YoDawg
17th May 2010, 18:05
A blog on hosties with a very subtle message on what the writer thinks of hostyhood. There seems to be a real hate-on out there in society about hosties. Why is that?
From Seinfeld to The Simpsons, Blogs, journos, etc.. all taking a shot or two. Read on........
Doris (which is almost certainly not her real name) had stormed onto our Jetstar flight from Osaka to the Gold Coast clutching a couple of cans of Kirin beer and had just been advised by the nearest cabin crew that she wouldn't be allowed to drink it on the journey.
"Why not?" she snapped, still holding the Kirins protectively to her chest.
The hostie forced a smile. "I'm sorry but you aren't allowed to consume your own alcohol on the flight."
"What, so I have to purchase yours, do I? Show me on my ticket where it says that I can't drink my own beer."
"It's in the fine print on your itinerary."
Doris wasn't going to win. Regardless, she was still bubbling with rage by the time the flight took off. There was real fear in the hostie's eyes as she strapped herself into the jump seat - coincidentally, directly opposite a seething (and probably half-cut) Doris.
"Where are you based?" Doris spat, straining forward against her seatbelt as the plane taxied to the runway.
"Australia."
"Missy, you're really pushing my buttons. Where. Are. You. From?"
"I'm from Thailand."
"What did you just say to your colleague? Don't just assume I can't speak Thai young lady."
"It was nothing about you."
"Rubbish!"
The girl sitting next to me rolled her eyes. "Who'd be a hostie?"
Who indeed? We have a strange relationship with hosties, us passengers. We whinge about them, we criticise them, occasionally compliment them, sometimes fantasise about them and, most of time, just put up with them. We're also a little obsessed with them.
Plug "air hostess" into a news search on Google and see what comes up. Mostly, it will be titillating tales of "naughty hosties" posing nude in calendars, or getting drunk on the job, or engaging in mid-air trysts with pilots. Readers lap it up.
The reality, however, is far more mundane. The "waitresses of the sky" I've met don't do any of those things. They just arm doors, demonstrate safety, pour drinks, hand out food, disarm doors, smile and get ready to do it all over again.
Sound glamorous? Not really.
Consider the day-to-day life of the humble hostie. It can't be easy. For starters, they're the human face of the multinational corporation that inexplicably cancelled your flight with eight hours' notice and forced you to wait on hold for 45 minutes to allow you the pleasure of rescheduling.
They're also the ones who have to dish out the food that has probably crossed the Pacific four or five times by now. They have to collect the criminal amount of money it costs you for the instant coffee and square of cheese that will keep you alive until Melbourne.
None of this is their fault. But they just have to smile ingratiatingly and keep pushing their cart.
A hostie can tell you all you need to know about an airline. At Virgin Blue they're a bright, charming bunch who think they can get away with cheesy jokes such as, "Cabin crew, disarm doors and cross-dress." At Qantas they have the weary air of those pretty sure they were meant to be doing something far more important than this.
Emirates hosties are professional, classy, well presented. EasyJet crew, all forced smiles atop orange get-up, look like they would rather be sunning themselves on a beach in Majorca than showing you where the emergency exits are.
BMI trolley dollies, with their boater hats and "Y'aw right?" greetings, leave you in no doubt about where you're flying to. United staff flash passengers their perfect rows of pearly whites at the door, then promptly ignore them for the next 14 hours (the passengers, that is - I'm sure they pay plenty of attention to their pearly whites).
But I try to cut them some slack. It's only when you see them having to deal with someone like Doris that you realise what life must really be like for the air hosts and hostesses of the world.
No week-long stopovers on Hawaiian islands. No triumphant strolls through airport lounges trailed by adoring admirers.
Just arm doors, demonstrate safety, pour drinks, hand out food, disarm doors, smile and get ready to do it all again.
And pray you don't get someone like Doris.
Article (http://www.smh.com.au/travel/who-would-want-to-be-a-hostie-20100513-v0ar.html?rand=1274079651043)
Do Thai Jetstar hosties always cop a hiding from the pax? Why don't they hire Aussies?
From Seinfeld to The Simpsons, Blogs, journos, etc.. all taking a shot or two. Read on........
Doris (which is almost certainly not her real name) had stormed onto our Jetstar flight from Osaka to the Gold Coast clutching a couple of cans of Kirin beer and had just been advised by the nearest cabin crew that she wouldn't be allowed to drink it on the journey.
"Why not?" she snapped, still holding the Kirins protectively to her chest.
The hostie forced a smile. "I'm sorry but you aren't allowed to consume your own alcohol on the flight."
"What, so I have to purchase yours, do I? Show me on my ticket where it says that I can't drink my own beer."
"It's in the fine print on your itinerary."
Doris wasn't going to win. Regardless, she was still bubbling with rage by the time the flight took off. There was real fear in the hostie's eyes as she strapped herself into the jump seat - coincidentally, directly opposite a seething (and probably half-cut) Doris.
"Where are you based?" Doris spat, straining forward against her seatbelt as the plane taxied to the runway.
"Australia."
"Missy, you're really pushing my buttons. Where. Are. You. From?"
"I'm from Thailand."
"What did you just say to your colleague? Don't just assume I can't speak Thai young lady."
"It was nothing about you."
"Rubbish!"
The girl sitting next to me rolled her eyes. "Who'd be a hostie?"
Who indeed? We have a strange relationship with hosties, us passengers. We whinge about them, we criticise them, occasionally compliment them, sometimes fantasise about them and, most of time, just put up with them. We're also a little obsessed with them.
Plug "air hostess" into a news search on Google and see what comes up. Mostly, it will be titillating tales of "naughty hosties" posing nude in calendars, or getting drunk on the job, or engaging in mid-air trysts with pilots. Readers lap it up.
The reality, however, is far more mundane. The "waitresses of the sky" I've met don't do any of those things. They just arm doors, demonstrate safety, pour drinks, hand out food, disarm doors, smile and get ready to do it all over again.
Sound glamorous? Not really.
Consider the day-to-day life of the humble hostie. It can't be easy. For starters, they're the human face of the multinational corporation that inexplicably cancelled your flight with eight hours' notice and forced you to wait on hold for 45 minutes to allow you the pleasure of rescheduling.
They're also the ones who have to dish out the food that has probably crossed the Pacific four or five times by now. They have to collect the criminal amount of money it costs you for the instant coffee and square of cheese that will keep you alive until Melbourne.
None of this is their fault. But they just have to smile ingratiatingly and keep pushing their cart.
A hostie can tell you all you need to know about an airline. At Virgin Blue they're a bright, charming bunch who think they can get away with cheesy jokes such as, "Cabin crew, disarm doors and cross-dress." At Qantas they have the weary air of those pretty sure they were meant to be doing something far more important than this.
Emirates hosties are professional, classy, well presented. EasyJet crew, all forced smiles atop orange get-up, look like they would rather be sunning themselves on a beach in Majorca than showing you where the emergency exits are.
BMI trolley dollies, with their boater hats and "Y'aw right?" greetings, leave you in no doubt about where you're flying to. United staff flash passengers their perfect rows of pearly whites at the door, then promptly ignore them for the next 14 hours (the passengers, that is - I'm sure they pay plenty of attention to their pearly whites).
But I try to cut them some slack. It's only when you see them having to deal with someone like Doris that you realise what life must really be like for the air hosts and hostesses of the world.
No week-long stopovers on Hawaiian islands. No triumphant strolls through airport lounges trailed by adoring admirers.
Just arm doors, demonstrate safety, pour drinks, hand out food, disarm doors, smile and get ready to do it all again.
And pray you don't get someone like Doris.
Article (http://www.smh.com.au/travel/who-would-want-to-be-a-hostie-20100513-v0ar.html?rand=1274079651043)
Do Thai Jetstar hosties always cop a hiding from the pax? Why don't they hire Aussies?