A plane flying through the air on fire.

Spirit grounded

By Randall Jobe

“My expectations were reduced to zero when I was 21. Everything since then has been a bonus.â€
—Stephen W. Hawking
On a recent trip to Puerto Morales, Mexico I allowed a well-intentioned friend to make my flight arrangements. If we had not been friends for almost 40 years I would call her out by name. Looking for the best deal (cheapest) flight possible, she booked me on Spirit Airlines. Other than fodder for this column, there is not a single positive experience I can name. From beginning to end, I had to muzzle my mouth to keep from screaming out loud.

It began with not only paying fees for my luggage, but also for a seat to sit in. Shouldn’t a seat be expected to accompany the reservation? Oh no. Red flag! Then it was the seat itself. I was so glad that I was not carrying an extra 10 pounds. If so, I would be forced to check a limb with my luggage. When I reached my seat, there was a pimply-faced, hooded creature of some sort in my space. Rather than exit to the aisle to let me in, he moved to the middle seat and moved a quarter inch, which was all the space there was between him and the seat in front of him. I told him I would prefer not to climb over him. Though had I known what was coming, I would have, lingering when my ass was square in his pudgy face. Once I was wedged in my seat he proceeded to play Pokémon for the entire 2-1/2 hour flight from Hell. Punching at the screen furiously, his right elbow would dig into the fleshy side of my belly. I would flinch, he would stop, briefly. His bony elbow was as sharp as the stakes used to kill Dracula. But, the horror had just begun.

In order to save two dollars more, my friend stuck me on a 12-hour layover in Fort Lauderdale. With no time for travel to a hotel, a few hours sleep and travel back, I chose to camp out in the airport. What was I thinking?! With a threadbare blanket and half a power bar for survival, I spent tortuous hours equally attempting to sleep and cursing my friend. The next morning, I stumbled “hangry†and bleary-eyed to the plane, which, of course, considered “food†to be overpriced pretzels and chips. I chewed on the strap of my carry-on.

After four wonderful days of fun, food and shopping I was ready to offer my friend redemption. But, the unfortunate ride home was looming like a dark raincloud. I was exhorted for thirty dollars for seven pounds of extra souvenirs in my suitcase, and then spent an hour maneuvering the check-in process. After purchasing Wolfgang Puck’s inedible soggy fish and chips, I was ready to take my seat and sleep the entire flight. But, as penance for a past sin, there was more horror to come.

Comfortably wedged in my window seat with pleasant seatmates, I settled in. Three people arrived to take the seats in the row ahead, but not before Karen pulled out a smuggled aerosol sanitizer and furiously sprayed seats from top to bottom creating a toxic cloud. The fumes went up my nose and immediately created a chain effect of sneezing, coughing, and struggled breathing. My seatmates offered comfort, but knowing that my effects would probably not subside, I asked the flight attendant to move me. She politely complied and I settled in for a long slumber. Then the crying — no, screaming — baby began a non-stop fit that lasted the entire flight. I covered my ears and managed to sleep and flew home with a prayer on my lips and no further incidents.

I implore you, avoid Spirit Airlines. The flights appear to be inexpensive until you add seat fees and luggage fees. My total after ticket charges ran over $150. In the future I will be my own travel agent. I’m looking for friendly skies, a sandwich and a hideous gift to send my friend at Christmas. Payback is a bitch.

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