Lots of people have been married thirty years or more, so maybe you think that accomplishment is no big deal. But of all the billions of people in the world, living and dead, who have celebrated a Pearl Anniversary, only one has been married to me. Thirty years with me is a feat requiring the patience of Job, the persistence of Sisyphus, and (sometimes) a Herculean tolerance of offensive odors.
Our 30th was this past July 4. Denise and I decided that on July 3 we would go to Porto, Portugal, and celebrate there.
We flew to Porto by Ryanair. Ryanair is an Irish discount airline offering cheap fares and an absolutely free test of one’s tolerance for discomfort. While the advertised rates are quite reasonable, the company receives (on average) an extra $24 per passenger, over and above the ticket price.
Our first experience with Ryanair illustrated one of the ways the airline extracts additional funds from unwary customers. We appeared at the airline’s Dublin reception desk, ticket receipts in hand. A young woman asked for our boarding passes. “That’s what we are here for,” I explain.
“Oh,” she says. “You were supposed to check in two hours before the flight.”
I look at my watch. “You mean we have missed our flight because we are only one hour and forty-five minutes early?”
She looks as though I have asked where babies come from, amazed that a man my age could be so ignorant. “You are supposed to check in online two hours before the flight,” she explains. “But I can check you in now.”
“Okay,” I say. “I guess that brings us back where we started. We would like to check in.”
“Sure,” she says. “Happy to help. That will be $75 per passenger.”
“No,” I say, showing her a receipt. “I already paid for the tickets, and they weren’t that much.”
Now she looks reluctant to go on, like she has gotten to the part where she needs to describe some unspeakable thing a daddy does to the mommy in order to make a baby. “The $75 is the in-person check-in fee. Checking in is free if you do it online, but at the airport it is $75.”
I am stunned, but I think quickly. I pull out my phone so I can check in online. She shakes her head, obviously saddened by my inattention to details. “It’s too late for that,” she says.
We had no choice but to pay the corporate extortionist the money it demanded. But to my way of thinking, Ryanair stole $150. I was determined to get it back. A little research showed me how.
Ryanair makes (on average) about $10 per passenger, per trip. The $10 profit is calculated after including ancillary revenue from seat selection, checked and cabin bag fees, priority boarding, airport check-in fees, etc. Since those added monies, on average, amount to $24, every passenger who foregoes all “extras” flies for $14 less than Ryanair’s cost. I would exact my revenge by eating into the bloodsucker’s bottom line.
Once Ryanair’s money-losing bait-and-switch fare has gotten your attention, has you scheduling a trip on one of its airplanes, its web site explains that if you and your wife, children, partner, etc., want to sit together you will have to pay for the privilege. If you do not cough up the extra dough, Ryanair says it will assign your seats “randomly.”
After 30 years of marriage Denise and I can tolerate being apart for the duration of a 90 minute flight. We insisted that the airline give us the “free,” supposedly randomly selected, seats. Not because we do not love each other, not because we would not have enjoyed holding hands during the flight, and not because we couldn’t afford the “upgrade.” No, we did it because we refuse to be Ryanair’s bitches.
Ryanair does not like uppity passengers. For both the original and return flights the airline assigned Denise a seat in the first three rows, and placed me in the last 3 rows. Many fliers have noted that the prevalence of widespread disbursement undermines the claim that seat assignments are random. “That will show them,” Ryanair thinks as it assigns two lovers seats on opposite ends of the plane.
“Ha!” Dan and Denise reply. “Is that all you got?” Ryanair does not know who it is dealing with.
Unless paid extra, Ryanair limits each passenger to one bag that will fit under the seat. But if you fly much you have seen passengers with elongated pillows wrapped around their necks. Ryanair doesn’t (yet) charge for bringing one on board. Denise jumped on this loophole and bought us each a special pillow case. That case can be filled with socks and underwear, leaving more room in the small under-seat bag.
A neck pillow full of socks and underwear creates no problem at all on the way to your destination. It is less satisfactory on the way home – when you have unlaundered socks and underwear inches from your nose – unless you have acquired a tolerance for offensive odors.
Like I said. Ryanair does not know who they are dealing with.
Our round trip Porto excursion cost Ryanair $48. That reduces Ryanair’s debt to $102, but only if we disregard interest, which I do not.
See you soon, Ryanair!