Private jet attendant reveals what the super wealthy are really like at 45,000 feet

Orgies, threats at breakfast and champagne at any cost: Private jet attendant reveals what the super wealthy are really like at 45,000 feet.

In 2015, Danielle Styron, then 32, was offered her dream job as a private jet flight attendant. It promised a six-figure salary, trips to luxury resorts and full benefits. It seemed too good to be true — and it was, reports NY Post.

Over the course of two phone interviews, the pilot continually hinted at the “alternative lifestyle” of the plane’s owner, a religious man who split his time flying with his family half the month and with his girlfriends the other half. As the conversation went on, it became clear the role involved participating in orgies with the girlfriends on-board while the owner watched.

“We only fly them once a month, so it’s not like you have to be a lesbian, you would just need to have fun with them,” the pilot assured her.

Danielle Styron dishes about her high flying job in ‘The Mile High Club: Confessions of a Private Jet Flight Attendant’. Picture: Olga Ginzburg for the NY Post

Ms Styron writes about the seedy job interview — and the seven years she spent flying with the rich and famous — in her dishy new memoir “The Mile High Club: Confessions of a Private Jet Flight Attendant”, co-written with her brother, James Styron.

“Names have been changed to protect (us from) the malevolent,” the intro reads. “Behaviours have been presented to humble them. You know who you are.”

Ms Styron poses for a photo back in her flight attendant days. Picture: Courtesy of Jen Senn

Ms Styron, now 41 and living in New York, didn’t end up taking the job with the orgy-loving jet owner, but she went on to work for a number of difficult people.

Some of her clients, she writes, were “miserable, vampires of human joy.”

One passenger berated her for not having the proper tequila stocked, even though it wasn’t requested.

Food-obsessed wives micromanaged everything that came out of the galley kitchen. An assistant threatened to punch her in the face over a not-hot-enough breakfast sandwich.

Then there was the time a woman shoved Ms Styron into a bulkhead mid-turbulence because her beloved puppies got jostled.

“She treated the dogs better than any human on board,” Ms Styron writes.

Ms Styron spent seven years in the job. Picture: Courtesy of Danielle Styron

One of her lowest points was being asked to source champagne on the tropical island of St. Maarten, just after it had been devastated by a hurricane. The client demanded bubbles despite the natural disaster.

“I’m standing there thinking, ‘There’s no champagne. There was just a major hurricane. People are standing outside waiting for bread, and you’re asking me to spend $US20,000 on bubbly,’” Styron told The Post.

There was only one supermarket open, which Ms Styron begrudgingly patronised in search of the requested Champs.

“It felt dystopian,” she said.

Life wasn’t always easy on a private jet. Picture: Courtesy of Danielle Styron

Then there was the two-timing bigwig who would fly with his pregnant wife one day and his mistress a few days later.

“As a woman, it was hurtful to be a part of that,” she said. “Even though I had no choice. What was I going to do, blow my life up to be like, ‘Yo, your man’s cheating on you?’ She probably already knew.”

Sometimes, as the title of the book suggests, passengers got intimate in flight. She and her crew knew the drill: retreat to the front, let the guests go at it, and deal with the clean-up later.

“It’s usually in the bathroom, galley, or right there on the sofa,” she writes. “It’s their house, right? Private jets are like flying living rooms.”

Ms Styron has left the industry behind. Picture: Olga Ginzburg for the NY Post

Despite the uncomfortable situations and challenging passengers, the jobs also entailed plenty of good times and perks. She partied in Las Vegas with pilots and jetted off to Costa Rica, Aspen and St. Barts.

One time in Los Angeles, the plane broke down on the tarmac, a typical mechanical delay.

Ms Styron was tasked with keeping the charter guests fed and entertained while the pilots tried to fix the plane. The lead passenger was none other than actor and comedian Jamie Foxx.

Unlike most high-profile clients, he took the delay in stride.

He was “the most delightful celebrity,” she said.

“He was cracking jokes and telling stories. He was pure light. [After three hours on the ground,] we were out of food, the mimosas were gone, people were losing patience, but not Jamie. He was still smiling. Still gracious. It restored my faith in humanity.”

Misery, however, seemed to be more the norm.

“You think these people have it all,” she said. “But I saw the opposite. They’re really insecure. Their friends are all about one-upmanship. One man owned several planes, had a beautiful wife, everything in the world, and he was obsessing about his hair plugs. Like who cares?”

Ms Styron ultimately retired from aviation and went back to doing what she’d done before, working as an esthetician.

She now owns Fluff NYC, a brow and skincare studio on the Upper East Side, where she tends to people’s faces — not their egos.

“It’s less glamorous,” she said with a laugh, “but way more peaceful.”

This article originally appeared on the New York Post and was reproduced with permission