I did not know this when I signed up for this gig; I had never even met a businessman before. Now I see the same cookie cutter middle-aged businessman a hundred times a day. They have the same drab suit, same iPhone phone with a Blackberry chaser, same Jimmy Johnson haircut and Jimmy Johnson hair color. They have the same tubby stomach that they rest their identical laptop computers on. They drink the same single malt scotch, tell the same jokes, and read the same magazines.
As worthless as these guys are to me in my existence, they aren’t that bad as passengers. Businessmen travel all the time and know what to expect on the plane as far as the service is concerned, which limits my ability to cut corners. They know what we will and will not do for them. Since I’m male they aren’t that nice to me, but at the same time I don’t have to deal with them hitting on me relentlessly. They pretty much leave me alone and I’m ok with that.
The people who travel every five years are the worst; they want everything under the sun and expect the flight attendants to do everything for them, like we did in the 1970s. They don’t understand you have 124 other people to serve and it’s not our job to provide their baby with a diaper or stow their overstuffed suitcases in the overhead bins.
Whenever I do see a young person, early twenties to early thirties, I leech onto them like white on rice. It is so rare a passenger is my age and traveling alone. They must talk to me whether they’d like to or not. Most don’t want to chat too long to the hired help though; we cater to stuck-up, self-important brats along with the older businessman. One is the larval stage of the other: the caterpillar to the butterfly, but in a less beautiful way.