed. He caught me out of the corner of his eye and shouted, "Do you know who my father is?!" I leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Yes, I do but I promised your mother I wouldn't tell." The gate agent howled while the brilliant student with the important father is probably still trying to understand what I meant.
     Once the herd has been sent to the next stop, they forget about their airport woes and frolic on the beaches of Mexico, California, and Florida. Then they must return; however, they don't have that same sparkle in their eyes as when they left. As it is doing now, Spring Break eventually comes to an end. While rampers the world over rejoice, the kids nurse horrific hangovers and try to do some explaining to their parents. As we contemplate what the Spring Breakers have done to us, our worn-out and relieved bodies walk through the airport and see what they've done to themselves:

Meanwhile in Denver...

Blizzard 2016:

This is just a quick shout out to my Denver ramper buddies. If you're stuck there and it's closed, enjoy the easy time and a half. If you can't get to DIA, enjoy a day playing in the snow, followed by a fireplace and whichever warming beverage you enjoy. If you're clearing off the gates, be careful and bundle up. Remember, there is black ice under that snow. I think I still have a bruise on my butt from the first time I tried to pull a cart in the snow. Stay safe, guys.

All Rampers are Irish

Irish Stereotypes and the Ramper

Happy Saint Patrick's day! Everyone may be Irish today, but we rampers are a wee bit Irish everyday. The number one stereotype for us Irish folk is that we love our booze. That is not just a stereotype, it is a fact. Now, look around you and try to find a ramper who doesn't love to drink. Drinking after work (and for some, not always after) is the most widely held pastime for rampers. "Let's go for one drink," turns into a group of buddies hanging off a bar stool until last call. I know; I've done it. We talk about, anticipate, (sometimes) remember, plan for, and suffer the next day from drinking. As long as we control it, there is nothing wrong with drinking. So, next time you think of the Irish as a bunch of boozers, just remember, you're not that different.

Temperament: The Irish are renowned for their quick and fierce tempers. Now, I know I don't have to tell you how quickly a ramper can go off for the slightest incident. Those of you who know me may have been on the receiving end of my wrath once or twice. I'm Irish and a ramper! I've seen people get in fist fights and lose their job because someone pulled their tug in from of them in a line. I've seen people throw bags at the fuelers for being in the way. Someone I know chased a guy across the ramp on her tug and hunted him like an animal (which he may have been). The Irish claim the temper is in their blood but given that rampers have vastly different DNA, the causal agent for our tempers is a mystery. Maybe it's all the booze. Maybe it's from sucking in Jet A all day. Or maybe, there are some people we just can't stand.

Lastly, let's talk about blarney. In simple terms, being full of blarney is the Irish phrase meaning one is full of crap or prone to tell tall tales. Again, as a person of Irish decent, I can tell you this is a stereotype based on fact. What about rampers? Ever talk to a guy who loaded 8k of cargo in one conversation and 12k in the next? By the time the story has come full circle, he loaded every bit of cargo on the ramp single handed. I have heard guys talk about their sexual conquests to the extent that I couldn't understand how they had time for work, never mind drinking. We are sure to make our opinions heard, love to argue (some times both sides of an issue at the same time), and love a good story. Yes, we are all full of blarney.

So, my friends, rejoice in your Irishness and raise a glass to your rampers across the pond. And to my true Irish Mafia (you know who you are), Erin go Bragh!

"You'd know him if you saw him"

Our Nameless Friends

Ever find yourself talking with a few guys about someone else (of course you have) but you have no idea who they are talking about? Then you ask, "Do I know this guy?" The response is inevitably, "Sure you do, he's the young kid with baggy pants." That sure narrows it down. Working in a field station, this does not come up too often, but when you work in a hub with over 1,000 rampers, remembering everyone's name is problematic at best. "The young kid with baggy pants" might cut things in half. Other common, but useless in Phoenix, descriptions include: The tall, skinny Mexican guy; the old white guy that looks like he needs a bath; the obnoxious girl in yoga pants; the really strong Islander; the lazy guy who only does the water. I know you have heard these descriptions, which are usually followed by, "You'd know him if you saw him." Would I? With the large turnover in our industry and the seemingly continual mergers, it can be hard to log so many names in our cranial memory banks. We all face this conundrum yet due to societal mores, we cannot bring ourselves to ask someone his name.
     Tell me this hasn't happened to you: You're walking down the hall or across the ramp and someone who is walking towards you looks you straight in the eye and says,"hi, [your name here]." You've seen this person a hundred times, probably even ate together once or twice, but you have not one clue as to his name. If you can look busy and keep walking, everything will be fine. However, if this guy wants to chat and you can't get away, you need to be creative. Here come the acrobatics; you must catch a glimpse of his SIDA badge without him noticing. If they use a lanyard, it's not too bad, you simply bend you head down, pretend you have something in your eye and squint a peek at his name. Now, if the nameless socialite is wearing an arm band, you have trouble. You have to remember, this person has done the same thing so can easily catch you in the act. Leaning sideways is out of the question. I've had some luck with pretending to stretch my neck but have found that the safest bet is the "my shoe is bugging me," routine. You have to bend down to the shoe opposite the badged arm, i.e.: right arm means you bend to left shoe. You have to hunch your shoulder up a bit to block your eye and then catch a very quick look at the badge. There is no room or time for error. If you are still unsure, don't take any chances; just say, "Catch you later, bro" and you're all set. Bro, hon, sweetie, or babe are all acceptable nouns to be used in place of a name if you want to omit the acrobatics. The bottom line is this; it happens to us all. We suck jet fuel all day and have all done our share of sleep-deprived, consecutive doubles thereby rendering us all less than mentally stellar. Until next time, bro.

Fair (and Foul) Weather Friends

The Ramper vs. The Weather

     There are no snow days for rampers. Excessive heat warnings during the Phoenix summer months are meaningless, not to mention unnecessary to the population as a whole. Freeze warnings and pollution alerts are useful for gardeners and our asthmatic friends. A constant battle looms between rampers and the weather, and Mother Nature doesn't like to lose. All rampers, in every station, must contend with what comes from nature and the ensuing effects on our bodies, and minds. The cold and snow of Denver can be fierce and the heat of Phoenix is devastating, yet the most dreaded forecast is RAIN. 

     How many times have you heard regular people(that is, non-rampers) say, "Oh, we need the rain?" Screw them. Rain on a day off or after work is fine but when you're out there in shorts and a t-shirt when the sky suddenly opens up, do you really need the rain? After you're drenched and finish your flight, you run inside to put flimsy rain gear over soaked clothes. More often than not, in Phoenix, by the time you get back outside, it has stopped raining. Now comes the dilemma; do you keep your rain gear on or go back to your locker to strip it off? So many things to consider before making this decision. First, I can confidently say, your rain gear doesn't fit properly. More than likely, the pants, if they haven't shredded in the crotch, are too big. You either have them rolled up over your belly-button or you drag the cuffs through the puddles. Second, if you take them off and decide to leave them outside with you, there is a very good chance they will be stolen, no matter how many times you write your name on the back. Third, with the luck we have as rampers, the possibility is very great that as soon as you bring your gear inside, it will start raining again the minute your flight gets on the ground. Lastly, if it is summer, two problems arise: 1) you can't stand the thought of keeping that rubber jacket on one minute longer than necessary; 2) if you have time to stay inside you start to shiver because your clothes are soaked and the thermostat is on the Arctic setting. 

     

     The worst part of rain is wet feet. We've all tried the blow drier, and I even stood on one leg for ten minutes at a time with my stocking feet held up under the exhaust of an A320. Some people bring a change of socks but putting dry socks into wet shoes never made much sense to me. It seems the most sensible people are the ones who walk around with plastic bags in their shoes to keep their socks dry. That all seems like too much work for me so I just do what I deem most practical; I call in sick. Rampers, always have the latest weather forecast at hand and when it might rain, get up early and make that call. The guys that are there will appreciate the OT and you'll get to spend a nice rainy day snuggled up at home.

Fallen Rampers

My Pal Al:

Today marks 4 years since this amazing man died. For the purposes of this blog, Al was a Phoenix ramper, but he was so much more. I threw bags with Al for a couple of years before he got sick; it was then that I saw what a truly remarkable man he was. He displayed such strength, courage, and grace that there were times I felt humbled in his presence. To him, it was nothing special, but to me, he was the most special of us all.

I worked with Al and a couple of other guys on what we called, "the geriatric gate." At the time I was the youngest of the crew at 44; we worked circles around the youngsters. Al never boasted about his abilities nor did he seek accolades. I often told him he could outwork anyone on the ramp; he would lower his head in embarrassment and say, "not Kari." 

He wasn't all work and no play, we had a blast. What first comes to mind are the times we used to send random objects across the globe. We would grab a stray chock or mini tail cone and load it with a special handling tag written for Barcelona, Honduras, or somewhere across the Pacific. He was always the quiet one but boy did he have a wicked sense of humor. 

I could go on for several pages talking about my best buddy, but I won't. Instead I ask you to take a minute or two today and think of Al. Also, think of all the other rampers that are no longer with us; guys you worked side by side with in bins or on tugs. Guys you laughed, smoked, bitched, or cried with. We've all done those things. Next time you're in a bin with a guy, look at him and remember, he may not always be there. Even if it's not a guy you like working with (you can all translate that as you like) we are all part of a messed up, loony family. So, raise a glass to Al today and remember a ramper that has gone away.

Loose Change

     I was walking through a parking lot with a non-ramper friend a couple of weeks ago and saw a shiny nickel on the ground. I naturally bent over to grab it and she exclaimed, "That money is filthy!" I responded, "Can't help it, it's the ramper in me." Rampers love loose change.

     Found money is exciting to most everyone; however, rampers get an inexplicable thrill at the sight of even a penny on the ground. With the exception of reaching blindly under the dark and terrifying vending machine, a ramper will pick up change that most people would not touch without long sleeves and gloves. I have a jar full of change, some of which is caked with debris I have not yet been able to identify. Who cares? It's found money and in the old days of Ramen noodles, these lost treasures often led to a meal. 

  

     In the old days, finding a few quarters was like winning the lottery as we were able to take our loot to the spinning vending machine (affectionately known as the "Wheel of Death") and get a bean burrito for a buck. Yet, now that we earn a decent wage, we still jump at the sound of metal hitting the floor. One ramper in particular comes to mind (rhymes with bump). She literally dives out of her chair in the break room when some poor unfortunate drops a coin while at the machine. This behavior became so notorious that another guy began to randomly drop a handful of pennies just to watch the action. Harmless scuffles ensued at times, all for the sake of a few cents.

     Admit it, on or off the ramp, you jump at any shiny object that just might be a coin. You wait for your flights by a tail cart and scour it carefully for something that might have dropped out of a bag. You only do a FOD walk in the hopes of finding something valuable; with extra focus on the areas where the belt loaders get pulled up to the plane. 

     This curious phenomenon is just another behavior that solidifies Rampers as separate class of society.