Thursday, January 9, 2014

Dear Diary, Never Fly Spirit Airlines Again

Right now I’m sitting in a tiny airplane seat with my laptop sitting on my pea coat with the keyboard touching my stomach and the screen touching the chair in front of me. I’m typing like a T-rex because if I move my left elbow I’ll nudge the middle-aged Asian woman next to me who’s already annoyed with the woman on her left with her toddler on her lap and 5 seconds from an anxiety attack (she doesn't seem to be a fan of flying) and if I move my right elbow I’ll either hit the food/drink cart, a flight attendant, the 100s of people who are using the lavatory, or the woman who’s pacing back and forth with her crying infant. I’m somewhat worried for her because this is quite a bumpy flight. Oh that’s nice now the woman sitting next to the baby mamma is standing in the aisle rubbing her husband(?)’s head while he plays Candy Crush on his phone. It’s been a while since I felt this uncomfortable. Oh wait, someone just pushed the back of my screen with their butt. The guy across the aisle from me is making his second whisky coke; it’s 1:45pm but I just might have to join him.
           
How did I get myself in this terrible situation? I let my mother book me a flight on Spirit. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m very appreciative of this ticket, I got to go to New York for five days because of it and had been warned of the Spirit experience. I understand that it’s cheaper and that brings all kinds but holy cow this is something else. I’ve been flying since my mother took me to Japan when I was six months old; the first time I flew alone I was six years old; last year alone I boarded at least ten flights. I am not saying I’m some hot-shot frequent flyer because that is entirely untrue, but I’ve had a lot of flying experience and this has by far been the worst.
           
My flight from DFW to La Guardia was at a time I did not realize people functioned at (7:15am), too early to for me; I looked miserable and was looking forward to a nice nap with some time to do my makeup before arriving in the concrete jungle. We board and a woman asks me to switch seats, hers was the one directly behind mine. I didn’t mind, so we switched. The second my ass hit that aisle seat the girl in the seat next to me grabbed my knee and urgently informed me that she hates to fly, was very nervous, might need to go to the bathroom often, and was also sick. It was all I could do not to laugh in this girls face and ask if she was serious. Oh, but she was. Just like this non-stop flight, this 19-year-old girl vomited from the second the plane started moving in Dallas to the second the doors opened in New York. Flight time: 2 hours and 90 minuets. She never got up, she didn’t move, she was terrible at using the first and second bags the flight attendant gave her (in her defense the flight attendant was very kind and understanding, even gave her free water and chips), maybe cried at some point, I don’t know I was so over her. Her friend asked me about a million questions and useless and did nothing but annoy me from the start. I don’t care if you’re from Waco, I can only hope to God I will never see you or your vomming friend ever again.

The return flight was a mess. They decided that the plane was too heavy and were asking for flexible flyers to take a voucher and a 4:00 American flight. I said hell yes this is great news- I get an American flight and a free round trip ticket. They beg for more people, eventually get about five but then decide the last thirteen people who are trying to board aren’t going to fit. I didn’t care cause I’d already filled out the paper work, called my parents and was ready to be directed back to the beautiful land of American flights when the flight attendant ran up and said they’d made room and we all had to board. “Dear God,” I thought as I texted anyone who would be included in my will, “please don’t let this flight go down.” The flight finally took off, an hour later than it was supposed to.

            
So that’s how I got here, on this tiny, flying hell. I’ve gotten up no less than six times for the Asian woman (that is six more than the woman with the BABY). By the fourth time Mr. Whiskey and Coke was giving me sympathetic looks, and I deserved them. In the future if I ever find myself in a dark, desperate place and am contemplating purchasing a cheap Spirit ticket, I’ll have to factor in the price of my bar tab and see if it’s still worth it. How many tiny bottles of wine equal a big one?  I was never good at math, but lets round up. Oh my gosh Mr. Candy Crush just made a vodka cranberry, that’s it I’m done.  

XOXO

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