How to Move a Bomb
To be a flight attendant is to be underestimated entirely and wholly misunderstood. There are multitudes of assumptions about the job. Few of which are true.
I get it. I mean, I had 5 or 6 different jobs in the airline biz before becoming a flight attendant. I'd used my flight passes to travel around the world for years and years. I saw flight attendants regularly. I thought I knew what they did.
...and then I took the job and saw I had zero idea what I was getting into.
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Here's one of the stranger things we learn when we go to flight attendant training: How to Move a Bomb.
If a bomb is discovered in flight, and that flight is, say, in the middle of the Atlantic...you want to move it somewhere that increases the chances the aircraft will survive the explosion.
This is usually the back right door of an aircraft. If packed right, the thinking goes that the door will be blown out, but the fuselage might stay intact, and it's the furthest you can get from the engines...while also keeping the pilots in one piece.
There's a step-by-step procedure for how to assemble luggage, wet blankets, and other items to create a platform to put the bomb on, then you pack it in with more of this, to hopefully minimize the damage.
In training, there's a lot of joking about how this is really just something to keep us busy while we wait to die...but hey, maybe it could work. If, of course, you don't immediately trip the anti-lifting device.
Anti-Lifting Device
We're trained to take a Safety Demo Card. (You know those things you're encouraged to look at so you'll know your nearest exit, what to do if you crash in water, etc.?) Well, you take one of those, because they're made of sturdy cardstock, and yet thin and smooth. Perfect to use as fans if the plane's hot...or to check if you can hoist the thing, toss it over your shoulder, trot to the back of the aircraft, and dump it on the platform you've assembled Okay...not.
Still, what a handy thing! I know you'll look at that pedestrian item differently next time you're on a flight. (Oh Lord...when will that be?)
Anyway...so you, carefully, (as if anyone would have the instinct to just start banging a bomb around), you carefully slide the card under the explosive ever so s l o w l y.
If you hit something: you Stop.
That little protrusion could be the thing that tells the bomb it's lying on a solid surface and to blow up if it's picked up. If there's an anti-lifting device, you do nothing.
Well, you move people as far away from the bomb as possible. (In other words: not far enough. And then you commence praying and apologizing for all of your poor decisions in life, and making deals with the Almighty.
Because the device means that moving it will cause it to blow right then. ...as opposed to the way later, you might wish for.
So Why Am I Telling You All of This?
Is it to gain some respect for flight attendants?
Nahhh...we thrive on being underestimated.
It is, naturally, because of Ella.
All Roads Lead Back to Ella
I've shared all this convoluted information for one reason only: So I could tell you Ella is my own personal anti-lifting device.
Don't Move A Muscle
Cats curl up in your lap, or on your chest, or on your head. (Or is that just Ella?)
And then they become near-dormant balls of warmly purring-ness.
They are the very definition of peace and calm and comfort. S i g h. Possibly the closest thing we get to heaven on earth.
Until you move.
Then comes the Hiroshima-like Kitty Anger: Roaring 'meows' of ire, teeth get bared, claws come out.
Sure, she's barely over ten pounds (yes, she is now at the vet's decreed optimal weight), but she is a surprisingly effective deterrent to movement.
So you try to just enjoy it until your cramped leg, full bladder, or gainful employment force your hand.
*Title of an orchestral piece composed by Jonathan Newman
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