LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
The Gospel According To Marc |
by Marc Acito |
The Friendly SkiesMale Flight Attendants Get it Up
I try to make flying a pleasant experience. I bring my own food, I wear comfy clothes and, willing as I am to take on the awesome responsibility of opening a door, I sit in the emergency exit row. But recently I had a little Air Rage experience. That's right, my friends, I'm an Air Bitch. Fly me! Now I won't tell you where I had my little incident, but its initials stand for The Worst Airline. It all started when I discovered a piece of luggage marked "Crew" in an overhead bin designated "For passengers in this emergency exit row only." Reasoning that I paid for the flight and the crew didn't, I moved it. Big deal, right? You'd think I'd desecrated a sacred burial site. "In twenty-seven years of flying no one has ever moved The Crew Kit," announced the flight attendant like she was some character in The Lord of the Rings responsible for guarding The Magic Flight Bag. Yeah, well it turns out The Crew Kit is just a fancy-pants way of saying "flight attendant's luggage." Big whoop. I think perhaps the problem lies with the uniforms for the airline whose initials also stand for Try Walking Across. Give flight attendants blazers with a couple of stripes on 'em, and it's only a matter of time before they start barking orders like General Patton. Just the sight of that winning mix 'n match look of nylon neckerchiefs and aprons makes me want to fulfill my responsibility as Emergency Doorman by flinging the exit open and screaming, "Fashion Emergency! Fashion Emergency!" You'd think with so many gay male flight attendants the outfits would look better, but I guess our tribe is just no match for an industry made bitter by too much random drug testing. I'm sure if gay men ran the union, they'd bring back those go-go boots and cute little pillbox hats. Now unless you've been in a coma for the last twenty-five years, you've probably noticed that an awful lot of male flight attendants are, shall we say, a little light in the loafers. I'm gonna guess it's the Peter Pan Principle. If you recall, Peter Pan sprinkled fairy dust on the Darling children and, poof, they could fly. Likewise, I've had more than one poofter flight attendant call me "darling" and reach for my peter. Okay, I asked them to help me tighten my seat belt first. Still, a fairy's a fairy. I love these guys. They see me and my partner Floydtwo men, one carry-on bagand before the seat belt sign has been illuminated, they're sneaking us free booze and headphones. (I still use mine at the gymthe headphones, not the booze.) Once I even got a whole bottle of champagne from first class accompanied by a grope in the galley. Cute Brian from American Airlines, if you're reading this, why haven't you called? And I can always count on the boys for livening up the otherwise tiresome in-flight rituals. Once I actually heard this queen announce, "For those of you seated on the left hand side of the plane, you have a simply fabulous view of Mt. Hood. For those of you seated on the right hand side of the plane you have an equally fabulous view of the person sitting next to you." Another one confided to me, "The pilot today is a woman, so for the rest of the flight you should refer to the Cockpit as the Box Office." I asked Cute Brian what it was like having license to look at every passenger's crotch as he made sure all the seat belts were fastened. "Oh, you should hear what we say about you people," he said. "One of us is always running back to the galley to tell the girls about some guy asleep with a hard-on. We call it Sweet Dreams." I remind him that the passengers are eye-level with his crotch most of the time, as well. I won't tell you his reply, but suffice it to say there's a very big reason why I wish he'd call. One thing is for certain about gay male flight attendants: I know I won't ever get into a fight with them about The Crew Kit taking up my overhead bin. If these boys over-pack anything like I do, I'm sure their luggage is down below with the other oversized bags. Even if we do fight, I'm certain they'll Air Bitch right back at me. And I'll love every minute of it. As far as I'm concerned, these guys are the real in-flight entertainment. And that, my friends, is the Gospel According to Marc. Marc Acito wants to be a little boy forever just like Peter Pan. He can reached at MarcAcito@home.com. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 11, No. 8, June 29, 2001 |