Day one back in work is always a pain in the hole after a break but when I arrive for the crew briefing a pretty great crew greets me. There is no sign of the Captain and when I ask if anyone knows him, I don’t recognise his name, they shrug and one of them starts to giggle. I’m very confused and when I ask why some of them are laughing they just tell me to wait and see. I’ve nothing better to do so I shoot the shit with the crew, while slurping a venti iced-coffee with a splash of soymilk.

 

As we are chatting and laughing a number of them go silent and I realise that the Captain is either approaching or is in the crew room. One of them even rolls their eyes, which is never good. When I turn around the first thing I see is he’s wearing the traditional thawb (Arabic dress) that Arabic men wear, however, this is the first time that I’ve seen any of the crew wearing it. Questions start to shoot around my skull immediately. Where does he keep a pen if he doesn’t have a breast pocket? Will his choice of attire dictate and screw up the temperature on the flight deck? Is he wearing shoes or sandals? And, will the middle of his man-dress get in the way of moving the control column? I am overflowing with the urge to speak up and as I smile and make eye contact for the first time he shuts me down and says, “Do not make eye contact with me. Any of you!” They all look to the floor immediately and I of course think this is a prank and say “Yeah, look away people; there’s nothing to see here.” He glares at me, I am so confused, and I still really want to ask him a million questions about the functionality of his garments on the flight deck.

 

He retrieves his bags and returns to us to commence the briefing. I have not been looking at the floor during any of this. In fact I’ve been watching him like a hawk because he appears to me to have no sense of CRM. As he approaches I inexplicably stare at the ground, which is an act as confusing as his gúna. He starts to take what look like picture frames out of his bag. What the fuck is going on? I say. Thankfully, and very surprisingly, I’ve actually kept this utterance to myself for once.

 

“We will now commence the pre-flight briefing,” he says solemnly. “Look at these pictures and I will explain to you how we will conduct my flight today.” Did he just say ‘my flight’? Before I answer my own question my eyes are drawn to the table where there are a number of picture frames now standing. A beach ball, a smiling child with blonde hair and blue eyes (definitely not his), a sunrise, a sunset and a chessboard all framed in what look like very expensive wood frames. I’m not listening to a word he is saying as I gaze at each picture trying to figure out what this all means. I get the happy child, even the beach ball and sun pictures, but what is the purpose of the chessboard? It’s probably meant as some form of metaphor, but given this is happening at all it could have no meaning apart from being a nice picture of chess pieces! I wonder does each picture belong to one of his wives, which would signify he has five wives? I am seldom left speechless, but my silence is paralysing me.

 

As we walk to the airplane I am drowning in confusion as I reconcile with only speaking when spoken to for the next 72 hours. At least if I don’t have to talk to him I won’t have to try to understand him or his man-dress. Although, my guess is once we land in LA his man dress will take pride of place in a wardrobe, along with his solemnity, as he samples and enjoys everything that western civilisation has to offer. He’ll be shopping on Rodeo Drive so fast he won’t be able to finish his Budweiser.

 

Alhamdulillah!

 

Photo by Terry Jaskiw on Unsplash