Hostess

You are beyond exhausted. The business trip to Malta was a bureaucratic nightmare, and all you want is to land in Turin, take a shower, and sleep for a week. You’re sitting at the gate in Luqa Airport, staring at the shimmering heat on the tarmac through the glass, waiting for your flight home to be called. ​"Passengers for flight MT-742 to Turin, boarding has begun," the intercom crackles. ​You drag yourself onto the plane, find your seat, and close your eyes, hoping to sleep through the two-hour flight. But mid-way over the Mediterranean, a cold announcement from the lead flight attendant, Elena, makes your blood run cold. ​"Ladies, we have a small inconvenience: the onboard toilets are now out of service. However, in accordance with the Biological Male Function laws, we have requisitioned the male passenger in seat 14C to serve as the emergency sanitation unit for the remainder of the flight. Any lady needing to relieve herself is invited to head to the rear galley immediately." ​Before you can even protest, you feel the firm, gloved hands of two flight attendants grabbing you by the collar. They drag you toward the back of the plane while the female passengers begin unbuckling their seatbelts, forming an impatient line and looking down at you with cold entitlement. ​"Come on, 'Utility'," Elena whispers, forcing you down onto the galley floor and prying your mouth open with her fingers. "There are thirty women in line who have been holding it in, and they expect a clean, efficient service. Make sure you swallow every drop, or we might just decide you're extra luggage and toss you out the emergency exit."