You thought I was done, didn’t you? Well, I’ve only just begun. But this time I wanted to add a few recommendations to make air travel more safe and enjoyable – based solely upon my astute observations of crazy people on planes. First, bring back the hot pants of the 1970’s Southwest Airlines. That would work well for me. However, there has to be something in this for the ladies. So I highly recommend that at each security frisking station they have a celebrity doppelganger of the lady’s choice. This might be a George Clooney, Fabio, or some guy playing a well-endowed gorgeous billionaire sex freak that can do all the 50 shades of frisking. That would work, right ladies?
I also think a complete strip down to go through the detector would be fine too. This way we’d all be intimate with each other as we fly and have plenty to discuss. “Why that tattoo on your bum is so unique, when and where did you get it”? This way when the in-flight nude masseuse comes calling it wouldn’t be too shocking and my buttocks wouldn’t be so tense upon landing five weeks later.
People in first class get to lay down in their own little cubes. But in this age of sharing, I say they should have to sit in some of our seats for at least one quarter of a flight duration over five weeks. But if this isn’t possible, I suggest in the center ceiling a drop down bed should appear so people can stretch out, take a nap, tan, or get friendly with the neighbor you met at the security screening line – which you can call that the “The high five, five mile high club“. Yes, I just made that up and I want a royalty on any use of it’s name. This way toilet lines would be shortened.
Speaking of toilets, why do crazy people wait until they hear the Captain announce they will be landing? A line builds up and the attendants have to announce the flight can’t land until everyone’s bladders are empty. I say it is time to stop giving all the $150 cocktail choices 5 minutes before the landing call. I know the CEO’s of the airlines need a $100 million Golden Parachute, but come on – Really? I say if you are in the potty when that Captain’s announce is made, you are given a chance to learn to fly (Game of Thrones style) with a trap door, called the AirPorta Potty. Yes , I just made that one up too, because I want a Golden Parachute. Any luggage not claimed can be rummaged through by those who have an empty bladder or are blue in the face holding their bladder. It’s only fair in this sharing economy that needs a little population control and thinning of the DNA mutations. As a parting gift, the toilet can dispense a runner-up Darwin award trophy.
Having trouble sleeping on the plane? Well, I suggest people be allowed to give business presentations. One, so that they can stretch their buttocks and two, so you can learn about Dynasty Trusts and the Net Investment Income Tax – sure fire ways to catch a few Z’s without pills or massive quantities of $90 Mai Tais. There should also be Mai Tai Karaoke renditions of “We are the world – you are the economy class“.
We should also DNA test everyone before they enter the plane with MyDNA. You can share your heritage percentage and see if you are somehow related to uncle / cousin / grandfather Billy Bob from Arkansas. This way we can tell if you are predisposed to being a drooler of biblical proportions like uncle / cousin / grandfather Billy Bob, a snorer, prone to mount Vesuvius flatulence, have weak bladder, and just a general (in Hawaiian terms) – Ahole. Ahole’s should be made to sit in the back section of a plane in ejector seats, just in case they get Aholeish and out of control (no need for Air Marshals). People with infants and toddlers should be given the front section in an enclosed, sound proof, and gas vapor leak proof cabin.
My last suggestion is just complete brilliance, if I don’t say so myself. Instead of overhead storage bins and an isle that gets a little too cramp from people rushing like it was a rock concert, let’s make it a synchronized and motorized track, that when the exit door is opened you have to race to catch your luggage. This would certainly get you off the plane faster, instead of curling your hair, taking selfies with your long lost uncle / cousin / grandfather Billy Bob, trying to pull out your oversized stuffed luggage and your head from your Ahole, and get out of my way.
Absurd? Maybe just a little, but I’m not too far off.