The Air Stewardesses' Footmen Ch. 02

I thought Captain Amanda might be trying to score one or two points of her own with her high praise of the intently listening Ms Gina Summers.

"But anyway ... five years of air hostessing takes its toll," Captain Amanda told me. "Walking up and down the aisles of holiday jetliners in three-inch heel uniform pumps, especially on long-haul flights, is an exquisite form of torment. And attending to so many thankless, discourteous and annoying holidaymakers; too many of them drink-addled morons who make lewd remarks and think it such jolly good sport to pinch air hostesses' bottoms as they walk by, adds keenly to the misery. So I know what it's like, to be desperate for a soothing foot massage after a long and tiring flight duty. Unfortunately, air hostesses back then didn't enjoy the after-flight benefits provided by revised-contracted cabin crewmen! We only had our boyfriends to turn to. Yes, a few of us hosties were extraordinarily lucky; struck gold, with our boyfriends, enjoying not only the healthful benefits of their doting daily devotions but also the more intimate pleasures of their tender post-flight ministrations. And sometimes, well, more."

Captain Amanda searched my face for understanding as she let what she'd said lastly sink in.

Captain Amanda went on, "But I was not one of the fortunate few. My ex-boyfriend Dan steadfastly refused to indulge me. He was Dan the man - not Dan the footman. Like the unsympathetic boyfriends and husbands of most hosties, Dan was inattentive and dismissive. Turning a deaf ear to my pitiful petitions and, at my worst times, tearful entreating, my former boyfriend of three years was uncompromising and unwavering in his denial. And so the damage has been done. Look, Mason ... Do you see the hardened skin, and these other unsightly blemishes, here, and here, and here?" Captain Amanda asked, pointing a red-painted fingernail at the bottom of her heel, the ball of her foot, and the pads of her toes. These impact areas stood out a reddish pink, a stark contrast to her much lesser impacted arch. "Well, Mason? Do you see?"

"Yes, Captain Amanda. I can see what you are talking about, but ..."

"Mason, what you see are the long-lasting results and sometimes the permanent aftermath of the affliction common to air hostesses. But, given daily care and timely treatment during my air hostessing days by a sensitive boyfriend sympathetic to my post-flight needs, some of the ugly legacies you observe here would be much reduced, if not prevented altogether. But, to this day, despite frequent scented-oiled foot baths, regular pedicures at the salon, and the daily moisturising lotions and night balms applied by my attentive boyfriend of two years, Simon, some of the hardened and calloused skin from old repeat-blisters and the back-of-the-heel abrasions from continual chafing refuse to fade away."

I continued staring down at the displayed bare sole of Captain Amanda Mandelson's left foot. The tough-treatment traces and left-behind lesions, lingering legacies of Captain Amanda's toll-telling five-year air hostessing stint, were there to see as stated. But I did not think that what I was looking at was the least bit unsightly. Not at all. I found Captain Amanda's 'blemished' sole a strangely compelling, mesmerising sight.

"Here, Mason," Captain Amanda said, as now she stood one-legged on her left foot and again held her trouser cuff above her ankle to show me the bare sole of her right foot. "There - take a good look at the ugly twin."

Now, I wondered what the toll of the 'affliction common to air hostesses' looked like on the soles of Chief Stewardess Lois Lawson's feet after her twenty-year air hostess career.

I recalled some of Ms Lawson's words to me earlier:

"Before Civil Aviation Authority flying hours rules became so restrictive, we had to do lots of long-haul non-stopover turnarounds. Sometimes to America: trans-Atlantic tootsie torture, we used to call it. But let me tell you, it was not a joking matter. Before we were halfway back on the return flight, some of us were going out of our minds from footsoreness. Not, for us, was the dreamed-of luxury of overnight or longer stays on expenses in quality hotels enjoyed by hosties working for the more prestigious airlines."

"Captain Amanda, I think you are far too hard on yourself," I told her honestly. "The soles of your feet are not ugly, not unsightly, and not spoiled. But, well, interesting and ... attractive."

"Thank you, Mason. You are a real sweetie, but I think you are kind to me, or just diplomatic."

Before I could assure Captain Amanda that I wasn't kind or diplomatic, she reinserted her bare feet into her uniform black three-inch heel pumps.

Captain Amanda then tipped me the wink as if we were conspiring, and she raised her voice in the direction of Chief Operating Officer Ms Gina Summers at seat 1A. "Now I think of it, Mason, I can see no reason why female Flight Deck Officers should miss out on this new-era advantage. Is it fair, Mason, that we are denied the same foot service that revised-contracted cabin crewmen will from now on provide for their female counterparts under the Subservience to Stewardesses directive? Can you think of a valid reason for our non-inclusion, Cabin Crewman Mason?"

"Um ... no, Captain Amanda. I can't think of any reason."

"And Mason, you could easily fit us in. Yes: your now much-reduced cabin crewman numbers will mean a service-provider shortage, and therefore a continual backlog of returned footsore air hostesses waiting to take their turn in your crew room for their post-flight foot massage. And so, the ideal time for you to accommodate female Flight Deck Officers would be during the destination airport turnaround interludes. What do you think, Mason?"

"I think your suggested system is very sound, Captain Amanda. I don't see a flaw in it. And in the circumstances, I don't think the air hostesses will mind their cabin crewman being, um ... otherwise occupied, while they tidy up the plane before the return-flight passengers come aboard."

"Neither do I, Mason. So I'll ask Sadie, our Female Flight Deck Officers rep, to put my scheme to Ms Gina Summers to judge its viability. I don't see Ms Summers raising any objection in principle to extending your new services to include us female Flight Deck Officers. On the contrary. I'm sure Ms Summers will consider our non-inclusion an unfortunate oversight, but an oversight easily and swiftly rectified by drawing up our own contractual entitlement. I am confident that Ms Gina Summers will give us her prompt approval to begin availing ourselves of the same excellent, pleasurable and beneficial cabin crewman-provided privilege that our air hostesses will now enjoy."

Ms Gina Summers had indeed listened to Captain Amanda's voice-projected plea. Ms Summers said, "Captain Mandelson, I hope you will accept my sincere apologies. I have listened closely to what you have just said, and I am in total agreement. The non-inclusion of female Flight Deck Officers from enjoying cabin crewman-provided foot service is indeed an unintentional omission and an inexplicable oversight. A most regrettable mistake. But as you say, it is a mistake easily and swiftly rectified with the drawing up of your own contractual entitlement. I will contact your rep Sadie immediately upon checking in at my hotel in Madeira. I will refer to our conversation and inform Sadie that I will authorise your excellently conceived destination-airport turnaround-interlude foot service plan to begin on flights departing from midday tomorrow. For the time being, though, cabin crewmen numbers are insufficient to facilitate every flight."

Captain Amanda said, "Thank you, Ms Summers. But no apology is necessary for an unfortunate oversight. And some, intermittent cabin crewman-provided foot service is better than none."

First Officer Polly said, "Well, Mandy, better late than never, eh? You are going to start getting some of the sort of attention you would have liked to have during your five years as a hostie. And I won't say no either!"

Captain Amanda said, "Mason, thank you in advance. For your additional, destination-airport turnaround-interlude foot service for us female pilots."

"Don't forget us female flight engineers!" piped up Flight Engineer Denise. "We want a destination-airport turnaround-interlude foot massage too!"

As if in cahoots, as though between us we'd pointed out to Ms Gina Summers her unfair non-inclusion; enlightened her, as to her "inexplicable oversight", Captain Amanda Mandelson winked at me conspiratorially again and smiled as she closed the cockpit door.

As I turned away with my empty tray, Ms Gina Summers caught my eye. I thought she was going to commend my agreeability, but I was wrong.

"Cabin Crewman Mason, I am disappointed in you. I thought you might have offered to bring me a cup of coffee and a sandwich."

***

I hadn't much noticed it, and much less thought about it, before.

But, as a supportive supplementary to Chief Stewardess Lois Lawson's potted history of her twenty-year air hostess career, former air hostess of five years Captain Amanda's visual-graphic/personal-story description of 'the affliction common to air hostesses' had raised my awareness to the bane of flight stewardesses worldwide.

Now I wondered how I could have been so unseeing. How I could have failed to notice, for the last year, all of the varied and frequently displayed in-flight symptoms of 'the affliction'.

Furnished with my new knowledge, I elected to keep a roving eye on Senior Stewardess Donna and the other four air hostesses to spot any early signs of footsoreness.

It didn't take long. In my new state of awareness, it was as early as about the midway point of our outbound flight to Madeira when I'd noticed that Julie and Analise were exhibiting the first signs of 'the affliction'.

Such snippets of overheard conversation usually went in one ear and out of the other, went heedlessly unabsorbed. But now, I heeded and absorbed the stated particulars of Julie and Analise's foot discomfort.

I'd heard Julie ruefully telling the other hosties earlier that she was wearing a new pair of shoes to work today without wearing them in a bit first and that she was already starting to pay the painful price. And Analise had shared the information that her overused insoles were now totally worn-out, compressed paper-thin cushionless and worn through at the heel and the ball of the foot.

Julie and Analise, then, had been the first two.

But by the time we were an hour from Gatwick on our return flight (BH530 from Funchal), I knew from their tell-tale agitations that all five air hostesses, to a lesser or greater degree, were footsore.

The greater degree, applying to 'New-shoes' Julie and 'Old-insoles' Analise, whose cruelly tormenting foot discomfort was by their own admission self-inflicted. But all five were relentlessly traumatised by one or more symptoms of the occupational hazard that Captain Amanda Mandelson termed as 'the affliction common to air hostesses'.

So, there they were, all laid bare - if only you cared to look: Myriad manifestations of 'the affliction'.

Air hostess Julie would ease a dark nyloned foot from her tight-fitting new shoe and rest her foot on it, sole-up. Julie used every opportunity to do this whenever she stood still.

Air hostess Analise had binned her useless insoles. But with no replacement pair, her already sore and tender soles had started to blister. To ease her anguishment, Analise would slip a foot from her work pump and hook her foot behind the knee of her standing leg. Analise would stand one-legged like that, scrunch and flex her toes, then repeat the procedure with her other foot. Analise did this alternate pain-alleviating exercise more frequently and for longer durations as 'the affliction' became more unbearable. I could see that, in addition to new insoles, Analise would need new pantyhose too. Walking for so long on her worn-through insoles had frayed her dark nylons, and the rubbed skin on the soles of her feet showed redly through numerous holes.

Air hostess Pamela would ease a foot halfway out of her shoe and air out and rest her hot, tired and achy foot until ready to move on again. Pamela would do this whenever at a standstill.

Air hostess Deborah would slip a foot from her uniform black three-inch heel pump and flex and scrunch her toes for a few seconds whenever she stopped to speak to a passenger (which Deborah did often because a lot of the young male passengers wanted to talk to her), and she would repeat the relieving exercise with her other foot before moving on.

Senior Stewardess Donna would air out a dark pantyhosed foot, pressing her toes down on the back of her shoe and tipping up the toe end.

So, each of the footsore air hostesses did their own thing, as it were.

And, if not for my talks today with Ms Gina Summers, Chief Stewardess Lois Lawson, Captain Amanda Mandelson and Senior Stewardess Donna Didsbury, all of these frequently occurring and varied examples of 'the affliction' would have gone unregistered - as they had for the last year.

To judge which air hostess might be the neediest of my post-flight foot service upon our return to the crew room, I watched for the more demonstrative displays, assuming these the most reliable proofs of need.

Inevitably then, my thoughts turned to what might happen in the BlueSky Holidays crew room at Gatwick Airport when we arrived in about an hour.

I doubted that Analise and Julie, the soles of their feet by then being so sore and tender, would insist that I fulfil my new Subservience to Stewardesses directive obligation to them and perform their now contractually entitled post-flight foot massage. Most likely, they would prefer to hobble off home as soon as they could, glad to put their feet up.

And so would I, too; not hobble off home, but stroll down to the pub with Gemma for a late drink.

But that was not going to happen. Because Senior Stewardess Donna had volunteered me to stay behind in the crew room after I'd served herself and the four hosties on my crew, to give Senior Stewardess Camilla and her air hostess crew and other later returning hosties a revised-contracted cabin crewman's welcome.

There would be hell to pay if Gemma somehow got to find out that I had massaged her longtime antagonist Camilla's after-flight feet.

Which reminded me: there would be hell to pay, too, if I forgot to text Gemma when I landed that we would not now be going for a late drink at the pub. I had texted Gemma my new flight number, BH530 from Funchal, which she would check and see that it was due to arrive at Gatwick on time. Gemma, who will have got herself ready to go out, would phone me right back, not mincing her words in wanting to know why I was letting her down again, reneging on yet another arrangement at the last minute. It was a conversation I didn't want to have, wanted to delay indefinitely.

Air hostesses Pamela and Deborah were starting to give me the eye, looking at me all doe-eyed.

Air hostess Pamela, standing behind the Duty-Frees trolley while a woman customer considered a cosmetics purchase, looked back at me as she slipped her left foot from her work pump to wiggle her toes in momentary relief. Her telepathic message to me: "My feet are killing me."

Air hostess Deborah looked back at me meaningfully, too. Deborah was exchanging phone numbers with the young man sitting in an aisle seat who had been chatting her up all flight. Engaging her in conversation whenever she had passed by, he didn't hide that he was incredibly keen on Deborah. But then, Deborah had that effect on lots of young men. Deborah had it all; all of the man-attracting attributes a girl could want, and then some. Now, though, dreamboat Deborah looked at me over her shoulder as she eased her right foot from her uniform black three-inch heel pump and rested it in her shoe sole-up. In awed mesmerisation, the young man stared downward in undisguised veneration at what to him was the pulse-raising sight of air hostess Deborah's upturned dark nyloned sole, and he could not resist his impulse to 'declare' himself. So enraptured was the young man that he took hold of Deborah's hand and kissed it, looking down longingly at Deborah's upturned dark nyloned sole and then looking up with soulful eyes to Deborah. Deborah did not rebuke her aspiring suitor for his impudence in kissing her hand nor decry him for 'declaring' himself. And neither did she ask for her phone number back.

Well, I thought, at least it must be far preferable than being pestered by a drink-addled bottom-pinching moron, as Captain Amanda had put it.

And recalling now more words of former air hostess of five years, Captain Amanda Mandelson, I thought that perhaps here was air hostess Deborah's, Mr Right:

"Yes, a few of us were extraordinarily lucky; struck gold, with our boyfriends, enjoying not only the healthful benefits of their doting daily devotions but also the more intimate pleasures of their tender post-flight ministrations. And sometimes, well, more."

Yes, I thought I understood perfectly now what Captain Amanda had meant by what she had lastly said.

These unsubtle insinuations from air hostesses Pamela and Deborah were not going unnoticed by Senior Stewardess Donna.

Senior Stewardess Donna now stepped forward and staked her claim.

Senior Stewardess Donna reached for my neck, and again she did her proprietary thing of straightening and tightening my already straight and tight uniform sky-blue tie.

Air hostesses Pamela and Deborah regarded Senior Stewardess Donna's unmistakable claim-staking with sour and resentful looks.

Senior Stewardess Donna was sending her message: Her first.

The Air Stewardesses' Footmen continues in Ch. 3 (of 6): Post-Flight Foot Service.