Etihad = Sketihad

I've been doing some covert research again lately as I had a day off work and I wanted something to laugh at. At the end of 2013, I had a mad idea in my head that I wanted to move back to the UAE and decided to apply for Etihad as cabin crew. My intentions weren't just about you my dear readers- I was thinking about the local scenery. I knew I wouldn't stand a chance at passing the medical and I'd shit myself if they asked me to jump into 10 feet of water fully clothed and pull up a colleague on the life raft so I decided to go along to the assessment day just in case other, ground-based opportunities were mentioned and if any local men were there for me to ogle. You see, 2013 was the year I became single again after leaving the waste of space chav in PILFs clothing and had a brief romance with a UAE national- but that's another blog. Trust me, proper top shelf Ann Summers reading. I expected Etihad would be the passport to fit foreign men on tap and possible mile high scenarios like this pic:

 

But of course I am a lot slimmer than her and wouldn't have my hair ragged back in a bun. Anyway, from what I witnessed at my Etihad interview, it looked more like this:

 

I had never seen so many commoners in all my life. This is how the day started.

9am- Hilton Hotel at Manc Airport. I stayed the night as good cabin crew always come early (PILFs shouldn't though, you understand.)Always be prepared, read up on the airline you're going to be working for and stand out in a good way. Some of these bints looked an absolute show. About 100 girls and 2 blokes (awww they were doing it for the puh-sayyy) were standing round the hotel reception and there was no sense of organisation whatsoever. They looked starstruck as if they were looking for Simon Cowell to make them the next Leona, eagerly fiddling with their name badges. These birds were less X-Factor and more floptastic Fame Academy though. Some of them had made no effort whatsoever. Like the Thomson interview I spied on, kitten heels seemed to be a running theme amongst the Yorkshire lasses. I even saw one Polish tart WITH THE PRICE LABELS ON UNDER HER SHOES!!! Good job I was short sighted as I might have groaned, cringed and maybe puked if I had seen it was a Deichmann label.


Stay tuned for the rest......... I'll write the rest when I stop getting images of polyester bodycon suits and cheap shoes out of my head.