=20 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- This article was sent to you by someone who found it on SF Gate. The original article can be found on SFGate.com here: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=3D/chronicle/archive/2002/11= /24/TR200266.DTL ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Sunday, November 24, 2002 (SF Chronicle) No shortage of frisky fliers seeking Mile-High status Elliott Hester People sometimes do strange things aboard airplanes. I watched one passenger clip his toenails in full view of fellow passengers, some of whom were struck by toenail shrapnel. Another hung his wet underwear from an overhead bin as if it were a clothesline. An intoxicated woman crawled up the aisle, barking like a dog and biting passengers. And recently, an obnoxious male flight attendant sashayed up the aisle, shouting at sleepy passengers. "I'm the magic man -- I'm the magic man!" he said. The magic man is no longer employed. Outrageous as these antics might seem, they pale in comparison to acts of in-flight lechery. Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen, you've entered the infamous Mile-High Club. During one unforgettable flight from Los Angeles to New York, my bleary eyes suddenly swam into focus when two coach-class passengers gave in to their passion. Ensconced in a row by themselves, they thrashed together unrelentingly, oblivious to the sidelong glances of my colleagues, who kept cruising the aisle to get a closer look. The cabin was dark save for a few passenger reading lamps that back-lit the performance like tiny, misguided spotlights. With so few passengers, most people were stretched across several seats and sleeping soundly, unaware of the escalating passion. Staring in disbelief from behind the aft bulkhead a few feet away, my colleagues and I heard muffled moaning. Then our female flier let out a shriek and collapsed into her boyfriend's arms just as startled passengers sprang upright in their seats. Throughout 16 years as a commercial flight attendant, I've witnessed numerous inductions into the Mile-High Club. The liaisons are most common late at night when lights are low, crowds are minimal and the threat of discovery less likely. Some seek membership in the comfort of a passenger seat, cloaked by blankets and pillows and prodigious amounts of nerve. But most MHC wannabes are anointed in an aromatic airplane lavatory that only a contortionist could love. During one flight, I knocked on the door for nearly five minutes before a sheepish couple finally emerged. As they retreated to their seats, several passengers, many of whom had been waiting impatiently in the lavatory line, broke out in spontaneous applause. Aboard another flight, my colleagues saw a man and woman dart into a lavatory. Moments later, a passenger call button sounded. It sounded again. And again. And again, and again, and again. Flight attendants realized the call originated from the lavatory with the couple. A body was apparently bumping rhythmically, against the call button. Minutes later, when the chiming had finally ceased, the door opened and the man and woman walked out. Standing before them was a phalanx of flight attendants who proffered a bottle of champagne. Why are some people so eager to make whoopee in airplanes these days? Especially in a lavatory, which is only marginally more accommodating than an outhouse? As far as I can tell there are three main reasons: 1) Alcohol -- some people will do anything when they're intoxicated. 2) Boredom -- on long- haul flights, a mischievous few need more than an in-flight movie to keep them entertained. 3) Relaxed dress codes. In the early days of commercial aviation, formal dress standards made airline passengers more inhibited. Men wore suits and ties; women came aboard in smart dresses. A certain behavior went along with this conservative attire. Nowadays, it's not unusual for passengers to walk around the cabin in miniskirts, shorts, see-through blouses, sweat suits, tank tops, flip-flops or no shoes at all. I once saw a woman traipsing around the aircraft dressed only in a slip. When the light hit just right, you could see . . . well, you could see. Mix audacious clothing with unlimited alcohol, darkness, a long flight and smatterings of bored, depraved human beings, and there's bound to be lechery in the aisles. In 1998, aboard a South African Airways flight from London to Durban, South Africa, the South China Morning Post reported that a business-class couple disrobed from the waist down and got busy in full view of other passengers. Mortified onlookers summoned flight attendants who, despite their best efforts, could not get the couple to disengage. Ultimately, the captain was forced to intervene. The high-flying exhibitionists eventually stopped, but only after the captain yelled, "This is not a shag house!" The following year, a similar incident occurred aboard an American Airlines flight from Dallas to Manchester, England. Agence France-Presse reported that a man and a woman in business class sat together and exchanged more than pleasantries. Despite being strangers and married to other people, they went at each other like drunken coeds in a college dorm room. Both were arrested at Manchester airport. They lost their jobs, ruined their marriages and were ridiculed for a year in the British tabloids. While most airlines deplore onboard "shagging," at least one major airli= ne seems to embrace the concept. A Virgin Atlantic Airways billboard once featured the perpetually horny Austin Powers (Mike Meyers) straddling the fuselage of a jumbo jet. The caption read: "Virgin Shaglantic -- Yeah, baby." Richard Branson, Virgin's outspoken head honcho, once said, "We're not the type of airline that bangs on bathroom doors." Whether it's banging on bathroom doors or prying apart business-class couples, flight attendants do their best to thwart Mile-High Club liaisons. But there's no procedure in our in-flight manuals. Because of this, we're forced to wing it. Elliott Hester flies for a major U.S. airline. He is the author of "Plane Insanity: A Flight Attendant's Tales of Sex, Rage, and Queasiness at 30,000 Feet."=20 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 2002 SF Chronicle