One hour in Honolulu, (or the longest turn of my life)

Being on reserve means great trips (see Madrid entry from last week) or crappy trips. On Friday of Memorial Day weekend, I got called to deadhead to San Francisco. The next day I would fly a turnaround to Honolulu. At over 5 hours each way, it would be a scheduled flying time of 10 and a half hours. On Sunday, I would deadhead home.

The flights were full going and coming. I did get to enjoy an hour in Honolulu and stood outside the jet bridge for a few minutes to feel the tropical Hawaiian breezes. Then it was back to the silver tube for the long flight back to the mainland. Since it's Hawaii, most crew stray from the formal uniform and add some local island flare. I ditch the tie and put on kuku'i nuts and wear a serving apron with surfboards. I got a passenger to snap a quick photo of my fellow stews I was working with in coach.

It took all my strength just to get to the hotel that night. I slept like a rock and then deadheaded out of SFO on the first flight of the morning. I was able to get a first class seat on the flight home and slept the whole way, and salvaged the afternoon to enjoy a Memorial Weekend get-together at the house of some friends.