Staff Travel Nightmare - A Cabin Crew Rant

Tuesday, March 3 rd 2026

Well, it’s a new month, and with that comes a fresh opportunity to reflect - to share my trials and tribulations and offer you a quick peek into my bonkers life as an international air hostess. While I’ll admit that I have always found it quite cathartic to spill my thoughts onto the page from time to time, the fact that you’re here to read and listen to them gives me a small but satisfying sense of validation… because really, what’s a good moan if no one’s listening?

So, what should I moan about this month? Where have I been? What did I do?...

Well, there was that short hop to Turkey and back at the start of February, but that was uneventful in the usual sense. No big drinkers, no diversions or restraints. In fact, I always think it’s quite a peculiar flight to work. A curious mix of people, some chasing an all-inclusive luxury holiday on a budget and others who are popping over for a little… aesthetic enhancement shall we say. I swear, on the flight home, half the cabin was still nursing stitches of some description, or hiding fresh hair transplants under baseball caps. And as for teeth, there were so many people grinning at me with their brand-new veneers, I felt like I was in a piano showroom at times… If I’m honest, it did make me wonder if I shouldn’t book myself in sometime in the not-too-distant future - pull up the old jowls, give the girls, and the eyelids a gentle lift… perhaps a little BBL while I’m there -I hear they’re all the rage, although I’m not entirely sure what it entails…

And while I know that probably makes me sound terribly vain, in my defence I have to say this: ageing in this job is tough. You’re constantly flying with crew half your age. Girls who look exactly like you did when you first joined, with all that youthful energy you had back then too. And while you feel the same age as them in your head… well, the outside just quietly gets on with betraying you. And then, just when you’re having a perfectly lovely chat, one of them asks what year you joined the airline, and you tell them… and then they casually inform you that was so long ago that they weren’t even born. Well, I always smile and offer a neutral little “ahhh,” as if I find their youth utterly endearing - but trust me, that smile is as fake as 26C’s brand-new gnashers.

But what can you say? How do you politely tell someone they’ve just made you feel as old as the hills and that you’ll be Googling retirement homes the moment you get home? You know they didn’t mean it, but even so…

Still, there’s nothing to be done about it. Ageing, as they say, is a gift denied to many, so I try to embrace it. And there is one undeniable perk of being in the job this long - one thing us jurassics have over the newbies - and that’s seniority. The glorious ability to bid for leave, and at some airlines even trips, and win the best dates and destinations simply because you’ve been around since the beginning of time. And then there’s staff travel too, another seniority ladder I have climbed. That glorious perk of a “free” flight for your loved ones - at a fraction of the cost, with the possibility of an upgrade if the aviation gods are smiling – as long as there are spare seats available. So, while the United Kingdom drowned its way through a second solid month of rain, what did I do? I whisked my children off to South Africa on safari. I took them to the sunshine. I fed them steak while I drank excellent wine by the bottle. I plastered it all over my socials to demonstrate, quite convincingly, how fabulous my life is. And when those spare seats started disappearing on the day we were due to leave, I didn’t panic. Not even a flicker.

Because my children were sitting right at the top of the standby list. The captain had already said they could have the jumpseats if it came to it, too. And as I watched the quiet panic ripple through those below them - other crew who’d brought loved ones along - I’ll admit it: for once, I was thrilled to be a Jurassic.

Honestly, give me a badge that said Tyrannosaurus Rex and I’d have worn it with pride.

That evening, we all piled onto the bus to the airport - crew and eight companions in total. I dropped my kids at the desk, told them the gate number, and swanned off completely worry- free.

You see, my children have been flying with me forever. They’re 18 and 19 now, perfectly capable of navigating an airport without me hovering over them. They know where to go, how to get snacks, and crucially, how to behave, provided they’re actually getting on the aircraft. And that was all that mattered.

And they were.

Well… they should have been.

Until a tonne of god-damned fruit bumped them off.

Can you believe it? We departed with twelve spare seats. Twelve. Enough for every companion to travel comfortably. And yet, we got slapped with a weight restriction, which meant those seats went empty. Because apparently, a lethal cocktail of altitude, heat, and the urgent need to transport that fruit that very day meant they couldn’t be filled.

The fruit was perishable, you see.

My children, less so.

And since companion tickets cost less than cargo, it turns out the fruit won.

So, there we were, standing at the aircraft door with the captain, while the duty manager calmly explained there was nothing he could do. And then - woof - the door shuts. And off I go to London, while my children are left behind, grounded by a crate of mangoes.

A humbling moment, that. Realising that even a Tyrannosaurus Rex can be taken down… by fresh produce.

So, what did I do? Well… what could I do?

Thankfully, one of the girls had her mum and dad with her, and they promised to look after my two. But we were pushing back before I could even log into Expedia and book them a hotel. And so began the most surreal three hours of my flying career - a cabin full of people asking for drinks and complaining about the most insignificant things as if I might possibly care.

As if they expected me to worry that their screen had frozen, or that there was no butter on their tray.

I smiled, of course. Delivered my finest Oscar-worthy performance. But did I care? No sir, I did not. Because I had just effectively deserted my children on another continent, and while I was up front pretending to give a toss, I wasn’t even allowed to lock myself in crew rest long enough to get Wi-Fi and call them. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever exercised such monumental self-control in all my years of flying.

And then, finally, I got online. Finally, I managed to message them.

And back came a photo: all eight companions, sitting around a restaurant table, grinning like idiots and clearly having the time of their lives.

And just like that - it was all okay.

I got home, had them on the flight the very next day. They each came back with six new friends for life, and I came back with a hard-earned lesson: always have a backup plan.

Though, in my defence, in twenty years I’ve never needed one. Flights can go full - especially when we absorb another airline’s cancellations - but the jumpseats were the backup I’d always relied on. I thought being top of the list was as safe as it got. Turns out fruit ranks even higher than me, Susan the dinosaur, though. Who knew!

I think it’ll be a while before I risk staff travel again. I may need time to rebuild my confidence in that particular department - which is a shame really, because it usually is fine.

Well, the rest of the month was rather dull in comparison. I flew to New York on Valentine’s Day and witnessed an in-flight proposal, which was quite lovely, until he dropped the ring and it went rolling all the way into the galley and under a cart where all the dirt settles.

Ruined the moment just a little bit if I’m honest, as we fished it out and ran it under the galley tap.

I popped to Dubai for a quick catch-up with a friend, stocked up on Oud and got my diamonds polished at the Souk, and I did a one night Bangalore where I pampered myself and never left the room. All in all, it was an okay month. Even the stress of staff travel was helped along by the rather large amount of wine I’d brought back with me…

And now we head into March. Soon, those cumbersome winter coats can be ditched, the de-icer can be left in the car. No more frozen windscreens or frozen crew at 6 a.m. on a Wednesday morning. I’m holding out hope for blue skies and lighter mornings… and daffodils very soon. It’s been a long, wet winter here in the UK, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who’ll be glad to see the back of it.

Well, that’s all for now. I’d better be getting off to bed. It’s a 5 a.m. standby for this old girl tomorrow, and if I don’t get my eight hours in, well… I may just be identifying as the Tyrannosaurus Rex I mentioned earlier on whatever flight they call me out for...

So, for my sake, and for my passengers…

Nighty night,

and Much Love

Susan