January 30, 2026
Hard pressed to add up all the flight time we’ve had in the past year. Round trip to Asia, round trip to Europe, Florida to California and back. Now, New Zealand/Australia and back. Random short haul stuff. But in sum, we are experienced in airport personalities!
I don’t know about you, but it seems as I age, I get crankier about some things. To be sure, I played Tickle Monster with the four-year old and two-year old grand daughters at Christmas, so it’s not a general malaise. I still play. But some things just irritate me and I can’t get away from it.
Which naturally takes us to the airport. Where I meet people which as we all know can be the most irritating creatures on the planet (God’s design flaw…).
The Slob
People roll out of bed and go to the airport, not even bothering with a comb or something other than an old pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt. I get it…they want to be comfortable. You know, like a slob sprawled on his couch. Unfortunately, I could have written “her” couch since this slob thing is one of the truly gender-neutral things in our world.
OK, so Slobmeister/Slobmiss. Bad enough I have to fly American Airlines, I then have to look at you for the entire duration of the trip. And it’s even worse when you’ve got a kind of nondescript stain on that sweatshirt. I’m thinking of carrying Tide sticks with me on airplanes, offer helpfully to lend one to you to clean up. No doubt, which would create a hue and cry, a call for “Security!” Because the individual felt threatened. I’d be escorted off; my Tide sticks would be confiscated (“evidence sir!”).
We need a rule: If you’re going to dress like a Slob, your ticket carries a 20% surcharge and that money goes to your proximate fellow passengers for free drinks to medicate themselves for the visual pain.
The I’m moving for the rest of my life passenger.
So, you’re flying from, say, Daytona Beach to Boston, visiting your parents. It’s a direct, maybe three hours or so. Here’s what you’ve brought with you, “just in case” :
Your neck pillow. Your blanky. Your Peppa Pig stuffed toy. A duffle bag, a backpack, the last six issues of People magazine (all a mess since you borrowed them from your roommate). A zip bag filled with protein bars, some kale salad, Trail Mix and of course, granola bars. Your ½ gallon water bottle filled once you got past security which you slurp on energetically the whole flight. A pair of slippers (your bamboo thongs evidently not comfortable enough), a sweater, a jacket, one ski cap and one baseball cap (not sure the environment of the cabin). Another zip bag containing 38 different vitamins, diet supplements and over the counter remedies for cold, fever, scratchy throat and upset stomach. And then a snack sized zip bag with an assortment of ear plugs and face masks.
One thing you didn’t bring which you should have…a comb and a razor. Probably because you don’t own them.
The I’m a big shot and I’m going to act like it passenger.
One of the treats we’ve given ourselves after a lifetime of work is to fly business class. Personally, I’ve long passed the time when I could put myself into a coach seat and not spend the entire flight apologizing to the people next to me for, well, impinging on their seat real estate. As a result, my experience with Business Class passengers has increased exponentially. You meet some real thimble brains in BC.
On a flight to Dubai, I sat across the aisle from a woman who was at least wealthy (Burkin Bag ladies), might have been royalty, who knows. Anyway, someone needs to let her know the flight attendant is not a servant at the palace. You say “please” and “thank you” if you have any good behaviors in you. You don’t stick your fork in the meat entre, quivering in the air, and pronounce it “inedible.” Good news, she did not consume any alcohol, but that left me free to put myself unconscious on Gray Goose to be able to put up with the constant needy kerfuffle across the aisle.
We need a rule: If a guy takes his seat, and he’s loud, the staff have been warned and they don’t give him any drinks. Because he’s going to get louder as he consumes, and then some other big shot near him will take insult and umbrage from his behaviors and you get one of those snarky verbal scrums echoing around the cabin. And then you know what the flight attendant felony is? They give both guys a free drink to settle them down. My question is this: Just who in the world runs flight attendant schools for the airlines? Jack Daniels?
The guy who looks at you and sees a sale.
I’ve spent my whole life selling. So, I don’t have anything generally to say in a negative way about people who sell for a living. The whole country sells for a living, including the President. But there are behaviors that cross the line.
I’m flying home from California. We’ve spent three weeks in Monterey welcoming a new grandson. Guy plops down in the seat next to me, starts to make small talk. Small talk is OK, it’s polite, breaks the ice for the next hours you’ll be spending together. Very friendly. Smiles a lot.
He asks me how we liked Monterey. The truth is it was OK for me, nice, but not “I gotta be there” nice.
But being sensitive to him, I said, “Lovely, beautiful area.” And then he hands me his business card. I am peering at it, my mind and brain swirling in confusion. And he says, “You know, I help a lot of people who visit and want to make it their home.” OK, look. You made small talk with me for one purpose…I looked like a good prospect and you want to sell me a house. That was the only reason.
And we’ve now got four hours next to each other so my natural inclination to blow you off in clear and certain terms has to go unsaid: “Buddy, I have zero interest in you, your card or your inventory. You didn’t even ask me where I live, because you don’t care. I actually like where I live better than Monterey.” Of course that would make me “one of those people.” So, I handed him my business card and said that if he subscribed, he could get a good idea if I would be a good prospect. He never subscribed. Problem solved.
I know I’ve come off as cranky here but having flown on some of these airlines now for 60+ years, I’ve developed opinions. Be nice, especially to the flight attendants. Be nice to fellow passengers and keep to your own space. That is your physical space (“Sir, I’ve rented this seat from Delta for the next three hours and you’re partially in it.”), but your vocal space as well. Don’t sing Volare! as the plane is taking off.
Help people, especially the elderly and Moms with babies with their luggage in the overhead compartment. And finally, forgive the Captain for saying that something will take place (our gate will open up, the paperwork will be complete) in “a few moments” when it winds up taking an hour. That one drives me absolutely up the wall (like…”a few bumps”) but I’ve promised Michael I’m going to be a nicer person, whenever I get the chance.
And finally…Chill…you’re not going to die. It’s more dangerous to drive to the airport than it is to fly on Allegiant (couldn’t always say that).
Thoughts, questions, or reflections? I’d love to hear them. You can reach me anytime at anthony@workingprofit.com
