Soaring to New Heights of Irritation

A cliché among airline flight attendants describes half their job as “taking people’s garbage and saying thank-you.” And so it seems with American civilization today. Politicians, athletes, entertainers, intellectuals, media, activists, business people: We take their garbage and we say thank-you . . . and often pay for the privilege.

That resemblance points toward other similarities. Indeed, perhaps nothing captures the essence of living in late 20th century America better than the experience of flying somewhere.

First, you get your ticket. Most Americans think that scheduled carriers sell scheduled transportation. This is wrong. Airlines deal in a far more perishable commodity–what’s known in the trade as “buns on seats.” Every plane that takes off less than full represents revenue lost forever. So airlines try to fill their planes by manipulating the market through complex computer programs that change fare prices automatically, several hundred thousand (or more) times a week. Thus, the price of a ticket depends almost entirely on what the computer thinks you should pay.

The airlines call this “yield management.” Consumers call it other things.

Of course, you needn’t buy a ticket at all. Just cash in your frequent flier miles, assuming you accumulate them faster than the airlines raise the redemption levels. Once, people earned frequent flier miles by flying frequently. Then came special bonuses for patronizing selected hotels and car rental agencies. Then came those earn-miles-faster credit cards, bonuses for loans at special banks, and myriad other mileage-added purchases.

If present trends continue, soon it will be possible to cop significant mileage by voting for approved candidates, picking a spouse off the special bonus list, or changing one’s religious affiliation.

Then there’s Check-In. You show them your driver’s license . . . as though they had any idea what a valid Montana or Arkansas license looks like. And what’s to keep some conspirator from passing his or her ticket to some bad actor afterwards? The check-in people also ask you questions, then ignore your replies. Non-terrorists tell the truth; terrorists lie. Same answers, either way.

And then there’s Security. Got something you don’t want looked at? Just stick it in those little baskets by the walk-through metal detectors. Watches, pens, complex key chains, bulky jewelry: No one checks. I once got through with a four-inch-blade pocket knife by telling the guard I was picking somebody up.

But none of the preceding can even remotely approach the aggravation levels engendered by the Great Preflight Nagathon. This has three parts.

Phase One is associated with Boarding in Proper Order. Gate supervisors get positively Hitlerian over this. “Pre-Boarding” (how do you “pre-board” an aircraft?) begins with first-class–the rich and/or upgradable. These are mostly struggling entrepreneurs trying to get that big contract by flying first-class, but who will end up meeting only other struggling entrepreneurs, with whom they’ll get moodily sloshed. These are followed by the elderly and infirm, those faking infirmities, and small children traveling with adults who need extra time and help.

The second phase entails Boarding by Rows. Since aircraft designers never fly themselves, and have never heard of carry-on luggage, and since the airlines refuse to acknowledge that the longer the plane, the more time it takes to get everyone on, the passengers must be cajoled constantly and ominously.

Take your seats. Sit down. Stow your stuff. Bring it up front. Take it in back. Get out of the aisle. Move it. Move it. Move it.

If we leave here late, passengers, it’s your bloody fault.

Phase Three informs you of everything you need to know in order to sit passively for long periods of time. Seat belts on. Electronic devices off. Go Directly to Jail for smoking or tampering with smoke detectors. Now watch the safety video, in which an artfully diversified assemblage of pseudo-employees tells you how, in the event of a crash, they would like you to spend the final seconds of your life. Nobody listens. If the airlines really want people to pay attention, they ought to do those videos in rap (“Stewz ‘n Crewz”). And those oxygen masks that miraculously descend from above. “Although the bag does not inflate, oxygen will be flowing through the mask.”

If the bag doesn’t inflate, what does it do?

And what ever happened to that letter I sent the FAA, proposing that every flight longer than 500 miles tow a glider configured as a day care center, with a placard by the tow line.

“In Event of Unruly Behavior, Cut Cable.”

Then you take off. The airlines provide you with circulating air, although not as much as you’re entitled to in a federal prison. They feed you, either from their standard imitations of cuisine or Special Meals. I recommend ordering Kosher on the way out, Islamic on the return flight. (The reverse also works.) They show you movies and features you’ve already seen or have no desire to see And, every few minutes, they tell you how much they love you and remind you what a great time you’re having.

Then you land. The attendants stand at the exit, smiling goodbye to every third passenger. And, whether spoken to or not, you mumble, “Thank you” as you leave.

After all, this is America.