Thus far my trip to Cannes is fundamentally shaped by my choice to use budget airlines.
Which only save you money if things go according to plan.
It’s essentially a crap shoot. If an air traffic controller man runs to the media telling them Newark Airport is unsafe to fly in from because of staff shortages and legacy equipment, and you feel compelled to move your flights for peace of mind (the regret would haunt me for every future life I live if we smashed into a helicopter because I didn’t rebook), too bad. No refund, no exceptions.
Or, for this very trip last year, you show up 58 minutes before your flight boards, and are mercilessly refused a boarding pass for not being 60 minutes early.
No, I could not check in online. And this year I figured out the reason.
They need enough time to shake you down before giving you the boarding pass in case your carry-ons don’t squeeze into that tiny metal container, which is significantly tighter than the actual storage area beneath the seat.
The lady at the bag check looked at my suspiciously bursting but nonetheless qualifying backpack and said “If you mysteriously show up with another bag at the gate I’m charging you”.
Translation: “I know what you’re up to paying for no additional bags motherfucker so watch yourself.”
I especially appreciated the first person “I’m charging you” like she herself is a dutiful, watchful eye of the airline itself, waiting for you to slip up. I was on thin ice.
Anyway, not only did I end up NOT saving money by having to rebook flights two years in a row, I essentially made a charitable donation to airlines whose business model is hassling you at every turn.
But this isn’t just a matter of pinching pennies. It’s a masochistic role play of David and Goliath.
It’s not often you hear the villain state so plainly their villainous intentions. In a feat of poor screenwriting from the Capitalist gods, a man instructed my gate attendant, “With this airline, you have to be mean, you have to be heartless with the passengers.”
This was stated in no hushed tone among a row of idle passengers.
It actually made me feel bad for the attendant. She probably didn’t know she had to sell her soul to take this job.
Now see, if you can manage to take a budget flight without changing plans, paying for an additional bag, or purchasing a meal (or hell, purchasing a water), you’ve won. You’ve swiped the cheese before the bar could snap your neck.
But this Goliath cannot be defeated. You might lower its HP. But the numbers will always crunch in their favor.
And y’know what? I’m probably going to take a budget airline next year. They may have gotten me twice in a row, but nothing beats the rush of walking away with a bag full of vacuum-sealed bags of clothes and sweater pockets overflowing with undies, feeling like you’ve gamed the system.
But then you wonder, as you plan your next move with advanced packing tactics, or figure out what to do on your twelve hour layover, are you really gaming the system, or are they gaming you?
Until next time, Norse Airways.