First Day Stamps | Customer Servants on the Edge of “Going Tarmac”

Customer Servants on the Edge of “Going Tarmac”

When I first heard the expression, "Going postal," about losing one's professional composure, I cracked-up.

Like many citizens, I suspected some of the decent folks that issue stamps, collect the mail, and perform a miscellany of related, vital services, were being held together emotionally, with little more than some string and wrapping paper.

Tommy Lee Jones' satirical portrayal of the Postmaster of Truro, Massachusetts in "Men In Black II" did nothing to rid me of the feeling that mail-persons possess a certain amount of extraterrestrial DNA, which, as the film shows, can be vital to performing their occupational responsibilities.

Now that a flight attendant has flamboyantly exited from active duty by sliding onto the tarmac, what I postulated about his species of helper is also coming to the fore.

Porters of the flying tube may be just a rude passenger or two from being squeezed too hard, making a public relations splatter of their employers, industries, occupations, and themselves.

Noting that "They're stressed," doesn't come close to characterizing how much their emotions are under pressure.

Obviously, stricter rules and procedures regarding the maintenance of airline security have foisted them into more of an enforcement mode than ever before. If only informally, they've become deputies, airborne posses that are expected to spot and even to thwart terrorists.

To which mission are they more likely to give priority: (1) Delivering that can of soda with a beatific smile to Seat 12-B, or (2) Detecting someone trying to ignite his shoes?

We are no longer passengers; we're suspects. Servers don't risk a bad score on customer courtesy if they falter; they risk their lives.

Signing onto what was a powder puff job has become Delta Force.

On 9-11, I was consulting in Florida. A few days later, my regularly scheduled flight back to California was one of the first to be permitted into the suddenly darker and more ominous skies. That day, security was unbelievably tight.

After we were boarded, we were yanked from the plane and then re-boarded. Finally in my seat, a few feet from the flight deck, my eyes started glazing over, and I was about to blissfully slumber.

Suddenly, the flight attendant scolded me: "If I can't sleep, YOU can't sleep!" she barked, with the authority of a drill sergeant.

Her meaning was clear: I was being impressed into service. Guard this space with your life!

I barely blinked from that point, forward.

That tension, a state of emergency, has occasionally abated in the intervening years, but it starkly awakens whenever a genuine threat is publicized.

Working in that environment of fear and potential violence and devastation, exacts a toll. This doesn't exonerate customer servants that suddenly "Go Tarmac" on us.

But it does presage how we're likely to see a lot more worker compensation claims for stress related disabilities coming from those that have served as airborne sentries.