They’ve never had the hassle of getting to the airport hours before the flights, queuing to get through security, taking off your shoes and belt, immigration and customs, which in some places literally takes hours, being fleeced by the cafes and restaurants in the departure area, logging on beforehand to try and get a seat beside your dearest so you can at least hold hands when the plane crashes. Ryanair, for example, deliberately separates couples so they can charge them for the pleasure of being squeezed together on seats that have as much space as a lavatory seat. “Food” that pigs would refuse and fellow passengers who are so uncouth they would have been thrown off galley slaves or Viking longboats. Don´t even think about the cramped stinking toilets where you bang your head trying to wipe your arse after voiding you bowels of the in-flight dysentery, i.e. “meal”.
Yet look at the adverts. Everyone has empty seats on either side, are relaxed because the weather is great, no turbulence or crying babies and they are surrounded by a harem of stewardesses wearing nothing underneath their uniforms who are just waiting to introduce them to the pleasures of the four-mile high club.
Nominated by Mr Polly