I first developed my fear of flying when I learned that airplanes have a habit of randomly bursting into flames when they are a million feet above the ground. The fear sunk deeper after I discovered that most airplane pilots were more wasted than Lindsay Lohan on a Saturday night. However, the last four to five trips that I took by air made me feel like I was being choked by my intestines and punched in my nuts. The reason wasn’t any technical glitches nor was it the excessive inebriation of the pilots. It was the shocking abundance of appallingly ugly airhostesses aboard commercial aircrafts.

                I find it idiotic that people still love telling their friends and others that they are “taking a flight” to whichever hellhole it is that they are going. About a decade and a half ago, flying may have been a luxury that only the medium rich to the super rich could afford. But let’s face it, with low cost airlines and discount offers and stuff everybody flies these days and consequently airplanes suck- they suck like a hungry leech on a sumo wrestler’s ass. I don’t have to enlighten anybody on the quality of the food that passengers receive during flights, which is basically a piece of cucumber that tastes like wet socks, a slice of bread that tastes like dirty cushions, a spread of butter that tastes like muddy sidewalks, a puny plastic container having jam which tastes like shoe soles, and a cup of yogurt I wouldn’t consume even if I was held at gunpoint, a situation not very uncommon these days aboard airplanes. The sole reason why passengers endure this hellish treatment is because they expect the creatures who serve this trash to look, at least, like breathtaking angels. But apparently airline companies have deemed their customers undeserving of the one benefit that they truly want.

                 Every time I step aboard an airplane I do so hoping to be greeted by someone that looks like the female adult offspring of Charlize Theron and Elisha Cuthbert. But, almost, always, what I see is just the opposite- an ogre, wrapped by a sari that can barely contain her gigantic, ugly ogre boobs, bearing an expression on her face that could only be described as constipated. I don’t refer to the creature as an ogress only because I’m not even sure if it’s a woman. I gulp down the initial shock and head towards my seat, which, thanks to my dumbass luck, inevitably turns out to be the sandwich seat- the one in the middle that has to bear the stink of two passengers. I’m confident that there are at least three stewardesses for one airplane and I tell myself there’s no way the other two would be looking like ogres. Needless to say, I’m right on the money; the other two don’t look like ogres; one bears a striking resemblance to an emaciated rhino and the other can pass any day for a toothless ape. I sit nervously wondering how difficult survival in the next couple of hours is going to be. The pre-take-off flight instruction session commences. And believe you me—the image of a toothless ape standing in front of you gesturing wildly with an oxygen mask in her hand, in an effort to give you safety tips, is not a very reassuring one. Not surprisingly, the intestinal choke/nut punch pain surfaces.

                 Soon, the dreaded food carts arrive. And it’s the ogre who’s in charge of that duty. As she is serving hell’s cuisine to the other terrified souls aboard I notice something that literally makes me want to jump off the plane. The ogre, I observe, is chewing tobacco while serving food to the passengers. So, now, the situation worsens. Instead of having to look at just a normal ogre, I have to stare at one that appears to have blood dripping from her mouth. Finally, the moment of trepidation arrives as she reaches my seat. She gives the guy on my left his food plate and then places another one on my unfolded table. At this point, I make the mistake of looking up at her. It’s like staring at one of those tooth decay posters that you see stuck outside the office of a dentist that has no other purpose but to traumatize patients. I abruptly refocus my eyes onto the wonderful sight of the back of the seat in front of me. I hold my breath hoping the monster would go away now. But, I forget that her job isn’t completed yet. She still has to serve the guy on my left. And then it happens. With a heave that sounds like a flatulent wild boar she leans over for what seems like an eternity and a half, her rotten ogre boobs brushing my face and rendering me sightless for about a minute. I have never experienced crashing into a mountain but at that moment I realize what it feels like.

                 I’m unsure as to why this problem of ugly airhostesses still persists. I just want all the airlines in the entire world to know that nobody gives a shit about the posture or the gait or even the manners of the airhostesses. I’d rather have an ill-mannered sex bomb than an etiquette-queen who looks like buffalo scrotum. Hiring ugly air stewardesses is like employing a eunuch to give you sex tips. I’ve decided that I’ve had enough of this crappy service. For my next trip by air, I’ll be traveling with a parachute strapped to my back; and if I don’t see an air hostess oozing with sex appeal walking around inside the plane, I’m kicking down the emergency exit and I’m jumping out. Hopefully, I won’t crash into a mountain.