No Class in First Class

Air Rage: violent anger arising from the frustrations and stresses of air travel.

I almost fell victim to my own air rage on the flight home from our holiday in Jamaica. This happened ten days ago.

As the plane began to descend for landing, we were told to stow our electronic devices. The main reason for this command is that if the landing is turbulent enough, devices on the loose could hurtle through the air with enough speed to become projectiles of lethal force.

My wife and I complied, but the couple across the aisle from us did not. They continued to watch movies on their laptops throughout the landing. They had decided to place themselves beyond the rules of safety the rest of us were following. Perhaps they thought flying first class meant that the rules did not apply to them.

Note: The successful evacuation this week of a JAL plane in flames on the runway depended on the fact that “no one ran ahead to save themselves. Everyone waited for instructions”.

Immediately, I developed an intense hatred for the laptop-watching, scofflaw couple across from us–– white, somewhere in middle age, the man with longish brown hair, the woman a blonde of no particular beauty. Americans by their accents.  

I wanted to confront the Scofflaws. I wanted them to know my disapproval.

But my wife asked me to relent in that gentle way she sometimes uses to persuade me. She glared and said, “David, no!”

I relented.

I wasn’t furious at the Scofflaws because I felt unsafe. The airline rule about stowing objects during landing is a sensible one, but I felt no threat. Instead, I felt that the Scofflaws were breaching an etiquette that by itself was small but signified something much larger: the idea of every person for themselves instead of looking out for their fellow passengers.

This time it was a breach of plane etiquette, but next time it could be a breach of a red light or a stop sign while driving, or cheating on their taxes, knowing that they’re unlikely to be caught, and if caught, the penalties will be mild, because “taxes are so complicated.”

And thank God the Scofflaws were not on that JAL plane in flames. They seemed exactly like the sort of people who would have violated the crew’s instructions. They would have not kept the aisles clear, nor waited their turn to exit, nor been willing to leave their possessions behind.

In fact, the key to getting those 367 people safely off that plane in under two minutes was that everyone had to follow the rules.

Once our flight from Jamaica landed, passengers in first class were given the privilege of leaving the plane first, so it was easy for me to track Mr. and Mrs. Scofflaw as we headed toward Immigration. Suddenly, Mrs. Scofflaw stopped, sat on a bench, crossed her arms, and told her husband to go on ahead without her.

Mr. Scofflaw did not slow down, but instead quickened his pace. He gave a few quick, over the shoulder glances at his sitting wife, his modishly long hair veiling his view, so he could scarcely see the unpleasant pout on his wife’s face.  

When my wife and I arrived at the Immigration Hall, we saw a huge, snaking line. My wife and I have Global Entry, so the two of us entered the United States in minutes. However, to my vengeful delight, I did not see either of the Scofflaws pass through Global Entry nor did I see them ten minutes later at baggage claim as our bags rolled off.

At the time, I thought that if the universe was just, the Scofflaws would have been engaged in a titanic couples’ fight, perhaps about a minor matter that masked a major one. They would be bickering furiously throughout their long wait on line.  

Then I showed a draft of this post to my wife, and she gave me some new information. Mrs. Scofflaw had stopped at the bench not because she and her husband were in a fight–––disappointing–––but to wait for their teenage children who, unlike the devices of their parents, had been firmly stowed in economy.

The Scofflaws’ scheme called for the husband to race ahead to secure an advantaged place in the immigration line. The wife would wait for the economized children, and then they would barge their way through the crowd to meet Mr.Scofflaw, probably picking up scores of enemies along the way. For all I knew, however, a fastidious security guard might have halted the barging Scofflaws in their tracks, foiling their scheme.

Do I feel better having written this?

Oh, yes.

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I find that lately I get more annoyed when I see people break the rules. I get angry almost on a daily basis when I see people bicycling illegally and swiftly on Central Park footpaths filled with little children and dogs. Or when I see cars disrespect red lights.

Maybe I see these incidents as selfish individualism run amok at the sacrifice of community. Isn’t this how society breaks down? When people begin to think they don’t have to follow the rules, big or small.

But then I consider that what tends to anger us most in others are precisely the tendencies we dislike in ourselves. I’m not a rule breaker, but I do benefit from taking advantage of certain rules and their privileges.

For example, what about the fact my wife and I were in the first class cabin? Is that not itself a breach of fellowship? I can’t deny it. First class is a particularly toxic display of inequality. Research has shown that air rage incidents (involving evil action, not mere evil thought) are almost four times more likely to occur on flights with a first class cabin.

As well, both economy and first class passengers are more likely to misbehave when economy class passengers have to board through the first class cabin as opposed to boarding mid-plane. The hypothesis behind this is that just as a sense of unfairness is provoked in the economy passengers as they walk through the more luxurious cabin, a sense of entitlement is provoked in the first class passengers as they see the economy class passengers walk back to their relatively cramped arrangements. ¹

This boarding set-up is a particularly awkward and divisive process. I feel the stares of resentment of the economy passengers walking by, whether real or imagined. I paid for my privilege, but yet, like the Scofflaws, I’m placing myself above most of the passengers on the plane. It’s an in-your-face statement that my wife and I deserve better.

Worse still have been the times when I’ve used Disneyworld’s VIP service for my family. Disney employees in tartan vests took us to the front of every line on every ride. Our legal cutting of massive lines––– saving hours of waiting time–––was called by us “the walk of shame.” ²

Shame, because this legal line cutting was even more of an in-your-face example of entitlement and privilege. Made worse in that we were encroaching upon what’s supposed to be a fantasy world of joy. I could imagine little kids in line asking their parents why they couldn’t skip the line like we were doing.

Disneyworld is an expensive vacation, and the demographics of the people in the parks already skew toward the wealthy. But VIP services like the ones we used cost many thousands of dollars.

When our kids were young, we didn’t know that the VIP service existed. Perhaps it didn’t. Back then, we would arrive before the park opened, race around with a plan of which rides to go on and in which order. We didn’t get on every ride, but we’d get on almost all our favorites. We’d be done by 11 am just as the park was reaching peak crowds.

To my kids who had complained about my tyrannical wake-up schedule, I’d point out how we were leaving, ride-satiated, walking past the streams of people entering. The kids would reluctantly agree that my plan had been sound. It was a privilege well earned.

It felt pure and clean and better.  

Question for the Comments: Tell us about an incident where you’ve been angry at the behavior of a stranger.

Clip below: “Is everyone on this line an asshole?”

1. Shakespeare never flew in an economy middle seat or else he wouldn’t have written “…I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space…”

2. We came up with the walk of shame well before the famous walk of shame on Game of Thrones.