Hostie's hell
October 11th 2006 04:46
I've never written a blog before. In fact, it's been some time since I've had to use my brain. You see, until quite recently I was a flight attendant, also known as a stewardess, cabin crew, trolley dolly, air hostess and air b*tch. Personally, I prefer to say I am an ex-hostie.
Where should I start with stories of horrendous flights, hideous passengers and equally as hideous fellow hosties? I won't deny the fact that one of my favourite pastimes is complaining, actually I think being an incessant whinger is a prerequisite to becoming a hostie.
Next time you have the unfortunate experience of being stuck in a huge inescapable metal tube (ie aeroplane) contemplating everything from the DVT overtaking your body to the meaning of life because you're so bored and the hosties still haven't managed to repair the TV system, take a walk to the galley (kitchen) and listen in on the hosties. You'll hear them whining about the most trivial aspects of their life and work. Meanwhile they are amongst passengers who are going overseas to volunteer as peacekeepers, and others who are travelling to receive lifesaving medical treatment.
Anyway, I digress. Back to the start of my hostie career, if indeed you can call dishing out "chicken or beef" a career at all. I guess I started to entertain the idea of becoming a hostie after my excellent orthodontist transformed my smile from 'bugs bunny' to dazzling 'macleans toothpaste model' which was around the same time I discovered the wonderful world of contact lens wearing.
I eventually got my hosties badge proclaiming my qualifications ranged from evacuating passengers should an engine decide to part with the rest of the plane to dislodging a peanut stuck in the throat of a choking passenger. And let's not forget the art of serving tea and coffee with finesse.
I was ready to embrace the glamour of the hostie's universe- free travel to exotic destinations and stays in opulant hotels. I was going to be the envy of all as I graced international airports wearing my gorgeous uniform.
I'm sure you have figured out this wasn't the reality of being a hostie, unless you consider there's something glamourous about passengers travelling with snotty nosed brats handing back nappy-laden meal trays or being abused for having too much beef and not enough chicken...
Where should I start with stories of horrendous flights, hideous passengers and equally as hideous fellow hosties? I won't deny the fact that one of my favourite pastimes is complaining, actually I think being an incessant whinger is a prerequisite to becoming a hostie.
Next time you have the unfortunate experience of being stuck in a huge inescapable metal tube (ie aeroplane) contemplating everything from the DVT overtaking your body to the meaning of life because you're so bored and the hosties still haven't managed to repair the TV system, take a walk to the galley (kitchen) and listen in on the hosties. You'll hear them whining about the most trivial aspects of their life and work. Meanwhile they are amongst passengers who are going overseas to volunteer as peacekeepers, and others who are travelling to receive lifesaving medical treatment.
I eventually got my hosties badge proclaiming my qualifications ranged from evacuating passengers should an engine decide to part with the rest of the plane to dislodging a peanut stuck in the throat of a choking passenger. And let's not forget the art of serving tea and coffee with finesse.
I'm sure you have figured out this wasn't the reality of being a hostie, unless you consider there's something glamourous about passengers travelling with snotty nosed brats handing back nappy-laden meal trays or being abused for having too much beef and not enough chicken...
| 55 |
| Vote |
