I think we can all agree that the emcee-ization of America's flight attendants has grown steadily worse over the past decade. And today, reader Kurt has sent us (and Gawker) arguably the nadir of flight attendant pep talks. I must warn you in advance that these will be among the two most painfully awkward minutes of your life. Kurt writes in:
The flight attendant wanted to have spiritual heart to hearts with passengers as they boarded and seeing as I was at a bachelor party in Nashville the night before I really didn't need a spiritual cleansing. Nonetheless I was told I was 'filled with power and confidence', given a hug and allowed to take my seat. Just when I thought things would tone down this was her take off routine.
If you can't bring yourself to listen, here is a small sampling of what poor Kurt was subjected to:
Lemme ask you a question... How many of you people are doin' really well today? Can we have some thumbs up for all those that are doing well? YAY! (singing) Happy happy Saturday! Happy Saturday to you! Happy happy Saturday! Happy Saturday to you! We all have good things inside of us, we do. I want everyone to know that you're special. I need everyone's attention now, because this is so strong in my spirit...
How many people know the flower is growing in them?
Oh, it's growing all right. I'd like to take a moment right now to tell all you flight attendant/standup comics out there to STOP. Please. FUCKING STOP. I know that Southwest Airlines gave you permission to make the occasional joke or dole out your safety instructions in free verse, BUT YOU FUCKERS HAVE GOTTEN OUT OF CONTROL. This isn't a comedy club. The nice thing about a comedy club is that I can LEAVE. I can't leave an airplane. Once inside, I'm trapped. Captive. The only reason us passengers are laughing at your stupid jokes is because we are hostages. You have hijacked the goddamn aircraft with your spiritual awakening, and it's not fair. All we want is for you to shut the fuck up so we can try to sleep.
It's time for a reality check. There isn't gonna be some talent scout on our flight from Baltimore to Hartford. No one is gonna hear your cute little spiel about the overhead bins and then offer you a sitcom pilot. That will never happen. Ever. If you want to perform, go to a performance space. A club. An audition. An open mic night at the local Caribou Coffee. Those are appropriate venues for you to dispense your shtick. Not on an airplane. Not with 15 babies screaming themselves to death and me trying desperately to either concentrate on a book or listen to music over the sound of your fucking voice ringing through the cabin. Just because the airline handed you a mic does not give you carte blanche to use it. Just get through the announcements and ask me what I want to drink. NO ONE WANTS TO LISTEN TO ANYTHING YOU HAVE TO SAY, DICKHEAD.
Next time I'm on a flight, I'm grabbing the mic and reading this entire post out loud. We'll see how much you like it when the tables are turned, you goddamn flying gong show.
Image by Jim Cooke. Source photos by Andresr and Claudio Zaccherini/Shutterstock.