Dick Move, 1st Class A-hole

Posted on
Jul 27, 2010
Posted in: Air Travel, Dick Move

Forgive me for getting straight to the point on this one. But here’s my shouldn’t-be-at-all-shocking-but-nevertheless-is revelation: First Class is not a right. It is a privilege.

Even if you’ve paid full price for the ticket (which most people haven’t), you are still incredibly fortunate to be able to sit in first class. You are able to board first, deplane last, sit in a nice big seat, and eat fancy snacks. It is fantastic. But it is not a right.

The only right you have, whether you’re sitting in coach, business, or first class, is to be treated like a decent, worthwhile human being. This is, of course, provided you behave like one. This also includes treating other people like decent, worthwhile human beings.

And yes, that means flight crew as well. They are not fancily-dressed waitstaff. They are the folks who will save your ass should anything go wrong.

And if you are fortunate enough to sit in first class?  That goes double, because once again, you are PRIVILEGED to have that seat. You cannot act like a drunken buffoonish idiot.

Are you listening, douchebag seated in 1D?

Because holy cats, you absolutely suck. I hope the irony of committing a Dick Move! while sitting in a section called “first class” is not lost on you.

Let’s recap our trip, shall we? I promise, I’ll be brief. It was, after all, only a 3-hour flight, though sitting in your vicinity made it feel DECADES LONGER.

8:00 pm: The plane takes off in a timely manner from Los Angeles. Hooray! It is evening, and the plane is rather quiet and chill. I take note of this, rather happily. I love relaxed flights. They feel like long, lovely naps.

8:14 pm: You must sense my unusual state of serenity, and begin talking. And do not stop. This will start to get annoying, not simply because of your incessant chatting (which i don’t mind that much), but because of the ear-splitting VOLUME OF YOUR VOICE. You remind me of Austin Powers immediately after the unfreezing process.

8:21 pm: In theory, I appreciate that you are engaging in animated discourse with the woman next to you, who is obviously a co-worker. After all, I think that conversation is a lost art. However, holding true to that metaphor, you are an artist whose chosen medium is feces. Your canvas is the entire plane.

8:48 pm: I cannot help but listen to some of your “brilliant social media plans”. I am now thoroughly depressed on your behalf. Your coworker, however, is very interested in what you have to say, and clearly doesn’t mind the way you are constantly belittling her.

9:12 pm: You inquire about your co-workers salary, only to discover that she outearns you. The look on your face is priceless, and the belittling stops almost instantly.

9:13pm: You also seem to have put the breaks on trying to get into her pants. Perhaps now you will shut up?

9:14 pm: No. Apparently, you will not shut up.

9:22 pm: The captain leaves the cockpit to use the lavatory. Per FAA regulations, one of the flight crew (a pretty blonde) stands in the aisle, guarding entry to the front galley, lavatory, and cockpit.

9:23 pm: In an attempt to be clever, you tell the flight attendant such delightful comments as, “Watch out!” and “I could take you if I wanted!” and the ever-brilliant, “I’m gonna make a rush on the cockpit!” The rest of the cabin is quiet, because we are not mongrel idiots.

9:23 pm: I am impressed with the crew’s ability  to gauge that you’re simply kidding around and not a legitimate threat, though I think a few hours of interrogation by Homeland Security would do you good.

9:23 pm: I wonder if, should I take steps to neutralize you, I will be considered a hero.

9:23 pm: The flight crew member smiles at you and shakes her head, refusing to reveal the depths of her exasperation, which I will later have the privilege to see the mostly non-verbal conversation she will have with another crew member in the galley. There will be much eye-rolling and cringing. You will not be able to see any of it from your seat.

9:40 pm: I fantasize about punching you in the esophagus.

9:57 pm: I think you have caused me permanent ear damage. Also, I might be becoming dumber.

10:04 pm: BLORG? Yup. Definitely dumber.

10:13 pm: What’s that? You’re having another drink? Well, it couldn’t possibly make you more douchey, right?

10: 20 pm: Dear god, you’ve become more douchey. I’m fairly sure you’ve broken some law of physics or something.

10:22 pm: You continue flirting with the female flight crew members, (wisely giving up on your co-worker) because you don’t realize they’re being polite because it is part of their job. You ask where one of the women is from, and when she says “L.A.” you comment that she’s obviously not from Seattle, because Seattle girls are cranky and pasty and mean (on account of not getting enough sunshine).

10:22 pm: I want to tell you that Seattle girls are cranky and pasty and mean ONLY TO D-BAGS LIKE YOU, but instead I quietly sip my water and bore a hole into the bulkhead in front of me with my eyes.

10:24 pm: You strike out with the crew members, and proceed to turn your attention back onto your coworker. You again mention your extensive knowledge of social media, failing to realize that one of the gentleman behind you (a colleague of Rand’s) is kind of a big deal in the social media/meme world. Rand and I find this somewhat hysterical.

10:26 pm: I suspect you realize that my husband and I hate you.

1o:28 pm: The captain announces our descent. When the flight attendant attempts to pick up your drink, you make a big deal of refusing, jokingly. You are not very funny.

10:43 pm: We’ve landed. I wonder, if I kick you in the balls in the airport, as opposed to the plane, will I still be a hero? I think yes.

10:45 pm: Your co-worker has trouble with her bag. You do not help her.

10:52 pm: You disappear into an airport bathroom before I can photograph you. Later I will create this likeness from memory:

You are less attractive in person.

You are less attractive in person.

And there you are. The excruciating minutes of our entire flight. Does it even need to be said? Dick Move, 1st class A-hole.

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