Monday, March 4, 2013

An Impassioned Plea to Those Flight People: Pick A Name, Please


I’ve always had a bit of a love-hate relationship with the world of aviation. Love because it gets me places. But I’ve had many well-documented (documented by me, of course) concerns and peeves about the industry – right from airports, ground staff, the planes, to all other associations and beneficiaries. So no surprise then that the fire’s been stoked again. This time, it’s those people who tell you to sit up straight, hand out food, and give you instructions on what to do in an emergency. In other words, the Professionals Formerly Known as Air-Hostesses/Hosts (PFKAHs).

I’ve always quite liked these PFKAHs (except for this one aged cow who once ‘forgot’ to serve me lunch and then taunted me by asking why I wasn’t eating). Other than that one, they’re all pleasant, warm, cheery, and they’re your one-stop solution for F&B. And it’s a job that can get tedious too – you can never step outside for lunch, for starters (unless you’re in Paris, maybe), and you have to do that annoying audio-visual instructional routine like three hundred times a day. Plus they’re trained to resuscitate people, tend to pregnant ladies, and so on, so there’s that benefit in case of emergencies. So they’re respectable people doing jobs that, while glamorous, are also just as competitive and challenging as most other professions. If anything, my problem inside airplanes is with those potentially drunk/sleeping wannabe RJs otherwise known as pilots, but let’s leave that for now.

Coming back to PFKAHs, several years ago, they changed their names. They didn’t like ‘Air-Hostess/Host’, which I found a bit odd because ‘Host’ has such a comely and welcoming intonation to it. But I think it was to dispel misguided notions that they were simply glorified waiters or busboys. Or maybe some reason I’m not quite aware of. So they called themselves ‘Stewards’. Not that I know what that means outside of an airport context, but fair enough.

You may have guessed where I’m going with this but I’ll spell it out nevertheless. Within three months of that name change, I found out that calling them stewards/stewardesses was also politically incorrect and frowned upon – it’s like how cell-phones keep going out of fashion; they’ll add a new letter at the end of an old model and you’re suddenly redundant and outdated. So like the 1x or the 1xPlus or the 4S or the 3390HD, these guys were now asking to be called ‘In-Flight Attendants’ or ‘Flight Attendants’.

Very cool, I thought. Another name change, but a definite upgrade, since ‘Attendant’ has that elegant professional aura that ‘Physician’, ‘Consultant’, etc. also have.

Fine, I still call them different variations of all of the above because, honestly, I don’t see the difference and I don’t get the fuss. But it is after all their profession and they all seem like very nice and kind people and they have the upper hand because they’re the ones who control my safety and comfort in airplanes and it’s just a word at the end of the day so fine: Fine, I shall call them In-Flight Attendants or Flight Attendants or Space Cowboys/girls or Aviation Sergeants or Aeronautical SkyDrivers or whatever they want.

But then, on my most recent flying experience, I discover that they want to be called ‘Flight Executives’ now…? What the hell?

When people ask me what I do, I say I’m a writer. Sometimes I say I’m a journalist. Other times I won’t. I don’t care whether they call me a writer or a scribe or a reporter or a paparazzo or a hack. I may sometimes correct them if they think I write for television or films but that’s about it, and that too rarely. Because who cares? Does anyone know what any finance guy in the world actually does? (Saying ‘number-crunching’ is ruled out for obvious reasons.)

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I’m putting my foot down. I will not call them Flight Executives. And that’s not because they are or aren’t Flight Executives – that’s beside the point and maybe in their heads they really are.

I won’t call them Flight Executives because there’s no such thing that exists. It’s completely made up; it’s a hoax. You cannot keep inventing new professions as and when you please, while the job description remains static. The thing is, you’re the ones who’re making up all these flashy names, not us civilians. Please, enough of this madness; let’s just all sit together, develop, like, a huge thinktank with the finance guys and the ‘consultants’ and the ‘facilitators’ and the ‘strategists’ and the ‘policy’ guys and just decide on a final name once and for all, with no ‘Executive’ in there anywhere.

(Of course, if this is a feminist thing where the real issue is the gender-neutrality of job designations, then I concede that that’s a subject far beyond the scope of this blog, and not something that’s going to be dwelled upon even briefly here.)

And honestly – and I really want to know this – what does ‘Executive’ even mean? It’s a frivolous suffix with very little weight.

Epilogue: Maybe I should ask the next call centre ‘executive’ who calls me up but I don’t even want to think about the trauma that’ll involve: “Thank you for holding, Sir, my name is Steve Smith Jones. Before I answer your question, I would like to ask you if you are happy with your cell phone plan and your internet plan and your housing scheme and your credit card facilities and your bank. After that, I will go through my preset answer booklet and surely tackle your query at the earliest. Oh, and would you like to donate money for a charity helping underprivileged children and if not then why, Sir?”


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