My 3 Rockstar Bosses

Because I’ve never been a skinny girl. With Double D breasts and ample hips, sometimes squeezing through the narrow aisles of a plane can be tough. There’s more than a little junk in the trunk back there, and half the time I was afraid I’d hit some poor passenger’s head.

But dieting doesn’t work for me. I tried that whole South Beach thing, but it was a bust. Food has always been my go to, and the more I tried to diet, the more nervous I got. The more nervous I got, the more I ate. Go figure.

But the interviewer had no idea. She looked me up and down again, eyes narrow, missing nothing. And then with a harrumph, she pronounced, “You’re hired.”

I gasped.

“Really? No-no questions for me?” came my stammer.

The lady looked down at her clipboard, reviewing my application once more.

“Everything on here is accurate, isn’t that so?” she asked. “You signed a statement certifying its validity.”

I nodded dumbly. That was true. But what interviewer doesn’t ask questions?

The woman merely nodded again, clearly impatient.

“Welcome to Elite Air,” came her clipped words. “Uniform fitting will be on Monday. Come back to the conference hall and the tailors will set you up.”

I nodded dumbly. Hey, I was gonna get a paycheck, and it seemed wise to keep my questions to a minimum. But one small one escaped my lips.

“Um, should I try to slim down?” I asked hesitantly. “For the uniform fitting? I can lose a lot in a week,” were my rushed words, although that was patently untrue. “I know the aisles on the plane must be narrow.”

The woman lowered her brows, frowning

“Absolutely not,” was her declaration. “There’s plenty of space on board, you’ll see.”

Thunderstruck, my head nodded. I thought airplanes were regulation sized. We’d practiced on a bunch of models during stewardess school, and there wasn’t a lot of room on any of the commercial aircraft.

But nodding again, I agreed.

“Okay,” came my soft voice. “Monday it is then.”

And dazed, I stepped outside onto the sidewalk, the glare on the sidewalks blinding. Who was Elite Air? Or what was it? I’d done some googling but there wasn’t much information on-line. The website said it was a private fleet catering to billionaires and famous people. Wow. Like Elon Musk or handsome George Clooney types? That sounded great.

But real life isn’t filled with George Clooneys. You’d be lucky to meet even one George Clooney in your lifetime. More likely, it was seventy year old gazillionaires who had dozens of grandchildren. That was okay. I don’t mind families at all, and kids have always made me smile. And besides, there was the paycheck. The annual salary and benefits were amazing, almost double that offered by other airlines. It’d be ridiculous to pass up this opportunity.

So the next Monday, I showed up again. And sure enough, a seamstress was on hand, taking my measurements, nodding here while pinning there. And after ten minutes, we were done. I was dressed in my first uniform, ready to fly.

But this wasn’t your regular stewardess outfit, with a dowdy cardigan and knee length skirt. Instead, it was seriously cute. Even sexy, come to think of it. The navy dress was form fitting in all the right places, with a modest décolletage that showed off my ample bust. There was an adorable matching pillbox hat, and a blue scarf with red dots to tie around my neck. The whole look was retro and jaunty and I fell in love with it immediately.

My interviewer, Helena, materialized out of nowhere, scrutinizing me in the dress. No hello, no how are you’s. Instead, she addressed her words to the seamstress.

“Perfect,” came her clipped voice. “The men will love it.”

The men?

What did that mean?

But I guess it was possible. There are certainly more male billionaires in the world than female.

And with that, I was done. Ushered into a large hangar, my breath caught. Because holy moly, the G6 was nothing like the planes we’d practiced on during stewardess school. It was sleek and aerodynamic, gleaming in the giant warehouse space.

And inside, things got even better. There was no narrow galley kitchen or cramped economy seats upholstered in polyester weave. Instead, the kitchen was full-size, complete with an oven and microwave. And there were no economy seats on this flight period. Instead, six plush chairs stood inside the cabin, upholstered in spotless white leather, creamy and inviting. If it were me, I’d be afraid to sit in them, sure I’d spill something somehow.

But that’s my job.

I’m an elite air hostess.