The Mile high Club

“I love staying in France,” I said to the other flight attendants.

Ferrying a plane to Paris was a great treat for us. Our European routes usually had us working to England or Ireland. Now we had the luxury of staying in a plush hotel in the center of the city. After a few hours of rest and reorganizing, we began to shop.

Greta, Rike, and I wore stylish dresses and high heels as we walked along the Champs-Élysée, a beautiful tree-lined avenue near the hotel. We enjoyed watching the shoppers and stopped at expensive boutiques. Rike purchased Chanel perfume and I bought Lalique glass. The dollar exchange was in our favor and we purchased them at bargain prices. We were in heaven.

After a day of shopping, we visited the nearby park and watched marionette shows—free and entertaining. The puppets moved on strings within a small, portable stage, and, of course, they spoke in French. We understood the basics without being fluent in the language.

The children standing in front of us interacted with the puppets, calling back and forth. The parents and surrounding audience laughed at the youngster’s outrageous comments. Rike, Greta, and I joined the crowd in the teasing.

From the park we walked to the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. We acted as typical tourists and had our photos taken. When we returned to the hotel, we learned of a change in departure dates. We had to report to duty the following afternoon.

At Orly International Airport we picked up a group of French college students flying to the States. The 707 jet had plenty of empty seats, and the undergraduates spread themselves throughout the plane.

When we demonstrated the emergency procedures, they joked, laughed, and completely ignored us. They felt superior and demanded that we respond immediately to their every request. They also insisted we speak only French. As a graduate from a top university, I had a hard time being gracious to these pompous students.

After dinner and several glasses of wine, most of the students fell asleep. Greta, Rike, and I cleaned the galley and lavatories, checked the cabin, and returned to the rear to relax and eat our own dinners. Rike leaned against the galley counter while Greta and I sat on the jump seats.

“What a bunch of jerks,” Greta commented. “Not one ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ from any of them.”

“I agree. The Parisians were so nice, but these kids are spoiled brats.”

Rike added, “Only three more hours.”

The dark cabin had a few reading lights illuminated as we crossed the Atlantic. On one of my many check walks from the back galley to the front, I heard a strange sound coming from an aisle seat. It was too dark for me to see what was happening.

“Rike, will you help me? Something weird is going on,” I said.

She followed me as I walked back up the aisle. Pointing a flashlight toward a row of seats, we found the source of the noise. It came from beneath an undulating blanket. A passionate couple moaned in unison, the tan blanket moving up and down. They had obviously joined the Mile High Club.

“Okay, you two. Stop and sit up,” I ordered.

Rike saw the infamous third finger protruding from the cover. She ripped off their blanket and the smell of sex flooded the air.

“Sit up now!” she demanded in a loud voice. “And fasten your seat belts!”

Grumbling, they smoothed their clothes and sat up. I’m not that proficient in French, but I was pretty sure the male student was not muttering nice words as he pulled up his pants and straightened his hair.

Couples who engage in sex while flying in a plane above 5,280 feet gain membership to the Mile High Club. The thrill of not being discovered in such a public place makes joining the club exciting. But it’s a sexual fantasy that rarely happens. Despite the tall tales, only a few people actually belong. And none of our crew members, as far as I knew.

While going about her normal duties, Greta noticed a male student sneak into a restroom.

“Why is he acting so suspiciously?” she asked. Before long we heard loud groans.

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed. “Not again!”

Greta banged on the door and demanded, “You come out now!”

They laughed out loud. “We are. We are coming!”

After a minute or so, two young men emerged, smiling and snickering.

“I don’t believe it,” I said to Rike and Greta.

On this one flight we witnessed two couples join the Mile High Club. In all our years of flying, we had never even seen one such event. The French obviously deserve their worldwide reputation.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27