My first airplane trip was a dinner flight, direct, Tucson to San Francisco. It was so long ago that stewardesses were still called stewardesses and Wilbur and Orville Wright might have been in the cockpit. It was wonderful.
Many other flights would follow — the most memorable being during an approach to Chicago’s O’Hare back in the early ’90s. After circling the airport for what seemed like hours, our pilot came on the air to announce, in that calm, laconic tone of voice they all seem to have, that our plane would be landing “as soon as they put out the fire in the control tower.”
When the end of the world comes, I want to hear it announced by an airline pilot.
I don’t remember when flying became an ordeal, rather than a pleasure. Of course, much of it happened post 9/11: the searches, the compacting of toiletries into tiny bottles, the schlepping around in shoes you could easily slip off. That, I understand.
However, I’m not sure squeezing us into smaller and smaller spaces inside the cabin is going to win the war on terrorism — except, perhaps, against terrorists who weigh more than 300 pounds.
I first noticed the change five years ago when we flew to Europe in what only could be described as steerage accommodations: legs doubled up behind the seats in front of us, arms tucked firmly against our torsos. You try eating the “Lasagna Florentine” with a plastic fork like that.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, some of the airlines have started slotting “Economy” into different classes, ranging from “Economy Plus,” which gives you the same leg room you once had in regular economy, to the leg-cramping “Tortuous Economy,” that will have you hobbling at the end of your flight way past the baggage carousel.
Little wonder that passengers are unhappy — which may have led to a proposed amendment in the Senate blocking airlines from further reducing the size, width, padding and legroom of seats, as well as the width of aisles.
Naturally, the amendment failed. Both Arizona senators, by the way, voted no. Let them eat cake — while squatting on 16 ƒ-inch seats. Not that those in Congress probably do. No, I’m sure they’re flying hither and yon in utmost comfort, unaware of their constituents’ suffering.
So what could be the next fresh hell? How about the airlines setting up some sort of mock-up seat next to the measuring box that determines if your carry-on bag is too large. If your bottom “hangs over” the seat, you’re forced to upgrade to larger accommodations.
Then again, maybe economy class seats will be eliminated altogether, forcing us to fly standing-room-only, while hanging onto thoughtfully-placed straps repurposed from old city buses.
I wouldn’t be surprised if sometime in the future the airlines figure out a way to hang us all upside down from hooks in the ceiling, just like bats.
Then try eating one of those airline pretzels.
