Proletariat Plane: My First Experience With JetBlue

Last week I flew JetBlue for the first time. Everyone always raves about their rates and I myself couldn't pass up the $69 tickets to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. With taxes, the round-trip flight ended up costing me $150.

I have grown up on planes. My father has worked for the airlines my whole life and so we flew quite often. I had grandparents that lived in Chicago and cousins that lived in Florida, so those trips were made once or twice a year. My earliest memories are actually of flying.

I have one memory that comes to mind: I must've been seven or eight. I remember talking at length with the man seated next to me, who had inquired about the plane I was drawing on a piece of manilla paper. I explained that I was designing an aircraft that I planned to build when I got home from this particular trip. I told him what type of wood I would use, the length of nails, the trashbags I would use for the wings. He never laughed at how ridiculous I was, and I think I tried to con him into booking passage on our virgin flight. He declined.

Since my experience as a passenger stretches back to the mid-seventies, one of the things I remember in particualr was the service. Something which is just a memory now.

We live in different times. We live in a self-serve world. Companies don't want to spend money on employees. Not when we will give them money to be a temporary employee.

On this trip I booked my tickets online, actually selected my seat and was able to print out a boarding pass from my home computer. I then checked in my own bag. I acted as my own ticket agent and baggage handler. JetBlue didn't have to spend a dime there. I paid them for that opportunity.

When I boarded the plane at JFK, it was near chaos. The flight attendants had no control. I couldn't tell whether they were just tired (It was 7am) or couldn't give a rat's ass. It was to be expected. When the inmates have taken over the asylum, there is no such thing as order.

Seating was a free-for-all. People just kept changing seats throughout the flight. It was musical chairs. Joe, the front cabin flight attendant, who looked like he just crawled out of rehab, would just shake his head as people ran past him to fetch themselves some more snacks from the pantry.

The flight attendant in my section looked like a hungover sorority girl. She was actually wearing a loose sweater and what looked like sweatpants. I wasn't surprised when she walked past and I noticed the words "JetBlue" written across the ass.

The thing I liked was the DirectTV in every seat. I never get to watch TV these days and I like to see it when I can. Unfortunately, every so often the screen would pop up with a map of where the plane was along its course. The monitor also provided updates on the plane's speed and alititude. Do I need that?! No! It's bad enough the captain always feels the need to inform the cabin every now and then of this information, do you have to interrupt "American Chopper"? I am not flying the plane! I don't need to know this.

Or do I?

That might just be the next step in the new self-serve airline industry.