I recently recalled an occasion at the beginning of the year when I spent many, many hours stuck at the airport. It was very interesting observing how flight crews from different airlines conduct themselves when they arrive at the departure terminal.
Air France made the poorest showing of them all, shirts un-tucked, hair somewhat disarrayed, ties not quite knotted neatly and frantic last minute smoking of cigarettes.
Qatar Airways were prim and proper, unsmiling and walked in synchronous strides in single file. These were certainly not the kind of people you want to ask for extra peanuts during your flight.
Ethiopian Airlines raised a few eyebrows - two eyebrows, to be precise, specifically mine. The ladies were drop dead gorgeous Nubian princess-types, confident, and full of vitality, throwing their heads back in laughter and youthful joie de vivre. They were great. Their male colleagues were cause for concern, however. They were tripping over themselves attempting to be chivalrous and offload the ladies' luggage from the shuttle. I would guess every one of them was at least ten years older than the ladies. They were sluggish and clumsy and their green suits were ill fitting. All of them. I was baffled and a little disappointed. My bafflement gave way to concern when I observed their body language. I won't go into too much detail but suffice it to say it was my observation and conclusion that the men were keenly aware of the beauty of their female counterparts. This was evidenced by what I will take the liberty to describe as lust-filled laughter, shifty, leery, wandering eyes, lascivious winking and inappropriate and unnecessary physical contact. I wondered where this crew was flying to and how many hours of this those poor girls would have to put up with. Then it occurred to me that there was no way they could be oblivious to the lusty, leery lasciviousness that I had noted in the few minutes I had been watching them. So what did this mean? If I was being eyeballed by shifty eyes and accidentally bumped into inappropriately I would not be throwing my head back in joie de vivre; I would be nauseated and enraged. And yet the Nubian princesses were just downright chipper. Hookay then! Buried my head in the book I had been pretending to read and let that scenario work itself out...
Next up was Lufthansa. Ah Lufthansa! This crew was nothing short of awe-inspiring. They offloaded their luggage with record speed and efficiency, their uniforms were fresh and crisp and they did not walk; they glided into the terminal in a perfect v shape like birds in migration. I was left feeling like I could do better with my life. Really. I could do better.
Last but I suppose not least was a rag tag, unruly group that put me ill at ease. There was something about this crew... What was it? Was it the over made up faces, the slicked up hair topped off with shiny hair pieces, the fact that they appeared to be conversing extremely loudly such that I was unsure whether they were arguing or just really passionate about whatever the subject matter was? As they quick-stepped into the bustling terminal I tried to hear what they were saying as they passed me but alas my hearing is not that great. All I picked up was something, something, shar... Shar? What was that? Hmmm. Shar. Or maybe chat, as in the french word for cat? Then it hit me. Oh. Not shar, not chat, but sha. Sha, short for shamwari, the Shona word for friend. Turns out this rag tag team flew me to my hometown in a rag tag airplane that took twice the time it takes other airlines to fly the same route. But just in time for my friend's wedding!
