Ross Prunster
Team Captain
Air Hostess
Back in the day when flying was glamorous, every little girl wanted to be an Air Hostess. Flying to exotic locations, well heeled, well connected, well groomed passengers, big, strong, lantern jawed ex Air Force blokes up the front flying the plane. Chance to sip champagne and eat oysters with one of the playboy millionaire passengers sitting on the Champ de elysees, before a night of all night love making. If that failed, there was always the pilot to snort coke off your backside in the five star hotel, before giving you a right royal rogering.
These days with code sharing, cheap flights, cashed up bogans, as well as airline cost cutting, you get to explain the beef or chicken menu to every f***wit on the plane who can't work it out for themselves, snot nosed kids pissing you off, drunk bogans trying to cop a feel, self entitled bitches telling you how to do your job, and a 3 hour stop over in Bali is exotic as you'll get. As for the millionaire love making, the closest you'll get to that is a quick shag with Ralph Fiennes in a piss soaked airplane toilet. Can always fall back on the pilot? These days he's a debt ridden glorified bus driver geek, who'll end before the train enters the tunnel, and add to that he's half an interest rate rise away from driving the plane nose first into the ground.
Back in the day when flying was glamorous, every little girl wanted to be an Air Hostess. Flying to exotic locations, well heeled, well connected, well groomed passengers, big, strong, lantern jawed ex Air Force blokes up the front flying the plane. Chance to sip champagne and eat oysters with one of the playboy millionaire passengers sitting on the Champ de elysees, before a night of all night love making. If that failed, there was always the pilot to snort coke off your backside in the five star hotel, before giving you a right royal rogering.
These days with code sharing, cheap flights, cashed up bogans, as well as airline cost cutting, you get to explain the beef or chicken menu to every f***wit on the plane who can't work it out for themselves, snot nosed kids pissing you off, drunk bogans trying to cop a feel, self entitled bitches telling you how to do your job, and a 3 hour stop over in Bali is exotic as you'll get. As for the millionaire love making, the closest you'll get to that is a quick shag with Ralph Fiennes in a piss soaked airplane toilet. Can always fall back on the pilot? These days he's a debt ridden glorified bus driver geek, who'll end before the train enters the tunnel, and add to that he's half an interest rate rise away from driving the plane nose first into the ground.