Of Luggage and Limbs

They say that which does not kill us makes us stronger. Sometimes, you can only hope to come away from a job with all the parts you started and call it a day.

The job that left me in daily fear of bodily harm? I was a ramp rat.

For those not familiar with airline jargon, that means I worked the ramp. I threw bags. I was a seasonal employee, which meant I was not allowed to drive any of the equipment. What did that leave me to do?

I hauled bags of ice up the stairs of the jetway for the flight attendants to bring on board. I'm the person who got the auxiliary AC and lights started up again after the plane came to a full and complete stop. I'm the person who chocked the tires, pulled the gear pins out of the front tire for push-back, and refilled the water tanks using a garden hose. You want to wash your hands after touching that nasty toilet? Thank me.

It also meant that I worked the bulk bin. Most bags are loaded in containers, which are then loaded in rows with heavy equipment. The bulk bin? Is for all the rest of the bags that don't fit. Because I was the only girl on my crew most days, I was up in the bin. I was the only one who could actually stand up in the bin which meant that I was stuck grabbing the bags off of the conveyor belt and stacking them head height in a tiny steel room.

All of this occurred during the summer months in Hotlanta. How hot is Hot? We had the option to wear shorts, which I never ever did. The steel was too hot, the edges too sharp and the men on my crew too lewd. It was navy blue pants for me, with heavy-duty knee-pads for protection. At night? After I got off at midnight, got to the parking lot and drove home? I had concentric salt circles on the backs of my knees.

At the beginning of every shift, I rode the employee bus onto Hartsfield grounds. Through the window I would watch the planes take off and land, and I would flex my fingers and murmur my prayers Please God, let me make it home tonight with all of my fingers. I would pull along the entire length of each finger, mimicking the motion of cracking my knuckles except I wanted to feel the texture and curve of every finger in case I lost one during the day.

At the end of every shift, with those salt circles crunching and chafing the backs of my legs, I would lean my forehead against the glass and thank the heavens that I was leaving my job with all my limbs.

There were many lessons to be learned from the underbelly of the aircraft. Appreciation for a job safely done being but one.