Why does Dubai attract so many tools? Or why do some nice, friendly blokes morph into tools when moving to Dubai, a bit like butterflies turning into caterpillars? I've ranted enough about the Expat Wimmin, now it's time for a rant about the driving force behind them, the Expat Blokes.
Firstly, let me introduce you to the single expat man. Usually an Emirates pilot or 'something in construction', these exhibit their toolness by hitting on Filipina waitresses and using chat up lines banned in the UK like 'do you come here often'. They also target pissed-up blonde estate agents from the Antipodes and former Ryanair stewardesses from the Eastern Bloc. Eager to show off his new found Dubai wealth, he will go on and on and on about his favourite subjects- Barasti, work and himself of course. For those reading who don't know Dubai, Barasti is a cunty beach bar kind of thing which plays contrived techno beats and is populated by people who wouldn't even set foot in a Wetherspoons back home, never mind a nightclub. They dance in a style reminiscent of dads at a wedding bopping to Hi Ho Silver Lining. For some reason, they think clubbing at Barasti will make them a celebrity as a few shite DJs have been there and some of the local rags take pics of clubbers. I like to call the patrons of this crappy place 'Barastards'.
What do these expat studs wear? Their plumage is usually those awful espadrilles they call Toms which look like something from Shoe Express circa 1993, a T-shirt from some shop which sounds like a foreign name for Air Mail and either skinny jeans that indecently show the bollockular region or some 3/4 trousers. Hot.
The not so single expat man will either be a selfless, kind soul who is into family life and has genuinely come to Dubai to better his family's life, or a fat, arrogant Fanny Rat with an equally annoying wife- the textbook Expat Woman. Let's discuss the latter as it's more fun. He will also be an EmiRATs pilot or more recently, a SlyDubai one, or maybe 'something in banking'. He will flash his HSBC Premier card like some sort of access all fanny areas pass, even if it is just to buy a few tins of baked beans and a Peperami from Spinneys. When he is chatting up single stewardesses and other bored Expat Wimmin, he will flirt with the ugly ones all the more and win them over with some politically incorrect, possibly racist jokes about other nationalities in Dubai. Despite coming off as modern to strangers, he is in fact of a 1950s mentality and describes his wife as 'her indoors', treating her like some sort of baby making machine. On his day off, he will frequent somewhere called Hotel Moscow, his dumb wife believing it is a cultural exhibit on Communism when in reality, it's a whorehouse.
So ladies, take your pick! Which British Expat man are you gonna pull?
Tuesday, 29 January 2013
The UAE- Cabin crew and PILF heaven and hell
Hi passengers! My next few posts are going to be taken from a blog I done whilst living in Dubai many moons ago. The UAE features quite heavily in crewlife due to it offering more opportunities than back home on the job front. It can be a great stepping stone for a pilot career and a new way of life for hosties too. However, it does have a dark side, the fake glamorous lifestyle causing people not only to live beyond their means, but develop a bitchy, arrogant streak. Here's a quick rundown of the airlines of the area:
Emirates- the main one. The one everyone's heard of. They swan around Dubai as if they own the place. Increasing number of Filipinas in the airline, after the pilots' bulging pay packets.
FlyDubai- the Easyjet of the UAE. British staff from crap airlines like Excel with a polyester uniform to match, plus lots of Indians. Flies to exotic destinations like Turkmenistan and Bangladesh.
Etihad- Abu Dhabi's airline, the UAE flag carrier. Crew are classier than Emirates and better behaved. Large amount of Northerners work here plus a few Eastern Europeans with a past history of Ryanair.
Air Arabia- The Jet2 of the region. Cabin crew from war torn countries. PILFs swarthy and hot.
Private companies- Amsterdam in the sky if you get my drift.
Emirates- the main one. The one everyone's heard of. They swan around Dubai as if they own the place. Increasing number of Filipinas in the airline, after the pilots' bulging pay packets.
FlyDubai- the Easyjet of the UAE. British staff from crap airlines like Excel with a polyester uniform to match, plus lots of Indians. Flies to exotic destinations like Turkmenistan and Bangladesh.
Etihad- Abu Dhabi's airline, the UAE flag carrier. Crew are classier than Emirates and better behaved. Large amount of Northerners work here plus a few Eastern Europeans with a past history of Ryanair.
Air Arabia- The Jet2 of the region. Cabin crew from war torn countries. PILFs swarthy and hot.
Private companies- Amsterdam in the sky if you get my drift.
Sunday, 20 January 2013
Amsterdamaged
When someone mentions Amsterdam to you, what do you think? Tulip bulbs, the Dutch masters, peaceful bike rides down by the canal? Thought not, you filthy filthy individuals. My goodness, if I mentioned Anne Frank to you lot, you'd think it was rhyming slang for male masturbation! Today, I'm going to educate you about people who fly to Amsterdam.
The Amsterdam flight differs depending on where you're flying to and what day of the week. Weekdays are the quietest time, especially early morning. Businessmen are the most common species seen, plus the odd school party going to visit Anne Frank's house. Nothing to report. A nice, civilised uneventful flight. However, evenings and weekends are manic.
Amsterdam is a diverse city full of dykes and bikes. A cultural melting pot of working girls from the Ukraine and 'grafters' from Liverpool, Amsterdam has something for everyone. Let me introduce you to the passengers on my plane.
The shifty solo traveller- British, travelling alone, looking awkward, mid 20s, dressed in chav leisurewear, this person is probably a dealer or a smuggler. He or she will use a fear of flying the 25 minute flight as a cover up for their real fear- getting a cavity search from a large-handed Dutchman on arrival!
The Businessman- I have spoken at length about Mr Businessman. A reasonable looking man in his 40s, he will always make an impulse duty free perfume purchase on the inbound flight. I mean proper perfume, none of this J-Lo and Kylie shite. He's doing a bad job of covering his guilt, you see. Us hosties can smell his fingers. He has been enjoying the sights of Amsterdam with his cock out. In the words of Amy Winehouse, he had no time for regrets, kept his dick wet. The only tulips from Amsterdam he has seen is 'two lips' of a cheap brass in a window clamped round his manhood. Cunt.
The brass- Yes, our airlines transport working girls too. Scary to think that some of the budgets thrive on people trafficking! Some hoes are independent women though, think Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Mostly Eastern European, they often fly in their work gear, thigh high boots and those crappy denim skirts that were popular in 2001. Sometimes they're old, their Botoxed faces and obscene boob jobs reminiscent of one of those souvenir aprons from Benidorm contradicting their turkey necks. Brasses often spend a lot of money on duty free make up and that perfume that most people wouldn't wear as it 'smells like a tart's handbag'.
The pimp- Wherever there are pros and dealers, pimps aren't too far behind. Leather jackets, nasty gold jewellery and hair gel, pimps are often well behaved passengers as they don't want to draw too much attention to themselves. In fact, they only identify themselves as pimps when they make their sneaky business-related phone call before take off!
The Amsterdam flight differs depending on where you're flying to and what day of the week. Weekdays are the quietest time, especially early morning. Businessmen are the most common species seen, plus the odd school party going to visit Anne Frank's house. Nothing to report. A nice, civilised uneventful flight. However, evenings and weekends are manic.
Amsterdam is a diverse city full of dykes and bikes. A cultural melting pot of working girls from the Ukraine and 'grafters' from Liverpool, Amsterdam has something for everyone. Let me introduce you to the passengers on my plane.
The shifty solo traveller- British, travelling alone, looking awkward, mid 20s, dressed in chav leisurewear, this person is probably a dealer or a smuggler. He or she will use a fear of flying the 25 minute flight as a cover up for their real fear- getting a cavity search from a large-handed Dutchman on arrival!
The Businessman- I have spoken at length about Mr Businessman. A reasonable looking man in his 40s, he will always make an impulse duty free perfume purchase on the inbound flight. I mean proper perfume, none of this J-Lo and Kylie shite. He's doing a bad job of covering his guilt, you see. Us hosties can smell his fingers. He has been enjoying the sights of Amsterdam with his cock out. In the words of Amy Winehouse, he had no time for regrets, kept his dick wet. The only tulips from Amsterdam he has seen is 'two lips' of a cheap brass in a window clamped round his manhood. Cunt.
The brass- Yes, our airlines transport working girls too. Scary to think that some of the budgets thrive on people trafficking! Some hoes are independent women though, think Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Mostly Eastern European, they often fly in their work gear, thigh high boots and those crappy denim skirts that were popular in 2001. Sometimes they're old, their Botoxed faces and obscene boob jobs reminiscent of one of those souvenir aprons from Benidorm contradicting their turkey necks. Brasses often spend a lot of money on duty free make up and that perfume that most people wouldn't wear as it 'smells like a tart's handbag'.
The pimp- Wherever there are pros and dealers, pimps aren't too far behind. Leather jackets, nasty gold jewellery and hair gel, pimps are often well behaved passengers as they don't want to draw too much attention to themselves. In fact, they only identify themselves as pimps when they make their sneaky business-related phone call before take off!
Sunday, 30 December 2012
Etiquette for Young Pilots
One of the sad things about the recession and modern chav Britain is that standards are deteriorating. Whether it's people getting their flaps out for Dr Christian for cheap TV, bank managers being all of 12 years old and calling you 'mate' or Northerners going out in pyjamas, society nowadays is shite. See, even my language has deteriorated. I long for the Britain of yesteryear, when air travel was a luxury for the privileged and not a need for the underclass of Barnsley to hop on a Ryanair bus to Amsterdam. I loved it when people dressed to fly, when airports were classy places and when the Mediterranean was a retreat for the hard-working, not a birthright for benefit babies. Even the trolley dollies aren't what they were- once mandatory to be fluent in several languages, nowadays they struggle with standard English, speaking like basically like in text language like, yaknowwhatimean? Some of them even have the audacity to say 'flight attendants are here to save your arse, not kiss it'! Do they not know what a role in Customer Service means? Have they not read the job description? Sadly, even the calibre of pilots is going downhill. Don't panic, they're still safe to fly with, it's the additional extras they are becoming complacent in. Let me educate you.
1. Uniform standards. Everyone knows a true PILF wears his uniform and doesn't let his uniform wear him. We all know Ryanair looks like something from Ann Summers' erotic arseless chaps range, FlyDubai looks like My First Pilot Uniform and Jet2 looks like Man at C&A. However, the true aviators that work for these airlines carry their uniforms with pride and wear their stripes well. Puff your chest out like a randy feral pigeon, back straight and shoulders back and exude confidence, repeating the phrase 'to fly, to serve, to seduce'. That is how you wear your uniform. And if your airline is too tight to pay for a bespoke uniform, every immigrant area of every city in the world has cheap tailors who will take your keks up for about £3. Swallow your pride and pay a professional to take your uniform in. It's a small price to pay for the respect you will gain from the public, and more importantly, the pussy you will pull. Under any circumstance, do not wear your tie loose and your coat over your shoulder, unless you're in Dubai or somewhere hot. If you do this in Liverpool John Lennon, you will look like an extra from The Inbetweeners and people will think you're a naughty local schoolboy coming to nick the wheels off a shuttle bus. True aviators carry a proper flight bag too, not one of these rucksack jobs. Got your PE kit and textbooks in there too have you? Not only does it look childish, it creases your blazer, oh sorry, I mean uniform. If you follow these tips, you will also need a shitty stick with your uniform to beat the flange off with.
2. Language. We all use slang words and we all have some sort of an accent. It's when people use an extreme of regional slang and a regional accent and it all goes pear-shaped, making so-called professionals sound like an extra from Brassed Off. Do these young cadets honestly think they look like international men of mystery when they ask for a 'brew'? Do they think they sound like some sort of plastic gangster when they cough, splutter and 'erm' down the PA? It's also embarrassing if you let 'definately', 'alot' and 'should of' creep into your poorly-maintained vocabulary. Do you want people to confuse you with bus drivers? Please refrain from describing things as 'epic' too, unless it's a film or a ship crashing into an iceberg.
3. Authority. Command some respect. Be a team player but not too much, if you catch my drift. You will one day be responsible for an airliner and the way some of these cadets behave, I wouldn't entrust them with a hamster. No, I don't mean they'd shove it up their arse and do a Richard Gere, but they have no sense of responsibility. Stop snivelling behind your captain, stop sucking up to 18 year old cabin crew from the estate because you think they'll make you look hard. Stop calling the dispatcher 'mate'. One error on that load sheet could mean a newsworthy catastrophe. Man up. Half-a-man cadets and young FOs are the pilot equivalent of those schoolteachers who get trodden all over by kids. You are killing the profession's reputation. If you want to be a yes-man, go work in a call centre.
4. Pussy. Everyone knows pilots are fit and the uniform is to women what flies are to excrement. However, some pilots don't manage to pull. For some, it's because they've had their arse wiped for so long and while their mates were fingerbanging birds behind the bike sheds, they were grappling with Airfix kits. While their student mates had traffic cones on their heads and pulling birds in Wetherspoons, they were snowed under with a busy flight school schedule. Yes, they have missed many milestones in seduction and are making up for lost time by watching American Pie, trying to learn technique from Stifler and co. Let me tell you, true PILFs take their seduction tips from old-school British comedy like the Carry On movies. Be slightly womanising, be a man's man and add a dash of James Bond into the mix. Be suave, hold doors open, pay on the first couple of dates. Don't ask your mates to come along on the date, you're not a student. Don't be scared of getting your uniform soiled with bodily fluids, that's part of the fun. Girls aren't snobs about cars, but if you have a Mini Cooper, please put it on Autotrader and get a taxi. They scream CUNTY AIR HOST and are essentially a young girl's car. Would Pierce Brosnan drive one? No. Would Mr Bean? Yes.
1. Uniform standards. Everyone knows a true PILF wears his uniform and doesn't let his uniform wear him. We all know Ryanair looks like something from Ann Summers' erotic arseless chaps range, FlyDubai looks like My First Pilot Uniform and Jet2 looks like Man at C&A. However, the true aviators that work for these airlines carry their uniforms with pride and wear their stripes well. Puff your chest out like a randy feral pigeon, back straight and shoulders back and exude confidence, repeating the phrase 'to fly, to serve, to seduce'. That is how you wear your uniform. And if your airline is too tight to pay for a bespoke uniform, every immigrant area of every city in the world has cheap tailors who will take your keks up for about £3. Swallow your pride and pay a professional to take your uniform in. It's a small price to pay for the respect you will gain from the public, and more importantly, the pussy you will pull. Under any circumstance, do not wear your tie loose and your coat over your shoulder, unless you're in Dubai or somewhere hot. If you do this in Liverpool John Lennon, you will look like an extra from The Inbetweeners and people will think you're a naughty local schoolboy coming to nick the wheels off a shuttle bus. True aviators carry a proper flight bag too, not one of these rucksack jobs. Got your PE kit and textbooks in there too have you? Not only does it look childish, it creases your blazer, oh sorry, I mean uniform. If you follow these tips, you will also need a shitty stick with your uniform to beat the flange off with.
2. Language. We all use slang words and we all have some sort of an accent. It's when people use an extreme of regional slang and a regional accent and it all goes pear-shaped, making so-called professionals sound like an extra from Brassed Off. Do these young cadets honestly think they look like international men of mystery when they ask for a 'brew'? Do they think they sound like some sort of plastic gangster when they cough, splutter and 'erm' down the PA? It's also embarrassing if you let 'definately', 'alot' and 'should of' creep into your poorly-maintained vocabulary. Do you want people to confuse you with bus drivers? Please refrain from describing things as 'epic' too, unless it's a film or a ship crashing into an iceberg.
3. Authority. Command some respect. Be a team player but not too much, if you catch my drift. You will one day be responsible for an airliner and the way some of these cadets behave, I wouldn't entrust them with a hamster. No, I don't mean they'd shove it up their arse and do a Richard Gere, but they have no sense of responsibility. Stop snivelling behind your captain, stop sucking up to 18 year old cabin crew from the estate because you think they'll make you look hard. Stop calling the dispatcher 'mate'. One error on that load sheet could mean a newsworthy catastrophe. Man up. Half-a-man cadets and young FOs are the pilot equivalent of those schoolteachers who get trodden all over by kids. You are killing the profession's reputation. If you want to be a yes-man, go work in a call centre.
4. Pussy. Everyone knows pilots are fit and the uniform is to women what flies are to excrement. However, some pilots don't manage to pull. For some, it's because they've had their arse wiped for so long and while their mates were fingerbanging birds behind the bike sheds, they were grappling with Airfix kits. While their student mates had traffic cones on their heads and pulling birds in Wetherspoons, they were snowed under with a busy flight school schedule. Yes, they have missed many milestones in seduction and are making up for lost time by watching American Pie, trying to learn technique from Stifler and co. Let me tell you, true PILFs take their seduction tips from old-school British comedy like the Carry On movies. Be slightly womanising, be a man's man and add a dash of James Bond into the mix. Be suave, hold doors open, pay on the first couple of dates. Don't ask your mates to come along on the date, you're not a student. Don't be scared of getting your uniform soiled with bodily fluids, that's part of the fun. Girls aren't snobs about cars, but if you have a Mini Cooper, please put it on Autotrader and get a taxi. They scream CUNTY AIR HOST and are essentially a young girl's car. Would Pierce Brosnan drive one? No. Would Mr Bean? Yes.
Monday, 10 December 2012
Xmas parties
The festive season is upon us and so is that event we love to hate, the office party. Yes, airlines have them too, but sadly there is no arse photocopying. Despite the fact that airline life can be raunchy, what with gay air hosts getting their starfish raided in Gatwick and skinny dipping in the Ramada Jarvis, the office party is a rather boring affair. From my experience, the only scandal I ever witnessed was someone drinking too much and vomiting (wow!) and a supposedly straight First Officer ramming his tongue down the throat of an Air Host. This mishap was seen as sordid as the Jimmy Savile incident and was hushed up- gays don't exist, right?
One thing airline crew are thankful for is the lack of shitty activities what poor office staff have to endure, like writing a card to everyone who works there and being the beneficiary of a 1997 pack of Body Shop Fuzzy Peach in Secret Fucking Santa. Drinking is strictly forbidden in work so there's no fake smiley team trip to the pub in your dinner hour and the fact you might be suffering jet lag/working on Xmas day/ in an airport in the middle of nowhere means less forced socialising. Yippee! You might even be lucky enough to work nights and miss the office party!
Xmas parties usually consist of Flight Deck Floozies squeezing their size 16 'figures' into a Lipsy dress they've seen on their idol Tulisa, rehearsing chat up lines what they're going to pull the married pilots with. The old pilots will be sitting in the corner either wearing a novelty jumper, a BHS double breasted suit with a novelty tie and novelty socks seductively peeking out or some tweed monstrosity. The young FOs will be in tight tops or Ben Sherman, dressed in the style of a 17 year old from Scunthorpe trying to get in to Wetherspoons for the first time. The foreign pilots will either look like a fucking penguin in a dicky bow or think they're auditioning to be a kids TV presenter and wear a Helly Hansen/ North Face/ C&A own brand polar fleece combined with a sweater in primary colours and fucking moccasins. Sorry about my language by the way, but I'm on a roll. I want to get my frustration across, the Grumpy Old Men have nothing on me! The base management will sit on a table in the corner, scrutinising clothes, behaviour and being pedantic jobsworths. They always wear black like they're at a wake. Female base managers always wear long dresses, kitten heels and ooze 1992. They try to be a confidante for the old drunk pilots whose wives don't understand them, seizing the opportunity to have a bit of a tryst. There is always some sort of boring corporate speech at these events, a great time for a toilet break.
At the crew parties I've been to, the food has always been shite and the music awful for the first 3 hours, probably hoping for people to go home early. Some of the fag hags will request overplayed, outdated bollocks like I'm Every Woman and We Are Family. Then it gets a bit exciting. The drink starts flowing, the beer goggles come on and even ugly hosties manage to get fingerbanged by ageing PILFs under the prawn ring. The stereotypical playlist of Cabin Crew Songs comes on, I Believe I Can Fly, Wind Beneath My Wings and Theme from Mahogany all make an appearance. This time, the pilots have a playlist too! When La Bamba comes on and they get to the Soy Capitan bit, the chubby captains put their hands on their hips, wink and click their finger, lip synching. Rocket Man is as cringeworthy as it sounds. She packed my bags last night? She emptied your sack last night more like.
1999 was the best year though as it's when Savage Garden sang To The Moon and Back which has the fabulous, innuendo-laden line 'She's waiting for the right kind of pilot to come.' All over her face. Nowadays we have Rihanna and Kelly Rowland providing the innuendo. 'Tonight I'll let you be the captain' grunts the chubby stewardesses from Stockport at the Viagra induced former PILFs. 'I'll be your commander' they croon back.
This is the only night of the year they will enjoy any flight deck flirting as the rest of the time, both pairs of beer goggles will be firmly off and it'll be back to her spitting in his coffee and him ignoring the Northern slags.
The gay air hosts normally leave early and take the party back to someone's house which usually culminates in a sweaty, poppers-induced re-enactment of the Human Centipede but come the next day, return to their anal (no pun intended) ways of bitching about girls' hairstyles not meeting uniform standards. The straight air hosts are the real winners at these parties though, they manage to pull some fit stewardesses by acting all caring when they get upset at seeing their much loved PILFs chatting to the base manager and dad dancing to Status Quo.
Merry fucking Xmas!
To summarise:
1. If your flight is delayed in the first two weeks of December, chances are the crew are hungover
2. If you're a popstar, sing a song with a flying reference. The royalties from air crew are immense.
3. First Officers from foreign shores are probably dressed by their mums or have one of those weird 'dress like a baby' fetishes
One thing airline crew are thankful for is the lack of shitty activities what poor office staff have to endure, like writing a card to everyone who works there and being the beneficiary of a 1997 pack of Body Shop Fuzzy Peach in Secret Fucking Santa. Drinking is strictly forbidden in work so there's no fake smiley team trip to the pub in your dinner hour and the fact you might be suffering jet lag/working on Xmas day/ in an airport in the middle of nowhere means less forced socialising. Yippee! You might even be lucky enough to work nights and miss the office party!
Xmas parties usually consist of Flight Deck Floozies squeezing their size 16 'figures' into a Lipsy dress they've seen on their idol Tulisa, rehearsing chat up lines what they're going to pull the married pilots with. The old pilots will be sitting in the corner either wearing a novelty jumper, a BHS double breasted suit with a novelty tie and novelty socks seductively peeking out or some tweed monstrosity. The young FOs will be in tight tops or Ben Sherman, dressed in the style of a 17 year old from Scunthorpe trying to get in to Wetherspoons for the first time. The foreign pilots will either look like a fucking penguin in a dicky bow or think they're auditioning to be a kids TV presenter and wear a Helly Hansen/ North Face/ C&A own brand polar fleece combined with a sweater in primary colours and fucking moccasins. Sorry about my language by the way, but I'm on a roll. I want to get my frustration across, the Grumpy Old Men have nothing on me! The base management will sit on a table in the corner, scrutinising clothes, behaviour and being pedantic jobsworths. They always wear black like they're at a wake. Female base managers always wear long dresses, kitten heels and ooze 1992. They try to be a confidante for the old drunk pilots whose wives don't understand them, seizing the opportunity to have a bit of a tryst. There is always some sort of boring corporate speech at these events, a great time for a toilet break.
At the crew parties I've been to, the food has always been shite and the music awful for the first 3 hours, probably hoping for people to go home early. Some of the fag hags will request overplayed, outdated bollocks like I'm Every Woman and We Are Family. Then it gets a bit exciting. The drink starts flowing, the beer goggles come on and even ugly hosties manage to get fingerbanged by ageing PILFs under the prawn ring. The stereotypical playlist of Cabin Crew Songs comes on, I Believe I Can Fly, Wind Beneath My Wings and Theme from Mahogany all make an appearance. This time, the pilots have a playlist too! When La Bamba comes on and they get to the Soy Capitan bit, the chubby captains put their hands on their hips, wink and click their finger, lip synching. Rocket Man is as cringeworthy as it sounds. She packed my bags last night? She emptied your sack last night more like.
1999 was the best year though as it's when Savage Garden sang To The Moon and Back which has the fabulous, innuendo-laden line 'She's waiting for the right kind of pilot to come.' All over her face. Nowadays we have Rihanna and Kelly Rowland providing the innuendo. 'Tonight I'll let you be the captain' grunts the chubby stewardesses from Stockport at the Viagra induced former PILFs. 'I'll be your commander' they croon back.
This is the only night of the year they will enjoy any flight deck flirting as the rest of the time, both pairs of beer goggles will be firmly off and it'll be back to her spitting in his coffee and him ignoring the Northern slags.
The gay air hosts normally leave early and take the party back to someone's house which usually culminates in a sweaty, poppers-induced re-enactment of the Human Centipede but come the next day, return to their anal (no pun intended) ways of bitching about girls' hairstyles not meeting uniform standards. The straight air hosts are the real winners at these parties though, they manage to pull some fit stewardesses by acting all caring when they get upset at seeing their much loved PILFs chatting to the base manager and dad dancing to Status Quo.
Merry fucking Xmas!
To summarise:
1. If your flight is delayed in the first two weeks of December, chances are the crew are hungover
2. If you're a popstar, sing a song with a flying reference. The royalties from air crew are immense.
3. First Officers from foreign shores are probably dressed by their mums or have one of those weird 'dress like a baby' fetishes
Saturday, 8 December 2012
Flight Deck Floozie's Duty Free Trolley
I've entered the world of fashion designers and set up an online shop! Is there an annoying crewmember you'd like to get a Secret Santa present for? Are you a PILF and want everyone to know it without wearing your uniform? Get shopping!
I have even created a range of Hi Viz which will probably get banned by your airline- I challenge you to wear one to wind up that 20 yr old 'senior' who can't even wipe his own arse!
My shop
I have even created a range of Hi Viz which will probably get banned by your airline- I challenge you to wear one to wind up that 20 yr old 'senior' who can't even wipe his own arse!
My shop
Saturday, 1 December 2012
Social networking etiquette for Cabin Crew
I get a lot of tweets from my Passengers (Cheryl Cole has soldiers, I have passengers, ok?) laughing at cliched shite they see on the Facebook pages of airline staff. Some people have no imagination whatsoever when it comes to social networking and tweet/facebook in a style of a 10 year old writing an essay on what they did in the summer holidays. Some even state the effing obvious, like in summer they will write 'flights full of Benidorm chavs', 'it's too hot here', 'going for a swim'...you get the drift. Here are the dos and don'ts of what to write on Twitter and Facebook:
Twitter bio- yawn. If I see hostess with the mostest, tart with a cart, international jetsetter and the like one more time, I'm going to throw my laptop through the nearest window. That's like the Twitter version of when you were a kid and the teacher used to give you a bollocking for starting every story with 'once upon a time'. Unless you fly VIP, you're not a hostess, especially if you work for Ryanair. You can only get away with Tart with a Cart if you're fit, not a middle aged single mum of 3 flogging Pringles on Jet2. International jetsetter is fine if you're a celebrity or working for a longhaul carrier, but it sounds a bit daft when you're working for BMI Regional going to Norwich on an Embraer 135. I know Norwich might look like a different country at times, what with them all inbreeding in that part of the country, but trust me, it's not international.
The Disclaimer- you know what I mean. That shitty phrase that novice hosties put on to make them look like Piers Morgan or someone of equal weight in the media. 'Views are my own and not my employer'. Yeah right. Tweeting that the weather is hot or you want Matt Cardle to win the X Factor is really that scandalous, that your budget airline employer would have no option but to rip up your fixed term contract. It doesn't make you look important, it makes you look ridiculous. Plus, if you want to slag off your company, make racist comments or call your passengers 'chavs', either get a fake profile or rethink your career. Customer service obviously isn't for you, get back on benefits.
Location, 38,000 ft- yawn. You don't live in the plane for god's sake. Just because you're embarrassed to say you're from Doncaster or somewhere. Most hosties go on Twitter to pull, so it's a bit better in their eyes not to mention that they're from an estate.
Facebook statuses- I am knackered. I am on days off. I'm on standby. I had shit passengers today. Listen, most of the population work, it's nothing new. Yes, being a hostie is a fun job but it's not like you're splitting the atom is it? you're not performing pioneering life saving surgery? You want people to take cabin crew seriously? Act it then.
Photos- Please. I started crewing 10 yrs ago and believe me, there's nothing original about 90% of the pics you upload. Even my non-crew Twitter Passengers have commented about how repetitive the pics are. Shoving two Pringles in your gob to create a duck's beak is no longer funny. It just shows you work for a crap airline that thinks Pringles constitute a nutritious meal. The one pretending to open the door inflight- wow you're really scaring me! Oh no, you'd be a menace to fly with! The one where you grab a gay Air Host and pretend to enrol in the Mile High Club- yawn. You're not teasing anyone, there's plenty of proper airline porn on Xhamster. The one where you've picked up the interphone- are you trying to copy Gordon Gekko in Wall St or are you trying to show off 'look at me, I'm messing with the plane's equipment!' Do you take pics of yourself on the intercom in your flat as well? The one with you getting in the locker is as old as the hills. Unless you're about 30 stone and you're trapped in there, then it's not funny!
The more serious crew don't take these photos, they have another genre of Facebook photography that leaves David Bailey seething with jealousy. They take nondescript photos of clouds with the oh-so-original caption 'view from my office', usually accompanied by a series of emoticons. It's not your office, honey. Do you think coal miners take pics of their pit and say 'my office'? Even worse, they'll take an arty pic of the fuselage through Instagram, because a bright orange Easyjet looks so much classier in sepia, right?
The employment section on Facebook- If you're not working for the SAS, MI5 or flying VIPs around the globe, then chances are it's no big secret who you work for. Some of the twats on my Facebook put their employment is 'an airline', 'at 38000 ft', 'a big metal tube', 'the world's favourite airline', 'a great Orange airline', 'Jet To', 'Airline in the sandpit'. Why the fake secrecy? You don't get people working for Tesco saying they work for 'Every Little Helps' or office personnel saying 'a shitty 1960s prefab on an industrial estate' do you? The only time it's worth being vague about your employer is if you work for Ryanair.
Nightstops- The quality of cabin crew nowadays isn't what it was. Employers are being less fussy and recruiting estate rats, illiterates and pond scum. Some of the crew probably haven't even stayed at a hotel before. Don't show yourselves up by tagging yourself in the Holiday Inn. Everybody knows you don't go to a Holiday Inn out of choice and there's nothing holidayish about the place. Don't take photos of the minibar, but telling you that is like telling you not to take pics of your fridge at home, you sad cunts do it anyway. Please refrain from taking pics of the sachets of Nescafe and the complimentary Elizabeth Shaw mints. They are not complimentary, the extortionate hotel rates cover the cost of said 'luxury' item. Finally, do not take pics of the breakfast buffet. All hotels, even the shit boarding houses that charge hourly rates have these. Only take a pic if there is a naked pilot with grapes covering his manhood on the buffet.
To summarise:
1. Instagram doesn't make you David Bailey
2. Airlines employ lots of chavs these days
3. Your Facebook friends may be laughing at and not with you
Twitter bio- yawn. If I see hostess with the mostest, tart with a cart, international jetsetter and the like one more time, I'm going to throw my laptop through the nearest window. That's like the Twitter version of when you were a kid and the teacher used to give you a bollocking for starting every story with 'once upon a time'. Unless you fly VIP, you're not a hostess, especially if you work for Ryanair. You can only get away with Tart with a Cart if you're fit, not a middle aged single mum of 3 flogging Pringles on Jet2. International jetsetter is fine if you're a celebrity or working for a longhaul carrier, but it sounds a bit daft when you're working for BMI Regional going to Norwich on an Embraer 135. I know Norwich might look like a different country at times, what with them all inbreeding in that part of the country, but trust me, it's not international.
The Disclaimer- you know what I mean. That shitty phrase that novice hosties put on to make them look like Piers Morgan or someone of equal weight in the media. 'Views are my own and not my employer'. Yeah right. Tweeting that the weather is hot or you want Matt Cardle to win the X Factor is really that scandalous, that your budget airline employer would have no option but to rip up your fixed term contract. It doesn't make you look important, it makes you look ridiculous. Plus, if you want to slag off your company, make racist comments or call your passengers 'chavs', either get a fake profile or rethink your career. Customer service obviously isn't for you, get back on benefits.
Location, 38,000 ft- yawn. You don't live in the plane for god's sake. Just because you're embarrassed to say you're from Doncaster or somewhere. Most hosties go on Twitter to pull, so it's a bit better in their eyes not to mention that they're from an estate.
Facebook statuses- I am knackered. I am on days off. I'm on standby. I had shit passengers today. Listen, most of the population work, it's nothing new. Yes, being a hostie is a fun job but it's not like you're splitting the atom is it? you're not performing pioneering life saving surgery? You want people to take cabin crew seriously? Act it then.
Photos- Please. I started crewing 10 yrs ago and believe me, there's nothing original about 90% of the pics you upload. Even my non-crew Twitter Passengers have commented about how repetitive the pics are. Shoving two Pringles in your gob to create a duck's beak is no longer funny. It just shows you work for a crap airline that thinks Pringles constitute a nutritious meal. The one pretending to open the door inflight- wow you're really scaring me! Oh no, you'd be a menace to fly with! The one where you grab a gay Air Host and pretend to enrol in the Mile High Club- yawn. You're not teasing anyone, there's plenty of proper airline porn on Xhamster. The one where you've picked up the interphone- are you trying to copy Gordon Gekko in Wall St or are you trying to show off 'look at me, I'm messing with the plane's equipment!' Do you take pics of yourself on the intercom in your flat as well? The one with you getting in the locker is as old as the hills. Unless you're about 30 stone and you're trapped in there, then it's not funny!
The more serious crew don't take these photos, they have another genre of Facebook photography that leaves David Bailey seething with jealousy. They take nondescript photos of clouds with the oh-so-original caption 'view from my office', usually accompanied by a series of emoticons. It's not your office, honey. Do you think coal miners take pics of their pit and say 'my office'? Even worse, they'll take an arty pic of the fuselage through Instagram, because a bright orange Easyjet looks so much classier in sepia, right?
The employment section on Facebook- If you're not working for the SAS, MI5 or flying VIPs around the globe, then chances are it's no big secret who you work for. Some of the twats on my Facebook put their employment is 'an airline', 'at 38000 ft', 'a big metal tube', 'the world's favourite airline', 'a great Orange airline', 'Jet To', 'Airline in the sandpit'. Why the fake secrecy? You don't get people working for Tesco saying they work for 'Every Little Helps' or office personnel saying 'a shitty 1960s prefab on an industrial estate' do you? The only time it's worth being vague about your employer is if you work for Ryanair.
Nightstops- The quality of cabin crew nowadays isn't what it was. Employers are being less fussy and recruiting estate rats, illiterates and pond scum. Some of the crew probably haven't even stayed at a hotel before. Don't show yourselves up by tagging yourself in the Holiday Inn. Everybody knows you don't go to a Holiday Inn out of choice and there's nothing holidayish about the place. Don't take photos of the minibar, but telling you that is like telling you not to take pics of your fridge at home, you sad cunts do it anyway. Please refrain from taking pics of the sachets of Nescafe and the complimentary Elizabeth Shaw mints. They are not complimentary, the extortionate hotel rates cover the cost of said 'luxury' item. Finally, do not take pics of the breakfast buffet. All hotels, even the shit boarding houses that charge hourly rates have these. Only take a pic if there is a naked pilot with grapes covering his manhood on the buffet.
To summarise:
1. Instagram doesn't make you David Bailey
2. Airlines employ lots of chavs these days
3. Your Facebook friends may be laughing at and not with you
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