Before I ascended the hallowed ranks to become a Lead Station Attendant, I was just your average ramp rat, grinding out the winters at YYZ with a crew that could only be described as one part baggage handlers, two parts mental patients.
Names have been changed to protect the guilty—but who are we kidding, they know what they did.
Our fearless leader was Moose Myth—a guy so laid-back, you’d swear he was hibernating through shift briefings. Then there was Spike Reznar, who once mistook a tug for a go-kart and tried to drift it through Gate 121. Andy Freed, the philosopher of the group, whose deepest thought was “I wonder if you can cook pizza on a jet exhaust.”
And finally, Saul Bringer—our unlucky victim—and me, Michael , a.k.a. Yours Truly, the innocent bystander who definitely didn’t laugh too hard.
The Crime:
We were loading a DC-9 bound for LaGuardia—the kind of aircraft that’s older than most of our union reps and squeaks like a shopping cart on cobblestones.
Saul was in the aft hold, loading bags like a champ. Spike was passing him luggage, then—because his brain runs on fumes and Mountain Dew—casually shuts the cargo door on Saul.
Yes. You read that right.
Spike turns the DC-9 into Saul’s personal escape room.
Suddenly from inside the belly of the aircraft comes:
- Kicking
- Banging
- What sounded like muffled swearing in four different languages
We’re hooking up the paymover when Moose Myth, who was probably mentally composing a Rush drum solo, casually asks:
“Hey… where’s Saul?”
As we start pushback, the cockpit calls ground:
“Uhh… we’re hearing… noises. Sounds like an animal in the aft hold?”
Moose, trying to play it cool, replies:
“Copy that. We’ll, uh… check for raccoons?”
Pushback halts. Spike, finally realizing “Oops, I might’ve stuffed Saul in a pressurized tin can,” opens the aft cargo door.
BOOM!
Out bursts Saul Bringer, shirt half-off, eyes blazing, hair looking like he got into a fight with a static-charged polar fleece blanket.
He chases Spike across the ramp like a scene from The Revenant.
Baggage carts crash. Radios drop. Someone spills coffee. Two rookies hide behind the lav truck.
Spike’s yelling,
“I was gonna let you out eventually!!”
Saul’s yelling,
“You were gonna get me deported to LaGuardia in a Samsonite!!”
Passengers by the terminal window watch in horror as what appears to be a rabid baggage man is chasing another one across the apron like a National Geographic special.
And Moose? Moose just shrugs and says,
“Well… at least we’re not delayed.”
Postscript:
No rampies were harmed in the making of this prank. Saul got a free coffee and a hug. Spike got written up by a supervisor who also laughed too hard to take it seriously. Moose got a new nickname: Myth-Direction.
And I? I took notes.
Because someday, I knew I’d be a Lead…
And revenge is best served at Gate 93.
