Fright Attendants – Kevin Moloney’s view

With sexual equality taking a well-deserved grip on the world in the early eighties, many job titles changed, with in the airline industry, women encouraged to pursue careers as pilots (after a few celebrated court cases led by members of the boy’s club on the opposition bench) and men were encouraged to join the traditional female domain of cabin crew.

Gender-blending job titles needed to change with up the pointy end of the aircraft, no need to worry as the title of Captain and First Officer were non-gender specific – as all job titles should be.

Back behind the cockpit door however, there was need for change as a fella couldn’t really be called an Air Hostess and Air Host sounded a little sill, so the airlines opted for the non-specific designation of Flight Attendant and everyone was happy.

But with the change in their designation came other subtle changes, which pleased the Flight Attendants, but not necessarily the passengers.

We used to have a team of Air Hostesses and a Purser on every flight and they were friendly, knowledgeable acting as the front line PR people for the airlines, with passengers often judging the quality of the airline not on schedules, on-time departures or safety record but on the width of an Air Hostess’s smile. They were highly visible, plentiful and effective.

A Purser became a Senior Flight Attendants or SFA, an abbreviation that, as time would prove, became more of a job description than a job title and on some airlines they followed that job description to the letter.

Being an Air Hostess was a “big gig”.  You got paid well, stayed in posh hotels, wore an expensive uniform, travelled all over the world, got chauffeured around when in foreign cities and saw all parts of the world free and what’s more, you didn’t have to work too hard (I can hear every FA swearing at the screen while reading this article, at this point).  It’s one of those jobs where the more senior you became, the less you had to work.  Come on, we all know, it was a plumb job!

Mind you, once you became married, overweight, over age or you committed some other equally heinous crime, you were out on your ear – there was a down side too.

Air Hostesses were feted by the airlines. Under their neatly pressed uniforms (for which they received a generous allowance) they had industrial muscle and flexed it like Atlas any time a bombastic airline executive referred to them as “Old Boilers”, and rightfully so.  Airline administrations caved in to their demands and they maintained their standing as aviation royalty, but as professionals, they acted like royalty and treated their subjects well.

Becoming an Air Hostess was no easy feat, with about one in thirty applicants successful and a wannabe hostie applying over and over again to all airlines until she got it right, treating each interview as a learning experience.  Persistence, a polished performance, correct answers to basic questions and a little more make- up would pay off in the long run.  It was worth all the heartache, it was a great job.

Once accepted, and after a six week training course, which covered safety procedures, coping with difficult passengers, first aid, food dispensing and successfully unwrapping multiple layers of cling film, the Air Hostess graduated and was off to see the world.

Keeping your job as an Air Hostess was just as difficult as getting it, with airlines going to great length to ensure each and every ambassador came up to scratch every time she flew.  Hostess Standards Officers would inspect every crew before a flight.  Nails painted, hair above the collar, uniform pressed, make-up sufficient, weight okay, smile on etc and no one would fly with so much as a zit that couldn’t be masked with an extra smear of pancake.  They were tough on the girls but the discipline was accepted as part of the job.

In the early eighties, when Debbie Wardley sat in the cockpit for the first time dressed in her pilot’s uniform and the back of the plane literally became manned, things started to change with service.  The new breed of flight attendant was different.  The guys were more casual, had a different set of needs and a different approach to their job.  Not necessarily better but not necessarily worse.

Industrial laws changed the way the airlines treated the Flight Attendant and conditions of employment such as being single, slim, spot–free, gorgeous, garrulous and gregarious were no longer appropriate.  Many conditions improved and the job remained a plum role.  Today’s Flight Attendant has a different set of expectations placed upon him or her by passengers and employers.

Of course we’re all quick to judge and generalise when we have an unpleasant experience with a Flight Attendant and that leads me to my point. (okay, it took at lot of explaining to get this far I agree, but I have to be fair.)

On a recent flight from Los Angeles to Sydney on an unnamed American airline, I was lucky enough to occupy one of the big chairs up the front of the plane.

When you’ve flown lots of miles for lots of years in economy, sitting in First is a big deal and I was going to enjoy the ride.

While the other passengers boarded, the message came over the PA. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, Welcome aboard, my name is Kat and I’ll be your Cabin Manager on this flight to Sydney, Orstralia” she said in a strong Texan accent.

Kat then appeared in the first class cabin and began to introduce herself to all the lucky passengers.  She looked a fright.  If I said she was a woman in her mid sixties, I’m being very kind; more kind than the years had obviously been to her.

Surly and sour, her face stood as a testament to many years of frowning and casting looks of derision to her passengers.  Her hair was bleached almost out of its follicles and stood like a sculpture above her head.

“Wharrt can ah get yer ter drink” she asked in a thin, mechanical tone. “I’ll have champagne thanks.” 

“ah ha” she replied, tossing me a look as if I were either too young to drink (hardly) or had a problem I didn’t know about.

She returned a few moments later with my drink and without making eye contact, deposited it on my tray (do you know they have crystal in first class?).

The aircraft’s departure was delayed for some reason so my wife and I ordered a few more drinks.  Each glass arrived with less and less champagne and more and more scorn from the lovely Kat.

When we asked for our third glass (we had been sitting on the tarmac now for well over an hour) Kat swooped.

“Do you know how much you’ve had to drink Sir?” she scorned, twisting her lips towards her eyes.

“I beg your pardon” did I hear correctly?

“Do you know how much you’ve had to drink Sir” she repeated as if I hadn’t heard her the first time.  She stood there resolute, formidable, in charge and in full flight, unlike the aircraft in her charge.  She was not a woman to be messed with.

Gob smacked, I said nothing except. “I’ll be fine thanks” and spent the rest of the 14 hour flight parched and dying of thirst.  It wasn’t worth making a scene over although the little champagne we had was some of the best I’d ever drunk and I wanted more.

It’s just one bad experience which leaves an equally bad taste and gives cause to tar all flight attendants with the same brush.

Well sorry Kat, you’ve done it for me.  You should have given up flying about 40 years ago and joined the Temperance Society.  They would have loved you.

I just get on flights now a bit more bitter and twisted. And thirsty.

A Report and Commentary by Kevin Moloney, leading international travel writer and TravelMole correspondent.