Dear Major Domestic Airline:
I fly your airline all the time because you viciously tortured and consumed my other sucky local choice of an airline. They also sucked, but not as much as you. Well, it’s more like 60/40 you sucking more, but I don’t want to quibble.
Everything about the transition from my hometown airline to you has been stupid and difficult. This despite your laughably fictitious PR campaign, which apparently was designed to lull people like me into a quasi-medicated acceptance. I talk to your service agents now like I’ve just been prepped for a colonoscopy. The fact that each time you tell me to bend over and take it, only furthers my analogy. And by the way, I really appreciate you removing half of my existing frequent flyer points. I’m guessing that part about the seamless transition between loyalty programs was the punchline to your post-merger cocktail hour. The asterisk at the bottom probably meant “just kidding.”
So now I don’t have enough frequent flyer miles to take my kids to Disney World. I don’t want you to lose sleep over this. The conversation with my eight year old daughter about how much fun there is to be had in Cincinnati went over surprisingly well. Who needs Mickey Mouse when you can vacation in a town that smells like hot dog water? I’m sure there’s a Waffle House near our hotel to help blunt her disappointment.
But this isn’t the point.
Last week, you graciously let me catch an early flight from Atlanta back to Detroit. That is to say – you charged me $50. Side note here – the next time you bump me off a flight and I have to carry my bags to a local hotel, you can expect to receive my bill for $50, per bag, that I had to “carry-off” your stupid plane. Fair is fair, right?
Anyway, I want you to take a close look at the picture attached to this letter. No, this was not shot from inside the bathroom looking out. This was from the premium seat you sold me – plus $50. I wasn’t aware that I could have seat 37C on a plane that only has 28 rows. Are you serious? How could you, in good conscience, sell me this seat without adding something like, “Oh, and just so ya know – you’ve got the worst F-ing seat on the entire plane. Have a nice flight…”
Please consider the following tips to provide to your traveling public when you hand them the boarding pass for seat 37C. Tips like…
1. That’s not a bulkhead in front of you. That’s the bathroom – that every woman, child, and sauced male will be using the entire flight. Apologies for the sanitary odor (henceforth referred to as: Blue Death) punching you in the face upon each exiting passenger.
2. We’re sorry, but the reason you can’t see out the windows provided for you is because that’s where we decided to stick the Pratt & Whitney engines. Don’t worry about the 800 decibels churning through you like voltage. We’re confident the violent shaking of your seat will lull you into a comfortable sleep. Note to self: Please check my fillings this week.
3. You might want to grab a soda before getting on the flight. Look, I know I’m not flying with the “Air Lords” in first class, but can’t I assume you’ll eventually get to me with a flippin glass of Sprite before you end your dinner service? And by the way – thanks for offering me the pre-packaged ginger cookie. I take mine medium-rare.
4. It might get a little warm during dis-embarkment. Really? So it might get warm when you turn the engines off after we park, and 180 people all huddle together waiting for you rocket scientists to align the jet bridge and open up the door? The guy from Ghana next to me started stripping down. Is it really costing you that much to keep the AC going until the last guy (that being: ME) gets off your fry-box to the comfort and pleasure of an airport terminal? And one other question – do you purposely put me behind the old guy who has his seat fully reclined the entire flight? He slept comfortably all right, but I’m slightly concerned about the cranial liver spot that rested in my lap somewhere over Kentucky and Tennessee.
5. You have limited overhead space in 37C. So by limited, you mean that I have none whatsoever. I don’t have an MBA from Yale, but I know enough to realize I’m getting hosed here. I offered to put my socks and underwear into the seatback pocket in front of me, but that didn’t leave room for my inappropriate reading material with a picture of Megan Fox on the cover. I felt like Ben Stiller in “Meet the Parents” – so the guys with the ear muffs aren’t gonna lose my bag???
I guess what I’m saying, Major Domestic Airline, is that seat 37C isn’t even really a seat. It’s more like – a predicament. If I had known that you were going to give me the aeronautical equivalent of “steerage”, then I might have reconsidered using my seat 8A on the flight that left only an hour later. You have no idea what it’s like back there. I felt like a 19th century irish immigrant. Oh, I’m not gonna lie – I learned how to embroider, and I can dance a jig like a Boston leprachaun now. But you people should be ashamed of yourself.
In closing, I’d like to point out that your lead flight attendant, Nicole, was brutally hot, but painfully annoying. If you’re wondering how I know she was the lead flight attendant, it’s because she announced it on the intercom – four separate times – that she was, in fact, the lead flight attendant. Please point out to Nicole that in the case of a crash landing, I will shamelessly climb over her (the LEAD flight attendant), in my frantic efforts to get out of the burning fuselage, just as fast as those silly lesser flight attendants. Also, please tell her that her slip shows beneath her skirt.
With hopes for a brighter future for your airline (i.e. You guys sucking less),
Travel Tips by Ron
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