Apparently, Jazz flights are for old, crusty flight attendants who are meant to go to flight attendant purgatory before they are put out to early-retirement-package-pasture. She got into a fight with some business dude in the first five seconds we were on the tarmac (over blackberry use - she was right, he was wrong, but she flew right off the handle in 0-60 seconds and yelled at him that he was committing a "federal offence.")
And then, when I was again holding my child "wrong," she informed me that "I don't know if you know this, but the pilot can't land the plane when you are holding your child like that..." (because apparently pilots, like moms, have eyes in the back of their heads. Unlike moms, pilots can also see backwards through doors and the bodies of crusty flight attendants). And, because this trip really needed a piece de resistance, she added: "This isn't a helicopter, you know!" I refrained from saying: "It isn't? Oh shit! I totally got on the wrong flight!"
But just barely.