The Footsore Flight Attendants Ch. 01

Mrs Jepson issued to me a large white carrier bag.

Printed on it in bold red letters was the singularly unglamorous legend: 'Gatwick Airport Authority Litter Department'.

Printed on the capacious white carrier bag also was the Litter Department's official stylised logo: a smiling, holding hands five-member family considerately and correctly disposing of their litter in a receptacle provided for the purpose.

Contained within the voluminous bag were the following items:

A travel warrant, valid for both bus and rail travel for six weeks from tomorrow; a pair of heavy-duty knee pads; and a polyethene bag of a week's supply of seven community-servant style white shorts and white T-shirts - but the T-shirts emblazoned not with a community servant's ID but with bright red capitalised letters the words 'LITTER LOUT' on the back and the word 'FOOTMAN' on the front.

What the ...? 'Footman'?

'FOOTMAN'?!

This couldn't be.

No ... no!

"Surely there's some other way, Mrs Jepson? Surely, there must be some other way, for me to-"

"No, there isn't - my mind is made up. And my decision is final."

"But-"

"Just shut up and listen, Warren - this is important," interjected Mrs Jepson, shrugging aside my protestations and complaints.

Mrs Jepson then enlarged upon the nature of my forthcoming 'attendance' duties.

Expanded, as to how I was expected to conduct myself in the Cabin Crew Comfort Station for the duration of my six-week sentence.

"At the end of your six-week sentence, I will perform my Final Assessment Test: I will read and evaluate all of the comments made by the footsore flight attendants you attend, as officially recorded on your Footman's Daily Record Sheet."

What the ...?

The 'Footman's Daily Record Sheet'?!

"To pass my Final Assessment Test, Warren, you must achieve a very high, overall air hostesses' Satisfaction of Conduct Rating: A minimum of eighty percent. Based upon their awards to you on a marks-out-of-ten system.

"Anything less than eighty percent, and ..."

Mrs Jepson paused a moment to let me imagine what the consequences of falling short of an overall air hostesses' Satisfaction of Conduct Rating of eighty percent might be.

"In addition to your foot massage duties, you will be responsible for keeping the Cabin Crew Comfort Station clean and tidy - spick and span. You will have to make a start on that, the moment a bus departs, and crack on with it until your services are again required by more newly arriving air hostesses.

"You must always - and I mean always - address the air hostesses as 'Miss' ... Got it?"

"Yes, Mrs Jepson," I said.

"But, above all, you must - and I mean must - accord the air hostesses the highest respect, compliance and obedience at all times.

"This is crucial, Warren, if you are to complete your six-week Cabin Crew Comfort Station Attendance sentence satisfactorily: If you are to achieve the minimum, eighty percent 'Satisfaction of Conduct Rate', as awarded to you by the air hostesses.

"Anything less, Warren, than eighty percent, and ..."

Again, Mrs Jepson left her unspoken, implied threat hanging in the air.

But Mrs Jepson didn't need to spell it out for me.

Implicit in her threat was that score an overall average air hostesses' satisfaction rating of less than eight out of ten, and I'd fail. And then she would sentence me again - and to a longer term.

"You may go now. Arnold will see you out," said Mrs Jepson in dismissal.

"Don't forget, Warren: Six a.m. tomorrow, at the Cabin Crew Comfort Station - and don't be late!"

***

Concerned that I might still be over the limit, I abandoned the idea of retrieving my car from the Long Stay car park and driving myself home.

I would pick it up tomorrow evening, after my first 'attendance' shift in the Cabin Crew Comfort Station.

Anyway, quite apart from the blood-alcohol level aspect, I had no business getting behind the wheel of a car in my present condition.

How was I supposed to concentrate on what was happening on the road?

Thinking about, worrying about - stressing about - my six-week Cabin Crew Comfort Station Attendance sentence, starting tomorrow at Gatwick Airport?

*

When I got home, I fibbed to Mum and Dad (who I still lived with) that tomorrow and every day for the foreseeable future including Saturdays and Sundays I would be out of the house bright and early in the search for a new job, and that they weren't likely to see me back home until about seven p.m.

Apart from raising their eyebrows in surprise at my apparent sudden zealous enthusiasm for job-seeking, they made no other comment other than smiling and nodding their heads in approval.

*

Fortunately, living in Horsham was handy for catching the Gatwick Express train, and from where I lived it was less than a ten-minute walk to the station.

Nonetheless, I had to get up early to be on the train I wanted that would get me to Gatwick Airport shortly before six a.m.

But when my radio alarm clock woke me at a much earlier than accustomed five a.m. and in coming awake I remembered the adjuring tone of Gatwick Airport Authority Litter Department Administrator Mrs Jepson's admonishment - "And don't be late, Warren!" - I had no problem in scrambling out of bed and getting a move on.

*

Having followed Mrs Jepson's instructions, I looked at my wristwatch to see that I had arrived in good time: 05:50.

The airport services buses were every fifteen minutes, and so the next bus was due in ten minutes' time, on the hour at six a.m.

Through the perspex windows of their own, conventional bus shelter I could see that there were no male air stewards waiting for the six a.m. bus.

But looking through the glass entrance doors of the Cabin Crew Comfort Station, I saw a sleepy-eyed air hostess, who appeared to be the only occupant.

She was attired in the distinctive orange-liveried uniform of an EasyJet air hostess.

I was surprised. I could be wrong but I didn't think EasyJet flew any of their routes during the night time.

In fact, I'd more than half expected the Comfort Station to be full of air hostesses back from their overnight long-haul flights.

But then the airport services buses were every fifteen minutes. And so maybe the post-flight, end-of-shift air hostesses were coming and going all the time - and possibly a bus full of them had left just five minutes ago.

The EasyJet air hostess looked to be in her early twenties. And although she was obviously very tired and so not looking her best, it was clear that she was very attractive, with blue eyes and neck-length blonde hair.

She was sitting on one of the two padded red leather banquette-style benches, her black leather flight-duty pumps, lying on their sides nearby where apparently she had kicked them off.

Her right foot was resting on her left knee; her work-shift begrimed, apparently sweat-dampened tan pantyhosed sole facing towards me. She was flexing and scrunching her toes repeatedly, as though deriving much-needed relief and reinvigoration from doing so.

Sipping from a cup of coffee, the EasyJet air hostess was staring ahead into the middle-distance as though lost in reflective thought.

Now that it had come right down to it, I was very nervous.

I didn't know if I was glad that there was just a single occupant in the Comfort Station or wished that the place was full of such obviously footsore post-flight, end-of-shift air hostesses.

This was all so very unsettlingly one-to-one.

Strictly speaking, I didn't have to go in there until six a.m.

I could wait until she'd boarded the bus ...

Instead, wanting to make a good first-impression (and hoping to score high marks-out-of-ten), before I lost my bottle and changed my mind again I pushed open the glass entrance doors of the Cabin Crew Comfort Station and said, "Good morning, Miss - would you like a foot massage?"

Instantly, the EasyJet air hostess, whose nametag informed me that she was Pearl, came out of her coffee-sipping reverie and stared at me warily.

The now on her guard EasyJet air hostess Pearl said, "What are you ... some kind of perve?"

"I beg your pardon, Miss," I apologised. "I should have introduced myself," I said, unzipping my jacket to reveal, emblazoned in bold red capitalised letters on the front of my community-servant style white T-shirt uniform - FOOTMAN.

"Oh - of course! How could I forget!" exclaimed Pearl, at once recovering herself and relaxing again.

"Everyone was talking about it yesterday when we heard the news. You are the litter lout, aren't you? Sentenced by Mrs Jepson to be our footboy for the next six weeks?"

"Yes, Miss Pearl," I replied respectfully, feeling my face turning just as red as Arnold the Litterman's had back in Mrs Jepson's office, as I turned around to show her what was similarly redly emblazoned on the back of my uniform white T-shirt - LITTER LOUT.

"Well, I'd better sign you in then," Pearl said, now nonchalantly taking all of this in her stride, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

But then, it wasn't - these were the 'female-friendly' days of the AFP.

"Thank you, Miss Pearl," I said respectfully.

Now I pulled off my trousers, underneath which I already wore my white uniform shorts and, velcro-fastened around my knees, the pair of heavy-duty knee pads that Mrs Jepson had issued to me in her office.

"Hmmm ... nice legs," commented Pearl.

Retrieving a red-plastic backed clipboard from the Comfort Station's cork bulletin board, Pearl the EasyJet air hostess formally signed me in on the Footman's Daily Record Sheet at 05:54.

The 'Footman's Daily Record Sheet' was the official document upon which the air hostesses would write their appraising remarks, along with their marks-out-of-ten awards, with regard to the respectfulness, compliance and obedience of my conduct, and as to the satisfactory - or otherwise - application, quality and efficacy of my foot massage services.

As Mrs Jepson had explained to me in her office, the Footman's Daily Record Sheet would facilitate her Final Assessment Test of my overall Satisfaction of Conduct ratings at the completion of my six-week sentence ... ("Anything less, Warren, than eighty percent, and ...")

"Well, come on then, Warren - you can start with me," said Pearl the EasyJet air hostess, her tone now turning rather bossy.

"The bus is due at six - I've got five minutes," Pearl said, returning to the red leather banquette, but this time propping her feet up on one of the many padded red leather footstools.

"Kneel just there, facing me."

"Yes, Miss Pearl," I said respectfully.

"Ah ... my feet are absolutely killing me," she told me, scrunching and flexing her tan pantyhosed toes.

"Um, I'm ... very sorry to hear that, Miss Pearl," I consoled respectfully.

Kneeling at her feet, I was pleasantly surprised at how much give there was to the Comfort Station's plush deep-pile carpeting. I'd been worried it was going to be hard on the knees - heavy-duty knee pads or not.

Pearl raised her right foot from the footstool and scrunched and flexed her toes at me. "Do this foot first, please, Warren."

'Please'?

'Warren'?

This EasyJet air hostess Pearl really wasn't a bad sort at all, I thought.

"Yes, Miss Pearl," I said compliantly.

I took hold of Pearl's proffered right foot in both hands, and I felt the increase in weight as now I was obliged to hold up and support her completely relaxed leg.

"Work your thumbs into my arch, please, Warren. Firmly, but not too hard. And then slowly work your way up to the ball of my foot and work your thumbs there, a bit harder, for a minute."

"Yes, Miss Pearl," I said obediently and began following her specific instructions to the letter.

In circular motion with the pads of my thumbs, not too firmly I kneaded her arch through the work-stained and slightly damp material of her tan pantyhose.

It was just like Mrs Jepson had said: Some air hostesses would tell me what to do; instruct me to focus my attentions and ministrations upon the particularly troubled areas of the soles of their post-flight, tired and achy feet as indicated to me.

Pearl leant back on the red leather banquette, closed her eyes and sighed. "Ah ... this is heaven ... I can't tell you."

I didn't know if that was an invitation to speak, so I didn't take the liberty.

Mrs Jepson had made it plain that in the Cabin Crew Comfort Station I was not an equal, but a servant.

Holding it in my hands from barely a foot away, it was impossible to avoid smelling and inhaling the decidedly pungent fumes emanating from the sole of the EasyJet air hostess Pearl's work begrimed, slightly sweaty tan pantyhosed foot. But I found that the rather strong cheesy scent wasn't bothering me in the slightest.

"I'm absolutely shattered," Pearl said. "I've been stuck in Geneva for most of the night - and that was after I'd already worked for ten hours.

"Geneva to Gatwick was to be the last leg of my pattern. But there was a technical fault with our aircraft. One of our engineers had to be flown out from Gatwick to come and fix it, along with two fresh pilots because the other two would be out-of-hours."

Pearl scrunched her toes, and I noticed now through her tan pantyhose that her toes were painted red.

"I flew back with them in the empty plane. They don't like flying empty like that but the aircraft needed to be repositioned," resumed Pearl.

"The rest of the crew flew back earlier with Swiss Air, but there weren't enough spare seats for all of us and I drew the short straw."

If that long speech wasn't an invitation to speak myself, I didn't know what was.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Pearl," I condoled respectfully. "But that explains it: I thought it was odd that a member of EasyJet cabin crew would be here at this time of day."

"Yes. But at least Crewing have stood me down from the ... oh, can you work your thumbs just a little bit more firmly there, please, Warren, right in the middle of the ball of my foot ... from the twelve-hour work shift pattern I was due to operate today."

"I must say, Miss Pearl, it sounds like very hard work - and such long work shifts! Mrs Jepson, who used to be a senior British Airways air hostess, told me something of what it was like. But, hearing it from you, Miss Pearl ..."

"Oh, you have no idea, Warren - other foot now, please - just how hard it is on our feet. But at least now we've got a footboy!"

"Yes, Miss Pearl," I said respectfully.

I now took and held Pearl's expectantly proffered left, tan pantyhosed foot in both of my hands, and once she'd relaxed her leg and let me take the strain, I proceeded to work my thumbs exactly as per her previous specified instructions.

Again, this time with Pearl's left tan pantyhosed foot held in my hands and barely a foot from my face, the strong cheesy scent radiating from her sole and wafting more pungently from her repeatedly scrunching and luxuriating toes hit me full force anew, but I didn't mind a bit.

Once again, Pearl relaxed back on the banquette and sighed. "Ah ... heaven. Absolute, perfect ... heaven."

I did not interpret this as an invitation to speak this time so I remained silent. So that Pearl could enjoy the rest of her "reviving, relieving and relaxing mini-massage" in peace and quiet.

"Ah, I can hear the bus coming," Pearl said, a minute or so later.

Pearl got up from the red leather banquette and went over to her kicked-off flight-duty pumps and slid her feet into them.

She then strode over to the Comfort Station's cork bulletin board and took down from its hook the red-plastic backed clipboard upon which she had signed me in at 05:54 - only a few minutes ago but the time had gone so fast.

Hurriedly writing something down on the clipboard with its attached ballpoint pen, Pearl said, her bossy tone returning, "When I've gone, have a tidy-up in here, Warren - just look at the state of the place!"

"Yes, Miss Pearl," I replied compliantly.

Standing in front of the bulletin board, with her right leg bent at the knee while pausing to consider what to write down next, Pearl eased her right foot from her flight-duty pump and rested her toes on the heel of her shoe. Exerting repeated downward pressure, she caused the toe end to lift up and down as she pondered her next words.

Another quick burst of writing, and then finally Pearl returned the clipboard to its hook on the bulletin board.

"Well, at least now I know I've got something to look forward to when I get back from a long, demanding pattern."

"Yes, Miss Pearl, I said respectfully.

The six a.m. airport services bus was stopped outside, its front entrance door open.

Pearl then pulled up the handle of her wheeled 'dolly-trolley' carry-case and headed for the Comfort Station's entrance/exit double doors.

I got there first and politely held one of the glass doors open for her.

Pearl stepped through the door, pulling her wheeled case after her.

"Lift my case onto the bus for me and stow it, please, Warren. It's heavy - I've got a lot of Duty-Free in there."

"Of course, Miss Pearl," I said compliantly.

At seeing what was emblazoned in bold red capitalised letters upon my community-servant style uniform white T-shirt, the bus driver stared at me pityingly.

Pearl followed her ubiquitous piece of cabin crew luggage onto the bus.

The bus driver was about to set off with his single passenger when Pearl gestured for him to wait.

"Do you remember what I told you to do, Warren?"

"Yes, Miss Pearl: You told me to have a tidy-up."

"Yes - so get cracking!"

"Yes, Miss Pearl," I replied obediently.

Now, at Pearl's assenting nod to the smiling bus driver, he pushed a button to close the automatic doors.

Before I turned around to re-enter the Comfort Station, through the narrow vertical glass panes of the bus's folding automatic door, I saw Pearl laughing as she shared a joke with the greatly amused driver.

*

But now that I was alone in the Comfort Station, one thing was uppermost in my mind: What had Pearl the EasyJet air hostess written on my Footman's Daily Record Sheet?

I went over to the Comfort Station's cork bulletin board and retrieved from its hook the red-plastic backed clipboard.

Affixed to the clipboard were about twenty sheets of A4-sized white paper.

Printed at the top of each page was: 'Footman's Daily Record Sheet - Day 1 of 42.

Otherwise, all of the pages were blank, except the top sheet.

Suddenly I'd come over all jittery and my heart was almost in my mouth - here were Pearl's hastily handwritten words.

I read ...

My opinion of our new footboy, Warren, is of the highest.

He is respectful, compliant and obedient, and shows what I have no doubt is a genuine eagerness to please.

Not once, did he fail to address me as 'Miss'. Following my specified foot massage instructions to the letter, he was compliant in every regard. And his perfect obedience and obeisance to me throughout was nothing short of slavish.

True, it is quite obvious he doesn't have a clue what he's doing, but it is equally clear that he is giving his best - and yes, he did quite relieve and revive my poor, tired and achy hostie feet!

Most notably, he didn't flinch or evince the slightest distaste or unwillingness to massage my pantyhosed feet that, after at last finishing my shift after being delayed, were most definitely dirty, sweaty - and stinky!

And - almost equally important - without me having to tell him, Warren seemed to know when to remain silent and let me relax and enjoy his attentions and ministrations in peace.

It would be unfair of me to nitpick a fault with our new footboy Warren.

As I say, he is new, and I'm sure that with our guidance and instruction he will quickly improve.

Given all of these considerations, I award Warren 10/10.