Spirit Airlines

With all the talk this week about Spirit Airlines cancellations, brawls on their planes and in the airports, long lines, and the inability to rebook a flight, it brought back my experience just two weeks ago. This wasn't all the fault of Spirit, but they need to take some responsibility! I had never flown Spirit before and I was about to take it from Newark, New Jersey to my home in Los Angeles. And this is what I discovered:

They make you pay extra for everything. It’s not enough to buy a ticket. They want you to purchase a seat. What is the ticket for, then? If you don’t purchase a seat, they will give you one. Guess where. That’s right. Next to the crapper.

The bag fee is $48 and if you have a carryon, they make you pay for that too. The standard fee is $35 for 50lbs. Here, you pay $48 for 40 lbs. I did the math on this and I’m not understanding the money Spirit airlines said I saved by flying with them.

The 40 lb bag is a real conundrum for me. I had amassed a bunch of new clothes on my trip. I'm not going to pay an extra $40 for the 12 lbs my bag is over. I quickly remove items and stuff them in my backpack and pockets. The rest I carry in my arms until I get to a shop where I beg for a plastic bag.

I roll up some clothes and 3 shoes and stick them in the plastic bag. The backpack weighs a ton and I'm off to TSA. I throw everything in those trays, empty my pockets, get yelled at because my keys are stuck down the front of my sweatpants, and I go through the x-ray thingy they claim has no radiation,

I get through all that, string myself back together and make my way to the gate. Here is where I decide I’m going to organize my backpack and plastic bag suitcase. I do that and finally sit down. I take out my phone and I notice my license is gone.

I unpack everything again and cannot find my license. I repack and trek back to TSA. I tell them my plight, the guy looks, says he can’t find it. I know right away I’m in trouble because I’m married and no man can ever find anything, even if it’s right in front of him. He tells me to unpack my stuff. “I already did. It’s not in there.” “Well, do you want to find your license?” he barked. “Yes,” I said meekly. “Then unpack your bag!” (What am I, a child?) I unpack my backpack and plastic bag suitcase and he stands over me as I remove a pair of sweatpants, a blouse, 3 mismatched shoes, a jar of Vicks, a package of Twizzlers, a Bluetooth speaker, a bottle of melatonin, my wallet stuffed with cash like I just robbed a bank,and a baggie of jellybeans left over from Easter with the nutritional information tucked inside lest I forget a serving is 10 jellybeans equals 110 calories. But no license. He makes me go through every tray on the conveyor belt. It’s not there. He calls over a woman.

I explain the situation, she looks in the bin where stuff falls through, nothing. She sends me back to the gate with lost and found instructions. By this time, I’m sweating like a farm animal. I get back to the gate, sit on the floor, and file a claim with lost and found. I hear my name called, “Donna Cristy Sobbabobovich” and figure it’s me. There she is, she found my license. She explains it was in the drawer the whole time but because I had blonde hair in the picture, that confused her male colleagues. She can’t give it to me, I have to walk back.

I walk back to TSA, get the license, then back to the gate. Here is where Spirit Airlines makes the announcement you can only have one personal item. What to do, what to do. I decide I’m going to sneak my plastic bag suitcase on by hiding it behind my back and if that didn’t work, I would shove it down my sweat pants, cover it with my shirt, and pretend I’m 9 months pregnant. Option #1 worked.

I board the plane, seat next to the shitter, and wait for the upcoming reprimands from the flight attendants. We were repeatedly admonished by a flight attendant whose voice sounded like she was choking on a bran muffin to not put anything in the seat back pockets. I found this curious since I had no pocket, only a couple of rubber bands holding a barf bag and safety instructions. Later on, I found the people who paid extra for a seat did indeed have a seat pocket they weren’t allowed to use.

We take off. I am no longer a good flyer anymore. I am no longer a good lotta things anymore, like driving over high overpasses, mountain roads next to an abyss, and bridges. I have a lot of anxiety, but I try to gauge my hysteria by the reactions of the people around me. No one else was freaking out about the plane sounding like it was breaking apart, so I didn’t start screaming “We’re all gonna die!”

Spirit doesn't even give you a cup of water for free. You have to purchase everything. I can’t get past the fact this airline is still in business. I refuse to buy anything. I would rather have the skin on my face peel off from dehydration than pay the $3 for a cup of water. The woman next to me was being catered to with free water and free coffees. She had experienced some sort of Spirit Airlines Trauma and I wondered what happened to her that could have been worse than what I endured.

We land in Nashville. This is my chance to get some water and food. There’s a Mexican place where I can get a cheese quesadilla for $30, but airport prices irritate me and I refuse to pay that for lousy food, even though I just robbed a bank (I didn’t, but you know). I go to the gift shop, there are sandwiches but women are touching them. I join them for a minute, touching as many sandwiches as I can. None of us buys one. So I move on to the pistachio nuts and choose a bag with chili powder on them. I’m now incapable of making a rational decision because of dehydration and I ask the guy stocking shelves “Don’t you have any water?” And he says “Nope. Ran out 2 days ago.” Really, take your time replenishing life’s necessities. I don't drink soda, so I buy a Diet Coke. I told you, no rational decision-making,

I’ve only got a couple minutes before boarding to shove these hot nuts in my mouth when they make that announcement again about only having one item. I realize if hiding the bag doesn’t work, there’s no reason why I can’t wear 4 pairs of pants, 3 dresses, a pair of shorts and 3 mismatched shoes. I’m starting to lose it. Hiding the bag works.

I take my seat and this one has a seat back pocket! I defiantly put my boarding pass in it and manage to shove my plastic bag suitcase and my backpack under my seat. It’s no easy feat, but I do it, and no sooner is it done that some snot-nosed kid comes over and says “You’re in my seat.” I angrily snatch my boarding pass out of the forbidden seat back pocket and hold it up for him to see. “My bad,” he says, a phrase that makes my skin crawl. That’s right, you 20-something, Instagram-posting, TikTock Snapchatter, hoodie-wearing moron. Move along before I rip your face off. It’s at this time, I think again how July was the wrong month to stop drinking and cleanse my liver and I vow to pay for a glass of wine when we’re airborne.

We take off and it’s very smooth which makes me realize maybe I was right to be terrified on the last plane. Nashville provided a nice parting gift with lightning lighting up the sky. There’s no place I’d rather be than 36,000 feet in the air inside a metal object enjoying lightning. Where’s that wine...

All my devices are dead. Guess why. That’s right. There are no outlets at the seats on Spirit Airlines. If there were outlets, I'm sure Spirit would make you pay exgra for them. I need to be occupied every minute and my choices are pick the dead skin off my bare feet, read an old Black Beat magazine that features an article about me, or eat some Twizzlers. I check my feet and remarkably, there’s no dead skin. Must be the New Jersey humidity. You might wonder why I would have been in a magazine called Black Beat on the same page as Da Brat, and I really don’t know unless they either thought I was black or they liked my funk r&b CD. Either way, I was grateful for it. They called me a rising star, the one to watch. Yeah. Watch me. I’m going places. I decided on one serving of Twizzlers, 4 sticks equal 100 calories.

Here comes the cart and the announcement that nothing is free. They’re about to breeze right by me when I croak “Do you have any white wine?” What do you think they said? That’s right. They have red, which I hate because it tastes like oil and I always wind up wearing it, or white-trash rose. Again, incapable of making a proper decision, I order the red.

Within 5 minutes, I’m wearing it. For some reason, this sends me into a quiet laughing fit and now I’m crying from laughing so hard and my nose is running. I wipe my eyes with my fingers, but ow, they still have chili powder on them from the pistachios. I attempt to find my tissues in my bloated backpack to no avail, so I use my mask to blow my nose and wipe my eyes and I was pretty happy I’d finally found an appropriate use for the useless mask. This is the time the flight attendant came by to tell me it’s a federal law to be maskless and I said “But I’m drinking.” Apparently, not enough. I replace the mask with a fresh one.

We must be getting to the end of this and I somehow doze off with my mouth hanging open, but I’m pleased with myself because now there is ANOTHER useful use for the useless mask! It covers your embarrassing pie hole when you fall asleep on the plane!

We land 45 minutes early and I’m thinking “Wow, this is pretty good, Spirit Airlines is not so bad.” You can see I have still not recovered the use of good common sense.

They did not lose my bag with 40 lbs of items in it! I grab it, head to the LAX Flyaway bus stop, Spirit Airlines being their last pickup. One bus had just gone by and didn’t stop. A half hour later, here comes another one, speeds right by us. Now, I haven’t had any water for about 16 hours and no real food and I start to get dizzy and sick and think I”m gonna puke. I picture myself passing out in the filthy white zone for loading and unloading of passengers and some criminal opportunist making off with my bankroll. I eat some of those jellybeans left over from Easter and I pay no attention to the nutritional information because this is an emergency. I perk up. My husband tells me the next one will be there in 2 minutes. It was, but it was full and drove by us as I gave them the middle finger salute. I’m now waiting two hours. I ask my husband “How much longer do I need to be here before you offer to come get me?” He left immediately and picked me up. Goodbye, Spirit Airlines. Wish I could say it was fun.