Perfect Attendants

You can see them on the concourses of any of the world's airports, striding along in pairs. Women of mystery. Birds in perpetual migration, their plumage turned out by a top designer. They exude confidence and poise. A select and proud group, they have been culled from literally thousands of applicants to represent their airlines in the highly competitive air-travel industry. They are, of course, the flight attendants.

To the millions of travelers who buckle themselves into outrageously narrow seats every year, they are air travel. Far more so than the austere gentleman in the teardrop sunglasses who sits behind the closed cockpit door. He's only the pilot. He doesn't bring you food and drink. He doesn't fluff your pillow for a quick (text continued on page 268) Perfect Attendants (continued from page 166) nap on a night flight from Raleigh to St. Louis. And most importantly, he doesn't smile and wish you a "Pleasant flight. Welcome aboard," that much-appreciated little reassurance that dries your palms and takes your heart out of overdrive. That's the purview of the women with the wings.

We should clarify right away that there are male flight attendants. But, really, who cares? Not that a man can't do the job, mind you. A man can do almost anything a woman can. But not with such grace. And certainly not looking so good while doing it. That's the stuff that the fantasies are made of.

Fantasies? About flight attendants? C'mon! Any airline executive knows that what the weary male traveler wants most is a safe, pleasant, efficiently managed flight from A to B. Computers! That's the ticket. Wire everything up so that a reservations clerk in Albany can book you from Tucson to Des Moines, rent you a room, call you a cab and tuck you in with the flick of a microprocessor chip and the world's passengers will beat a path to your check-in counter.

Alas, but not alack, that isn't the case. Air travel at its best is infused with Hollywood-style glamor. People going places, doing things. And the figurehead of all that glamor is the female flight attendant.

Is there a more worldly woman than the one who just had breakfast in New York and lunch in Chicago and is about to munch sourdough bread on San Francisco's Fisherman's Wharf? Are there brighter, more articulate, more personable women than those the airlines themselves choose for just those characteristics?

Probably. But they aren't all in a bunch, rounded up, tested, tried and trained and sitting on the other end of a call button.

So it's no wonder that the sight of a particularly attractive attendant gliding down the aisle to your 23 F seat transports you far beyond the flight plan. The dynamics of the situation are unnervingly romantic. The two of you flying together to a strange city. Neither of you knowing anything about the other. There is so little time. Does she have a layover? Will she go out to dinner? No matter that the same scenario is rippling through the brains of every one of your fellow male passengers. Indeed, the competition, just makes the fantasy that much more satisfying.

The romance is not lost on the attendants, either. They are admired and sought after and they know it. It's part of the glamor that brought them to the airlines in the first place. They do make a trade-off. A few hours of tough, demanding, often demeaning work for a chance to lead a lifestyle ordinarily available only to the superrich. They are paid well, they meet interesting people, they work with professionals and they visit places on weekends that most people save all year to go to on vacation.

Says one flight attendant, "Sometimes I feel like a free-floating spirit. I lose sense of time zones, days of the week and even seasons. I've skied the breath-taking mountains of Aspen on Monday and bronzed under the Hawaiian sun by Wednesday. I've jogged the Ivory Coast of Africa at sunset and spent nights under a canopy of stars in Tahiti. Perhaps tomorrow I'll spend my Lake Tahoe break in a hot tub. sipping champagne with a friend. Seemingly, dream vacations are just an integral part of my work as a flight attendant, and good sex on a layover merely icing on the cake."

Not surprisingly, the romanticism is heightened by the prospect of very real danger. Airplanes, after all, have yet to be perfected. There is a definite "life on the edge" aspect to the career. But careful interviewing and training weed out those likely to be overcome by the vapors.

A flight attendant with seven years' service in her log told us, "Sure, emergencies come up. If you fly long enough, you learn what a certain airplane is supposed to sound like. If we hear a thump or a squeak that's not supposed to be there, we may glance at each other and wince, but we keep on working. We live with that. It's part of the job. It's the peak experiences that are unforgettable, and they make up for the few 'bad times."'

Most of the time, however, those bad times amount to little more than a six A.M. flight or an especially obnoxious passenger, both occupational hazards that are universally disliked by flight attendants but that can quickly be forgotten over champagne dinners in some exotic locale. Besides, the hectic pace of their schedules leaves little time for petty grumbling.

In fact, it was the numbing pace of the career that made this pictorial a difficult one for us. It's been in the works for nearly a year, largely because our "models" had a frustrating habit of never being where our photographers were. Photographers who previously had considered themselves globe-trotting professionals threw up their hands as appointments were scheduled and rescheduled.

But that wasn't the only problem. As early as last November, the story broke in the newspapers that we were about to do such a pictorial. There was widespread speculation that some of the attendants chosen could meet the same fate as some of the N.F.L. cheerleaders who posed for us a couple of years ago: early retirement.

In its story, The Wall Street Journal declared, "For Playboy, even the sky isn't the limit," and went on to say that the airlines were "vague" about their reactions to the appearance of some of their employees.

That speculation about firings did cause several attendants to pull out at the last minute, but the publicity also brought forth a number of new models who, hearing for the first time about the proposed pictorial, now wanted to be part of it. In the end, we had far more flight attendants willing to pose than we could use. The process of selecting those who would appear was made very difficult, but it was enjoyable.

Frankly, we don't see how anyone could object to the resulting pictorial or even be vague about their reactions. The flight attendants we have chosen are both bright and beautiful, unique in their outlook and lifestyle and hold special interest and appeal for the traveling public. Without such stellar representatives, no airline in the world would ever get off the ground.

"'Dream vacations are an integral part of my work, and good sex on a layover merely icing on the cake."'

Confessions of a Flight Attendant

yes, Virginia, there is sex in the sky

The following was written for Playboy by a flight attendant who asked that her name not be published.

As a flight attendant, I often feel that I live a near-fantasy existence. Certainly, sexual nuances loom with every take-off. The very jargon of the airlines is fueled with sensuous implications--flying high, wide bodies, thrusts, riding clouds, cockpits and jet streams. I can hardly keep my mind on serving the chicken Kiev. Company slogans reflect suggestively that we're "Ready when you are" (Delta) or "Doing what we do best" (American); Continental promises that "We really move our tail for you"; United asks you to "Fly the friendly skies." Now American Airlines (or Big Al, my paternal airline boss) has added a large plastic marketing button to the breast pocket of my little uniform that advertises that I Make The Difference.

Feminists have frequently chosen the airline industry as the number-one perpetrator of chauvinistic atrocities, but the subliminal realities are difficult to quell. Frankly, I find the level of excitement constantly stimulating and I thrive on the underlying sexual phenomenon. My sensory circuits are constantly being given a boost, sometimes to near overload. I'm always vulnerable to seduction by a guy with a nice smile and a clever sense of humor. I love knowing that I can always maneuver another rendezvous later.

For me, flying is a fantastic pleasure. The French section of an airline manual describes a flight as a "Chouette de Sentir" (freely translated: "A sensational feeling"). And, to quote Steve Martin, "The most amazing thing to me is I get paid for doing this."

It's true that being a stewardess can sometimes be lonely. Relationships, whether private or professional, are often too spasmodic to be developed. Flirtations and teasing promises are usually unfulfilled. Yet, for one brief moment in time, the passengers and I are isolated in an immense, multimillion-dollar metal bird, a ship in space. Fate (with perhaps an assist from a travel agent) has brought us together and a bond is established. It is a flexible scenario, the possibilities of which are endless if one has a little daring and is willing to play. Fantasies can be courted and tested and a rapport nurtured. I've seen two strangers perform 69 under a blanket within the first two hours of a transcontinental night flight. They'd just become members of that highly secret organization affectionately called the Mile High Club, whose international advocates include any persons who have gotten laid in an aircraft during flight. Among the list of honored members are executives, schoolteachers, blue-collar workers, rock stars and other celebrities who shall remain nameless, and, occasionally, flight crews. With the advent of many good-looking male flight attendants, there is now a new biological attraction for the female traveler or attendant. Some male flight attendants are gay, so there is really something for everyone. The possibilities are endless.

The main challenge confronting would-be initiates into the M.H.C. is the need for privacy; finding it requires creativity and cunning. The most obvious solution is assuredly the lav. I would suggest a coach lav, since it would be discourteous, if not highly rude, to tie up the one first-class W.C. Strategy should be well thought out and executed early into the flight. In fact, it would be wise to request a seat assignment as close to the ritual site as possible. The stews will probably be aware of the devilish plot and can actually sabotage the whole affair by opening the locked lav door; but if a couple follows the elaborate M.H.C. ritual, they probably won't. The prospective lovers must justify entering a small lav together; that is where creativity and theatrics come into play. The most obvious ploy is to feign illness or a contact-lens catastrophe, which would legitimately require the assistance of an accomplice. Fortunately, the lav sinks are perfectly designed for a truly pleasurable position, or so I have been told.

It is my sincere belief that membership in the M.H.C. should be discreet and held in deep respect. One should really not flaunt one's affiliation; only the slightest smile should be indicative of the fraternal bond. It should always be considered a very private but fond memory, which can be renewed again and again on future flights. That should be reward enough.