This is because complaining to customer service, requesting staff be better supported to deal with bad behaviour (which costs money), or suggesting ‘safety-first-flying’ might come before maximising profit, would achieve nothing.
So instead I resort to writing appaling poetry.
Sadly, despite the best efforts of TC staff, I’ve still never felt so unsafe on a flight before as I did between Manchester and Antalya because the dangerous and unacceptable behaviour of my fellow passengers was left unchecked:
Inside this yellow-hearted aluminium tube,
we meet a congregation of consumers
Meanwhile their children
spread rubbish up and down the aisle,
their mouths hungry for food of little
importance to their alcoholic parents.
‘This is what happens,’ I hear someone say
‘when holidays are sold off cheap.’
Yet income level and respect,
are absolutely not related.
Before we even land
the alcoholic adults stand
and hurl their cases to each other
in the body of this still-moving plane,
ignoring pleas from staff entirely untrained
in asserting safe authority.
‘Sit down,’ I beg, ‘it’s dangerous,’
remembering all-too-well that searing spinal pain
from when a most impatient man dropped his
kilograms of stuff atop my head
several years ago.
Immediately I’m ‘fucking’ this-and-that
and ‘need to get a grip.’
A full-grown man reduced to tears
by a mother swearing proudly
in front of all her kids.
Kids who look on, laughing –
threatening like their father.
What world is this we live in
where meaningless stuff-we-own
is more important
than delicate skeletal and emotional structures
of our fellow men?
I imagine Mr Thomas Cook
who founded this here company
to ferry friends affordably
to Christian pilgrimage abroad,
his worm-eaten face
horrified in his Leicester grave
by his passengers’
selfish capitalist rage.