An anonymous flight attendant recently posted an open letter “to the flying public” on the Internet: “We’re sorry we have no pillows. We’re sorry we’re out of blankets. We’re sorry the airplane is too cold. We’re sorry the airplane is too hot. We’re sorry the overhead bins are full. ... We’re sorry that’s not the seat you wanted. We’re sorry there’s a restless toddler/overweight/offensive-smelling passenger seated next to you. ... We’re sorry that guy makes you uncomfortable because he ‘looks like a terrorist. ...’ ”
This sorry state of affairs ends with an admonition: “The glory days of pillows, blankets, magazines, and a hot meal for everyone are long gone. Our job is to get you from point A to point B safely and at the cheapest possible cost to you and the company.”
Let us now observe a moment of silence for the golden age of travel.
The changing dynamic of airline service seems to parallel the shifting role of airline personnel, whatever they’re called. In the earliest days of commercial flight, there were teenage “cabin boys,” and the first female stewardesses had to be registered nurses. (Such know-how would have been most welcome several years ago when, en route to back from Australia, I cleverly gave myself food poisoning from the sushi I consumed mid-journey in Hong-Kong airport.It’s bad, very bad, when you hear “Is there a doctor or nurse on board?” over the loudspeaker and realise it’s for you.)
From a feminist perspective, it was progress when flight attendants won the right to gain a few pounds, to let their hair go gray, to be pregnant, or to have a Y chromosome: The Civil Rights Act of 1964 insisted that men could do the job, too, thus making a little full circle back to those early cabin boys. Fishnet stockings and hot pants were replaced by androgynous trouser suits. But as the dress code changed, so did the up-in-the-air experience. Air travel became democratic and accessible. The 800 million of us who pass through airports all over the world every year now comprise a remote and motley crew. We book our flights online, check in at kiosks, board in T-shirts and flip-flops, and withdraw under headsets and earbuds.
There’s a slightly schizophrenic message from the industry these days, as if it’s taking the temperature of public nostalgia for the era of “coffee, tea, or me,” at the same time that technology is replacing the “me” factor. Continental is experimenting with subway-style “self-boarding” that bypasses an agent at the gate. The most overt sign that airlines no longer view flight attendants as personal service providers is Virgin America’s touch screen for ordering food on board; the intimate exchange with the person who brings your meal down the aisle approximates the bond with a delivery guy who brings kung pao chicken to your house. No tipping.
On the completely opposite hand, Virgin Atlantic has a new commercial featuring stunning young women in lipstick-red uniforms and super duper high heels pointing out the exit rows with vampy choreography and ripping open their bodices to serve ice cream.
So what’s it to be? Androids handing out peanuts, with a hologram showing how to inflate a life vest? Or stewardesses in stilettos and Spanx? Perhaps a return to teenage boys, recruited out of the Scouts?
Until the industry decides on a paradigm for the 21st century, better pack a sandwich and fasten your seatbelt. It could be a bumpy ride
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