for all the stuff that goes towards making up one sweet life, the way I see it.
I could see myself in one of them cute little stewardess outfits, like Britney in ‘Toxic’, wiggling up and and down the aisles and pulling fit blokes into the toilets for a quickie. And when I found Kimmy – and Ren! – we could have all sorts of cheap holidays and free flights. It’d be well sweet . . .
And if I didn’t find ’em, heck, I could always invite the foxy Maxine for a dirty weekend of Doctors and Nurses. Got to have a Plan B. Or in my case, a Plan XXX.
So next day I was up Stanwick like a shot. But, to cut to the chase – or rather, to the free flight that never happened – it wasn’t to be, my stewardess fantasy. Strike one – I wasn’t eighteen or above. Strike two – no passport. And strike three – no GCSEs. I mean, like they’re going to be REALLY useful, for pouring drinks and wearing a tight skirt! However, I WAS old enough, English enough and dumb enough to be an airport cleaner, as it soon turned out at the Stanwick Airport Careers Fair. Yes, all right, I KNOW! But it wasn’t just being a cleaner; it was being part of an airport. It was part of getting away.
So here’s our schedule. There’s five crews, working rotating shifts – cleaning toilets, departure and arrival lounges and check-in areas; clearing rubbish, emptying ashtrays, wiping tables, vacuuming baggage-claim and check-in halls, cleaning check-in desks and lots of offices. I’m like the youngest on our crew, then there’s this pair of Goths in their late twenties, early thirties – the state of them! Call themselves the Dracules, but I happen to know that their real name’s Lambie. They spend most of their time bickering and you kinda get the impression Drina/Katie would be happy to bin the black lace and throw on a cute sundress but Drew/Josh still insists on living the Goth dream or the nightmare, or whatever. Still, they can be a laugh when they want to be.
Then there’s Mrs Tribbley – late fifties, walks around wearing a badge saying DO NOT RESUSCITATE and talking about her ‘imminent’ death as though it was a date with him out of Hard-Fi, though she looks as fit as a vet’s vole to me. There’s Kathleen and Kathryn, mid-thirties, who basically hate each other and engage in competitive cleaning – if one’s on her hands and knees scrubbing sick off a toilet floor, the other will make sure she gets her head right down the bowl, no gloves, nothing to kneel on – hardcore. You should see the time I take to clean the toilet mirrors when all this is going on!
Then there’s the two daddies of the pack – Nev and Navdeep. Nev’s an ex-docker from Shoreham and Nav’s this cool Sikh with a turban and all that, and sometimes he lets us touch his dagger! They’re kind to us, but they’re very much a self-contained pair, spending most of their breaks doing Sudoku and trying to force us to do them too, ‘To keep your brains working,’ as Nav would say sternly. What’s he mean, keep! – most of us, they never started. Specially the luggage guys who just play football all the time.
So it smells and it’s slow and it’s hardly the stuff dreams are made of, but there’s a few perks. First, the security staff have to search you every time you go in and out of the lounges, and some of them are well fit. And second is this mystery boy, about my age, who keeps himself to himself and spends all his spare time with his squeegee, but he’s just about the prettiest thing you ever saw. Asif, I think his name is. And one of these days, not long from now, if he hangs around too long in the cloakrooms after home-time, he’s going to get some Sweet-smooching. A Sugar-shagging, even.
Yes, I KNOW! What do I want – boy or girl, Indian or Chinese? Seems like I just can’t make up my mind these days. But whatever, it’s all sweet.
8
Cute as a Christmas puppy or not, I didn’t just want to jump feet first into a relationship
I could see myself in one of them cute little stewardess outfits, like Britney in ‘Toxic’, wiggling up and and down the aisles and pulling fit blokes into the toilets for a quickie. And when I found Kimmy – and Ren! – we could have all sorts of cheap holidays and free flights. It’d be well sweet . . .
And if I didn’t find ’em, heck, I could always invite the foxy Maxine for a dirty weekend of Doctors and Nurses. Got to have a Plan B. Or in my case, a Plan XXX.
So next day I was up Stanwick like a shot. But, to cut to the chase – or rather, to the free flight that never happened – it wasn’t to be, my stewardess fantasy. Strike one – I wasn’t eighteen or above. Strike two – no passport. And strike three – no GCSEs. I mean, like they’re going to be REALLY useful, for pouring drinks and wearing a tight skirt! However, I WAS old enough, English enough and dumb enough to be an airport cleaner, as it soon turned out at the Stanwick Airport Careers Fair. Yes, all right, I KNOW! But it wasn’t just being a cleaner; it was being part of an airport. It was part of getting away.
So here’s our schedule. There’s five crews, working rotating shifts – cleaning toilets, departure and arrival lounges and check-in areas; clearing rubbish, emptying ashtrays, wiping tables, vacuuming baggage-claim and check-in halls, cleaning check-in desks and lots of offices. I’m like the youngest on our crew, then there’s this pair of Goths in their late twenties, early thirties – the state of them! Call themselves the Dracules, but I happen to know that their real name’s Lambie. They spend most of their time bickering and you kinda get the impression Drina/Katie would be happy to bin the black lace and throw on a cute sundress but Drew/Josh still insists on living the Goth dream or the nightmare, or whatever. Still, they can be a laugh when they want to be.
Then there’s Mrs Tribbley – late fifties, walks around wearing a badge saying DO NOT RESUSCITATE and talking about her ‘imminent’ death as though it was a date with him out of Hard-Fi, though she looks as fit as a vet’s vole to me. There’s Kathleen and Kathryn, mid-thirties, who basically hate each other and engage in competitive cleaning – if one’s on her hands and knees scrubbing sick off a toilet floor, the other will make sure she gets her head right down the bowl, no gloves, nothing to kneel on – hardcore. You should see the time I take to clean the toilet mirrors when all this is going on!
Then there’s the two daddies of the pack – Nev and Navdeep. Nev’s an ex-docker from Shoreham and Nav’s this cool Sikh with a turban and all that, and sometimes he lets us touch his dagger! They’re kind to us, but they’re very much a self-contained pair, spending most of their breaks doing Sudoku and trying to force us to do them too, ‘To keep your brains working,’ as Nav would say sternly. What’s he mean, keep! – most of us, they never started. Specially the luggage guys who just play football all the time.
So it smells and it’s slow and it’s hardly the stuff dreams are made of, but there’s a few perks. First, the security staff have to search you every time you go in and out of the lounges, and some of them are well fit. And second is this mystery boy, about my age, who keeps himself to himself and spends all his spare time with his squeegee, but he’s just about the prettiest thing you ever saw. Asif, I think his name is. And one of these days, not long from now, if he hangs around too long in the cloakrooms after home-time, he’s going to get some Sweet-smooching. A Sugar-shagging, even.
Yes, I KNOW! What do I want – boy or girl, Indian or Chinese? Seems like I just can’t make up my mind these days. But whatever, it’s all sweet.
8
Cute as a Christmas puppy or not, I didn’t just want to jump feet first into a relationship
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