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AMATEUR ELECTRICIAN SHOCKS THE WORLD WITH NEW INVENTION UNINTENTIONALLY
Dear Russia,
Before you take it away, can I just hit it one more time?
-Brittany
KAMALA HARRIS RUNS CAMPAIGN INTO THE GROUND BY TALKING ABOUT ISSUES LIKE CHILDCARE, HUMAN RIGHTS, AND EQUALITY
Dear Brittany, Alright.
-Russia
SCHEMING PASSENGER FAILS TO SNEAK DIGNITY THROUGH TSA CHECKPOINT
“CRAMPS DEFINITELY CANNOT BE THAT
\ SELF-TAUGHT CHIROPRACTOR QUIETLY CLOSES PRACTICE
Dear prisoners,
Wow, it would suck to be in here. If I were here, all I’d be able to think about is how much I want to leave. Especially when I hear that train. This is TERRIBLE!
Stay strong, -Johnny Cash UGLY SCAR NOT EVEN MYSTERIOUS
Dear Johnny Cash, WOOOOOOO!!!
-Prisoners
Dear Flight Attendant,
May I please have a Diet Pepsi?
Sincerely, Passenger
WEIRD UNCLE WEIRD IN NORMAL WAY
Dear Passenger,
Sorry we only have Coke.
Sincerely, Flight Attendant
D ear Flight Attendant,
Okay can I have whiskey?
Sincerely, Passenger
HOSTEL NOT LIABLE FOR THAT NEW RAIL LINE TO BE COMPLETED
Obituary Correction
The 2024 Editorial Board would like to apologize for an obituary which appeared in our last issue: Pilot Sean did not pass away; he flew to a farm upstate to retire.
LittLe doggy who bites. this is not his onLy seLLing point. he aLso growLs good guard dog i want to traveL without worrying about my baby FOR SALE
TACTLESS MIDDLE SEAT OCCUPANT REFUSES TO HOLD DRINKS FOR REST OF CAR
COMPLETION OF NEW RAIL LINE POSTPONED
AN ALTERNATE MAP OF NEW HAVEN
—C. Utermann
WANTED:
The smell of a little pine tree hanging above a stinky car’s dashboard so I can use it as a bar of soap.
Did You Know?
TSA officers are tested for “liking feet too much” before being trusted with asking you to remove your shoes.
Howdy Reader,
I, sir, am lost. This here phone tells me that I am on the MTA, passing Greenwich, from the big city, but my soul knows no place to call home. Takes more than a red seat to support my aching back, or some Samba knockoffs and Powerstep Orthotics ™ to dull the pain of lonesomeness. So I run, from city to city (in the tri-state area), seekin’ refuge on a Chaise Lounge or a leaky blow-up mattress, buying time and hopin’ it’ll pay me back over Zelle (untraceable). They say guests are like fish: if you forget to feed ’em for a few days, they’ll die, so I make sure to pack a small bag of mixed nuts wherever I go, for I’m a cowboy. I’m always ready to run. You should be too. Welcome to the Travel Issue.
They say you should know where you want to end up before you start, unless you’re solving a math problem or a crime, in which scenarios I guess you go backwards. Even if a cowboy don’t find himself there, he’s sure to find an inn, or at least a stable next to the inn that’s sanitary enough to deliver a baby in. “Shoot for the moon,” they say. “Even if you miss, you’ll land in a Marriott with a poor credit score and tiny shampoos.” If you’re lucky, they’ll have HBO.
You might think a cowboy likes living this way, but the truth is, a gunslinger like me has no choice. I’m chased from town to town, re-establishing myself after each tiff I start, sending long text message apologies about “the way I said that… I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to be so cold,” often met by “I have no idea what ur talking about ur literally fine,” inadvertently exposin’ my own passive aggression and mild social anxiety while tryin’ to fix it up. Such accidents bring a cowboy from town to town until the cowboy knows who he is. A cowboy must earn his pride. A town won’t love a cowboy until he loves himself.
A cowboy can’t run forever. Every now and then, he yearns for stability. Sometimes a cowboy is a senior art and history of art major who needs a job with insurance after college, and sales sounds pretty nice. My gunslingin’ ways might serve me in law school, with all the backstabbin’ and such, compartmentalizin’ my actions and their moral repercussions because this here cowboy wants a new holster. I’ve spent many a day in a saloon, and I know the desert’s a whole lot scarier than a glass room filled with purposeless millennials hopped up on half-drank iced coffees and mild amphetamines. I ain’t afraid of no lawyer.
But maybe I should be. Aren’t lawyers the ones chasin’ cowboys? I do believe that a cowboy’s supposed to oppose the law, but I sure do love the new Americana… that entails universal health care… lonesomeness can make a cowboy sick sometimes. A cowboy needs a vaccination as much as anyone else. Despite my solitary existence, I need someone to talk to, like an unbiased third party who wants to soothe my worried mind, and help me stay present in my environment, appreciatin’ all that surrounds me. Bein’ on the run means telehealth is useful.
Many a cowboy winds up a teacher, usin’ their knowledge of the arts to support the youth and bestow the same love and hope that cowboy’s teachers’ bestowed upon them, with summers off to run free. That don’t seem too bad. Maybe a cowboy loves connectin’ with their peers with a nurturin’ soul. But cowboys can’t love, right? Cowboys should be cold, and gruff, and afraid of the love that others can give ‘em, for it so easily can be taken away. Cowboys are tough. Cowboys are never heartbroken, ’cause cowboys don’t have a heart to break. Cowboys don’t need therapists. Cowboys sleep through their morning appointments, and don’t even care if they might be charged a fee.
Cowboys don’t need insurance. Cowboys don’t need jobs. Cowboys don’t need people. Cowboys dye their hair without worryin’ it might be unprofessional. Cowboys don’t take
Amelia Herrmann ’26 Chair
Adam Hagens ’27 Online Managing Editor
Lizzie Conklin ’25 Editor in Chief
Gabi Cohen ’27 Online Managing Editor
Issy Arroyo ’25 Copy Editor Avery Misner ’27 Copy Editor
Daniel Wang ’27 Social Media Manager
Emma Madsen ’25 Old Owl
Ari Berke ’25
Audrey Hempel ’25
Katya Agrawal ’27 Art Director
Oz Gitelson ’26 Webmaster
Alejandro Mayagoitia ‘25 Old Owl
Betty Kubovy-Weiss ’25
Cormac Thorpe ’25
Chet Hewitt ’25
Evan Calderon ’25
Ezzat Abouleish ’25
Isabel Arroyo ’25
Jacob Kao ’25
Mari Elliott ’25
Maya Melnik ’25
Neil Sachdeva ’25
Theo Schiminovich ’25
vitamin supplements; the road is their iron, because cowboys don’t get lightheaded when they stand up too fast. Cowboys don’t need water, or a bedtime, or daily exercise, because consistency of habits don’t make a cowboy genuinely feel better each day. Cowboys don’t watch Netflix, or listen to the news, or call their moms. Cowboys are lonely by choice. Cowboys only need themselves. By this here rationale, I don’t think I know any cowboys, because cowboys only know themselves, and therefore do not know me. So I don’t know them, because I’m a cowboy, and I don’t know anyone, let alone other cowboys, if you follow. There ain’t no cowboy LinkedIn community. No cowboy has ever uttered the words “I’m excited to announce my new position at X,” or been “grateful for their mentors” who supported them along the way. Cowboys are their own mentors. Cowboys are on their own payroll.
As evidenced by my advance knowledge of everything that a cowboy is not, I believe that this here accent might be fake, and I might not be such a good cowboy. I ain’t never worn a cowboy hat outside a costume party. If I do, rest assured it will be stolen by a kind lady who loves wearin’ hats as well.
L. Conklin Editor in Chief
Debbie Lilly ’26 Online Editor in Chief
Terence Harris ’27 Managing Editor
Dash Beber-Turkel ’26 Lead Design Editor
Anna Lehman ’27 Staff Director
Josephine Stark ’25 Old Owl
Tyler Schroder ’25
Adham Hussein ’26
Aidan Gibson ’26
AJ Tapia-Wylie ’26
Alejandro Rojas ’26
Alexa Druyanoff ’26
Alexis Ramirez-Hardy ’26
Alice Khomski ’26
Amanda Budejen ’26
Andie Gately ’26
Andrew Lake ’26
Ariel Kirman ’26
Bella Panico ’26
Devika Kothari ’27 Managing Editor
Harper Murray Nelson ’27 Design Editor
Emmet Houghton ’26 Business Manager
Edward Bohannon ’25 Old Owl
Staff:
Brennan Columbia-Walsh ’26
Caroline Utermann ’26
Elio Wentzel ’26
Emily Hettinger ’26
Emmet Houghton ’26
Grace Davis ’26
Helen Shanefield ’26
Jimmy Ruskell ’26
Linden Skalak ’26
Mia Cortés Castro ’26
Natasha Khazzam ’26
Owen Curtin ’26
Oz Gitelson ’26
Annie Lin ’25 Old Owl
Paola Milbank ’26
Sam Kumar ’26
Sivan Almogy ’26
Thomas Varghese ’26
Toby Salmon ’26
Tristan Hernandez ’26
William Wang ’26
Wolf Boone ’26
Zadie Winthrop ’26
Zoe Halaban ’26
Ami Gillon ’27
Anna Calkins ’27
Anna Feldman ’27
Emma Upson ’27 Design Editor
Ainslee Garcia ’27 Merchant
‘25 Old Owl
Natasha Weiss ‘25 Old Owl
Anna Papakirk ’27
Audrey Jiang ’27
Avery Lenihan ’27
Braeden Cullen ’27
Ellen Windels ’27
Elora Sparnicht ’27
Gha Yuan Ng ’27
Gustavo Dominguez ’27
Jaylynn Cortes ’27
Juliette Propp ’27
Lucas Ranfranz ’27
Lucas Santos ’27
Max Watzky ’27
Special thanks to: Flight Attendants, who know how to walk and fly at the same time.
Front Cover and Back Cover: Chesed Chap, who thinks that three dog lives are worth one human life.
Inside Cover: Lillian Broeksmit, who smuggled 50 kilos of Record issues through TSA.
Contributors: Elias Leventhal
Chen ’26
Publisher
Bipul Soti ’27 Managing Editor
Sadie Lee ’26 Supplementals Editor
Sophia Morfin ’27 Prank Czar
Emmit Thulin ‘25 Old Owl
Nava Feder ’27
Rohan Shivakumar ’27
Samhita Kumar ’27
Sofia Morfin ’27
Sui Yu ’27
Tom Commander ’27
Victoria Mnatsakanyan ’27
Vidhi Bhartiya ’27
Will Sussbauer ’27 Ge Yu
WHERE DID THE BOEING DOOR GO?
Fishing.
To buy milk and cigarettes. Another woman’s bed.
Through the roof of a single mother’s apartment. The great assembly line in the sky. Wherever that crying baby in Row 20 isn’t. Where its people needed it.
To shoot a whistleblower.
15 Minute Bathroom Break (no phone allowed)
None of your business. Sit back in your flimsy economy seat and choose a god to pray to.
“Boeing door? What Boeing door? Boeing planes have never had doors. Boeing has never made planes.” — Boeing Executive
SPIRIT AIRLINES NOW OFFERS COMPLIMENTARY OXYGEN
In a historic vote by its Board of Directors, Spirit Airlines has now become the 4th major airline to offer complimentary oxygen to all passengers, regardless of race, sexual orientation, and socioeconomic status. This decision follows a slew of recent controversies and lawsuits accusing Spirit of releasing low levels of ammonia into the economy class cabin. In an official statement from Spirit, the company acknowledged that “After several rounds of clinical trials, our team of scientists have discovered that oxygen is crucial for sustaining human life. Today, Spirit is proud to provide free oxygen on all of our flights, because we believe access to
oxygen is a fundamental human right.”
While it is technically true that oxygen will now be available to all passengers, CEO Edward M. Christie outlined several limitations on the oxygen provided. “When you overcrowd so many people on such a small aircraft, it’s not possible to provide everyone with all the oxygen they need,” explains Christie, “To address this, we’ve made the decision to only provide this oxygen in designated ‘breathing zones’ near lavatories, so that the scent of feces discourages overconsumption of oxygen.”
Yet, not everyone is pleased with this new change. Sir Eugene “Engine” Pompington IV, president of the Regal International Club of High-flyers (RICH), was one of many who sent their lobbyists to protest the decision. According to Sir Pompington, Spirit’s signature $40 oxygen cans contributed immensely to the immersive in-flight experience, one that will soon be tarnished by “the communist, radical left-wing, DEI agenda.” However, when asked how many times he had flown Spirit in the past year, Sir Pompington refused to answer.
Others remain skeptical about Spirit’s motives behind the decision. The human rights group behind the original lawsuit, Flyers Against Ammonia, expressed concerns about the timing. The group posted on X demanding that Spirit publish records of their clinical trials, accusing the airline of using this decision to generate positive press coverage and divert attention from their ammonia scandal.
Spirit did not comment on whether their complimentary oxygen will also contain ammonia.
— D. Wang
PLEASE DO NOT RUN IN THE LOBBY
Please do not run in the lobby. We have marble floors. And a marble column. Actually, we have multiple marble columns. So what we have is a marble colonnade. I see you admiring the marble’s glossy sheen.
The marble colonnade makes our marble lobby extremely pretty. I buff our pretty marble lobby with my nephew Benjamin’s earwax. Soon, it will be patented.
If you run in our lobby, you will slip on our fancy marble floors. You will crack your skull on our fancy-schmancy marble colonnade. You will stain our ultra-mega-fancyschmancy lobby with your ugly, gloopy, viscous blood.
I do not want our ultra-mega-fancy-schmancy lobby to be stained in your ugly, gloopy, viscous blood. That will make me very sad. It will be a waste of Benjamin’s earwax. I love that boy very much.
This is not the Suite Life of Zack and Cody. Familyfriendly, slapstick-filled hijinks will not be tolerated. Benjamin does not like that show at all. Benjamin takes his job very seriously.
The lobby must be buffed soon. Benjamin accumulates his wax over time. That boy has neither heard a bell ring nor a bird chirp for over a month. That is our sign to buff.
Our lobby must always be shiny and spotless. We are a serious establishment. Do not run in the lobby. Our Hilton New Jersey must keep its fourth star.
—E. Chen
DIVORCIOTT
Receptionist: Good afternoon! Welcome to Marriott Athens. How may I help you?
Steve: (Visibly distressed) I’m sorry, there’s been a bit of an issue.
Martha: The issue is you’re a dumbass. What breed of idiot buys a flight to the wrong Athens?
Steve: It’s not my fault there’s a Marriot in Athens, Georgia, and Athens, Greece! Isn’t that just a little confusing? Both countries start with a “G.”
Martha: Georgia is not a country!
Steve: (Smug) It actually is, in the Caucuses.
Martha: Blah blah blah! I wish we were in the fucking
Caucuses, not this antebellum swamp!
Clive: (Picking nose) Mommy?
Martha: (Sighs) Yes, Clive?
Clive: (Blows nose on Martha’s dress) Why did you go to the bathroom with the flight attendant while Daddy was sleeping on the plane?
Steve: What? Martha, what is he saying?
Martha: (Blushing) Oh… I…
Receptionist: (Gulps) Um… would you like to check into your room?
Steve: Martha, I can’t believe you-
Martha: (Regaining composure) Really? Take a look in the mirror, Steve. I have faked every orgasm since our wedding night, so sue me for joining the mile-high club with someone who doesn’t need a magnifying glass in bed!
Receptionist: I think it might be time for my break…
Steve: (Aghast) It’s not my fault that I’m farsighted!
Martha: (Scoffs) Maybe that floozy secretary of yours is fine with it, but I can’t take it anymore.
Steve: Keep Esmerelda out of this!
Martha: Like you kept her out of our bedroom?
Steve: I was stressed, ok? You and your failed candle shop were dragging us all down! Why would anyone want to buy candles made of earwax?
Martha: It’s environmentally conscious!
Steve: And the scent names? Dear Lord… “Extramarital Affair,” “Wifely Despair,” “Lavender.”
Martha: Fine, I admit Lavender was a bust.
Clive: (Licking lobby chair) Can we go home now? I left my Nintendo in New Jersey.
Martha: I wish your father hadn’t left his condoms in his car six years ago.
Steve: Martha!
Receptionist: Ouch. So… would you like to book separate rooms?
—T. Harris
The days of cramped legroom on seemingly never-ending flights are over. We’ve heard your complaints, and we’re here to solve them. We’re so confident that we’ve fixed your problems that we’ve disbanded our customer service hotline.
In fact, the concept of any flight time at all will soon be a distant memory. That’s right! Here at Boeing, in partnership with Lockheed Martin, we have built the first Long Plane ™ .
Stretching from New York to Beijing, this plane actually never leaves the air. Instead, it spans nearly 7,000 miles with entrances and exits in both cities. Passengers simply get on in the back of the plane and simply walk to the front, where they can get off at their destination.
If one maintains Usain Bolt’s pace in his personal best for the 100 meter dash, the trip lasts just 12 days or so. For those willing to shell out the big bucks, however, you can ride our signature mini-plane, a 737 that fits inside of the Long Plane ™. For smaller spenders with a time crunch, the Long Plane ™ is also equipped with cars, trains, jet skis, and an escalator. And for leisurely consumers, the Long Plane ™ contains the world’s longest Duty Free shopping mall.
While some have called the Long Plane “a crime against the Wright Brothers” (New York Times) or “a crime against U.S. transportation law” (Pete Buttigieg), others are calling it “the newest unnecessary invention” (OpenAI). We have raised $74,000,000,041 from venture capitalists in pursuit of continued expansion of the program to fund our latest venture: Long Ship: A Staircase to Space.
— A. Cramer
WHY YOUR FLIGHT HAS BEEN DELAYED
It’s stuck in a cloud.
The dog ate it.
Pregnant lady in labor wanted last-minute abortion.
GPS confused Austria with Australia.
TSA racially profiled your pilot.
Wright brothers are “on a break — still figuring things out.”
That dead guy on the tarmac’s not supposed to be there.
GPS confused New Jersey with Hell.
Reverse Sully Situation.
It’s not late, you are. Set a goddamn alarm next time.
15 PHRASES TO KNOW BEFORE TRAVELING TO ICELAND
From the Department of Tourism at Iceland’s Ministry of Culture and Business Affairs, Exogamy Division
Note on Pronunciation: ð = ‘th’ in “that,” þ = ‘th’ in “thing”
1. Góðan dag [to a man] / Góðan daginn [to a woman] – “Good morning,” “Good day.”
2. Hvernig hefurðu það? – “How are you?”
3. Eruð þið tveir frændur? / Eruð þið allir frændur? – “Are you two cousins?” / “Are you all cousins?”
4. Er það slæmt að allir séu frændur? – “Is it bad that everyone is cousins?” *
* If this seems to hit the wrong note, clarify with meining mín er, veldur þetta vandamálum fyrir samfélagið? (“I mean, does this make problems for society?”)
5. þú átt fallegt heimili – “You have a lovely home.”
6. Næstum jafn fallegir og augun þín –“Almost as lovely as those eyes of yours.”
7. Má ég vera í kvöldmat? – “May I stay for dinner?”
8. þetta er besta máltíð sem ég hef fengið, Herra / Frú – “This is the best meal I have ever had, Sir/Madam.” *
*Feel free to follow up with Fiskur bragðast miklu betur þurrkaður (“Fish tastes much better dried” ) or þetta er rétt samkvæmni fyrir ost (“This is the right consistency for cheese to be”).
9. Fyrirgefðu mér ef mér skjátlast, Herra / Frú, en ég finn fyrir tilfinningum sem rugla og hræða mig. Má ég gista heima hjá þér? – “Forgive me if I err, Sir/Madam, but I feel emotions that confuse and startle me. May I stay the night in your home?”
10. Það er bitur, fallega kalt úti, Herra / Frú, og líkami þinn er kyndill í myrkrinu. Ég þrái að brenna líkingu þína inn í mig. Þú ert eldfjall; ég, jökull; aðeins í þessu undarlega landi gætum við haldið okkur við hvert annað og haldið fast. Ég þrái þig, Herra / Frú, eins og skáldið þráir tunglsljós og flökkumaðurinn þráir vatn. Má ég deila rúminu þínu í kvöld? – “It is bitterly, beautifully cold outside, Sir/Madam, and your body is a torch in the darkness. I long to burn you into myself. You are a volcano; I, a glacier; only in this strange land might we cling to each other. I crave you, Sir/Madam, like the poet craves moonlight and the wandering man craves water. May I share your bed tonight?”
11. Já! – “Yes!”
12. Vá. – “Wow.”
13. Áttu sígarettu? - “Do you have a cigarette?”
14. Takk fyrir, það var ótrúlegt – “Thank you very much, that was incredible.”
15. Bæ bæ / Bless / Leitaðu að mér í ljósi tunglsins – “Bye-bye” / “Godspeed” / “Search for me in the moonlight.”
Be sure to exchange símanúmer (phone numbers) with your Icelandic host. If it feels appropriate, ask them to recommend more gestrisin hús (“hospitable houses”) for you to stay at during your trip around the Ring-Road.
We look forward to welcoming you to Iceland.
— I. Arroyo
I RODE ALL OF THE ESCALATORS IN WYOMING
When I was but a young filly, I heard tales of a promised land. A land where like-minded strangers could aspire to ride the day away, united by a hunger for adventure and a hatred of stairs. This land was Wyoming, and as the legend goes, they had only two escalators.
I proposed my plan and they laughed, crying out, “Only two escalators in Wyoming? Hogwash!” and, “What a waste of time, you escalator-besotted fool!” Never one to be deterred by naysayers, I hollered back, “I WILL ride those escalators, Mom! You’ll see!”
One fateful morning, my best friend and I saddled up on her trusty stallion, a 2012 Honda Accord, and galloped through all the great towns of Wyoming. We zipped past Pyro City (firework capital of The West), Wheatland (land of many wheats), and Chugwater (...well if you say so glug glug glug) before a Monty Python-esque break appeared in the clouds, illuminating the divine silhouette of two escalators. Delirious with passion and salivating with anticipation, we had found ourselves in Wyoming’s greatest town: Ol’ Casper.
What had appeared to be one beam of guiding light was actually two. We reverently approached first the Hilltop Bank and then First Interstate Bank, both times ignoring incredulous and increasingly suspicious looks. They couldn’t understand: We were pilgrims in a land of non-believers, approaching the end of a grueling quest.
Those rides were transcendental, impossible to describe. Their fleeting euphoria was a reminder of our mortality, meaning everything and nothing at the same time. We returned home crowing, ascetics in a land of the blind, recounting our journey to any lonesome wanderers who dared to listen. There were skeptics, sure, but every now and then, we espied a glimmer in an eye, sensed a hunger for something greater, and felt a deep appreciation for mechanized stairs.
— S. Morfin
TRANSCRIPT: PRE-FLIGHT TURBULENCE
Pilot Brian and Copilot Jeff are in the cockpit of a Boeing 737. The plane is taxiing towards the runway for takeoff. Pilot Brian is calling into the air traffic control tower, waiting for permission to take off.
PILOT: Boeing 737, Foxtrot 2873, holding on Charlie, ready for take off.
ATC CONTROLLER: Runway clear. Travel safe, Foxtrot 2873
PILOT: Foxtrot 2873, cleared for takeoff.
COPILOT: Brian, I gotta talk to you about something.
PILOT: What is it, Jeff? We’re about to take off. Make this damn quick.
COPILOT: Well, Brian, I think I need to take off.
PILOT: Right. We’re doing that right now. Push the throttle forward, would you? We need more power.
COPILOT: No. I need to take off…from you.
ATC CONTROLLER: Foxtrot 2873, you’ve already been cleared for take-off.
COPILOT: Thanks, ATC. What I’m saying is that I need to take off…from my pilot.
ATC CONTROLLER: …Not quite sure what you mean, Foxtrot 2873. Come again?
COPILOT: What I’m trying to say is…we need to break up, Jeff.
ATC CONTROLLER: Sorry, Foxtrot 2873, we’re not hearing you properly. I think you’re breaking up. Please restate your intentions clearly.
COPILOT: Exactly! I’m saying…we need to Bravo Romeo Echo Alpha Kilo Uniform Papa.
PILOT: Brian, what the hell are you talking about? We’re on an active runway. I don’t have time for your games.
COPILOT: if you didn’t have time for games, you shouldn’t have flown to Aruba with a different co-pilot last week! That’s CHEATING.
PILOT: Be real, Brian. Neither of us fly the plane. It’s all automated at this point. The most you ever have to do is use the PA system to tell the passengers to stow their fucking tray tables. And I know you love it, you freak. I see the way your cheeks turn pink when they clap. You’re not supposed to enjoy that, you know. They shame people for clapping. You should be disgusted with yourself.
COPILOT: You never let me be happy, Jeff. This is why we need to break up.
ATC CONTROLLER: I think you’re breaking up, Foxtrot 2873. I didn’t hear that last part.
COPILOT: Yes we are, ATC. Let me make it perfectly clear. This is Copilot Jeff of Foxtrot 2873. I need to take off from Pilot Brian. He cheated on me.
PILOT: You’re full of shit, Jeff. Totally immature.
ATC CONTROLLER: Wow. We do not condone cheating at the Boston Logan International Airport. Foxtrot 2873, you’re grounded. Get off the runway, effective immediately. Copilot Jeff, you are cleared for take-off.
WHAT YOUR SPIRIT AIRLINES FLIGHT TICKET IS REALLY PAYING FOR
This September, on a trip back from Miami, an undercover reporter worked with Spirit Airlines to learn and share where the money you pay for a Spirit Airlines ticket goes, in an attempt to gather insight into how the company manages to keep its prices incredibly cheap in the face of rising costs. The author embarked on a $39 flight from Miami International Airport (MIA) to New York LaGuardia airport (LGA).
Price Breakdown:
• $4.75: Airport landing and processing fees (Miami International Airport)
• $4.40: Jet Fuel (Kerosene-based)
• $4.50: Pilot’s salaries
• $9.75: Cabin crew’s salaries
• $6.00: Charge for travel through United States airspace
• $0.10: Duct tape (Explicitly marked: NOT for repairing airplanes in operation)
• $0.25: Duct tape (not explicitly marked in any way)
• $0.05: Other miscellaneous aircraft maintenance
• $2.40: Marketing and promotional materials
• $3.60: Covert effort to cover up what happened in 2011
• $950.00: Discrete payment made to passenger so he would not reveal what happened in 2011 (Author’s Note #1: I’ve been informed that this is a unique circumstance and that it is not provided in the general package, so this quantity does not contribute toward the total of $39.00) (Author’s Note #2: This sum was paid out in Spirit Airlines Points)
• $0.00: Quantity paid to United States Air Traffic Control
• $2.20: Quantity paid to “Steve” in place of Air Traffic Control (Author’s Note #3: The airline emphasized that Steve does a wonderful job and “loves you very much”)
• $1.40: Contributes to general fund to outfit aircraft
with seats and furnishings
• $1.60: Contributes to a research group seeking to identify the theoretical, “most uncomfortable seat”
• $1.00: Contributes to the CEO’s dog’s college fund (Author’s Note #4: I’ve been informed that the dog is named “Handsome Dan”)
That’s all you get for $39. As it goes with Spirit, you’ll need to pay for anything else.
— T. Schiminovich
POINT: THIS IS MY ARMREST
Dearest Window Seat Passenger,
With 3 seats and 4 armrests in each row, there should be approximately ~1.33 armrests per passenger on this flight. In addition, since the left and right-most armrests are accessible exclusively to their respective seats, I, Middle Seat Passenger, am at an inherent disadvantage due to the lack of a personal, designated armrest.
If you look to your left, you will see Aisle Seat Passenger is asleep and aggressively gripping both armrests, meaning the only armrest available to me is the one in between us. Additionally, it must be noted that since you sit next to the window, you are able to sleep against it by leaning your body to the right, thus reducing your reliance on a left-side armrest. As such, I request that you allow me to rest my arm on our shared armrest such that we each have space for respite. Together, we can fight against injustice and armrest inequality on all aircrafts, starting with this one. Join me as an agent of change. I love you.
Sincerely, Middle Seat
COUNTERPOINT: NO, THIS IS MY ARMREST
Hi Middle Seat Passenger,
You are the pilot. The flight attendants are yelling at you. What are you doing in the cabin? Get your hands off of me. GO BACK TO THE COCKPIT????????
Scared, Window Seat
— D. Wang
I LIVE INSIDE A TRAVEL COMMERCIAL
Every morning, gentle rays of sunlight tease open my sleepy eyes. Every evening, I recline in my hammock, watching the watercolor sunset fade into the same starry night. My life is a waking nightmare. I don’t know where I come from. I don’t even know my
name. All I know is the sickening emptiness of this reality. The unnaturally giddy children, endlessly riding on their parents’ shoulders. The lovers who prance along beaches and share bowlfuls of sorbet without ever speaking to each other. My life is full of shallow, gorgeous people living shallow, gorgeous lives, talking only about how nice it is to “get away from the hustle and bustle of it all and experience the beautiful Mediterranean.”
It’s been this way for as long as I can remember. At some point, I gave up asking why.
I wasn’t always so complacent. When I was 14, I sought out answers from a man I thought I could trust: my father. I found him on the plaza of our family’s imitation Italian villa. He was wearing his chef’s hat and his signature potbelly, making pizza after pizza in the woodfired oven.
“Father,” I called out to him. “Please. I need to hear the truth. Who am I? What am I doing here? What are any of us doing here?”
My father let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “Il dolce dom giotto e sopra vita!” he said.
“That’s gibberish. You don’t even speak Italian. You’re only doing this to put up a wall between us.” My voice caught in my throat. “Do you love me, Father? Or is that just another illusion?”
My father looked back at me, grinning widely. He pulled a pie from the oven and flung it high into the air, watching it twirl over and over before landing perfectly on his wooden spatula. “Pizza pizza deliziosa!” he said.
My eyes burned with hot tears. In desperation, I turned to my mother, who was lounging at the edge of the plaza overlooking the beach.
“Mother, do you know something I don’t?” I asked. “Do you know if our lives have any meaning?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, sweetie,” my mother responded, lifting her gaze from the magazine that she had been reading for my entire conscious life. “It’s just so nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of it all and experience the beautiful Mediterranean.”
I ran from the plaza, sobbing, and never spoke to my parents again.
These days I try not to fight. It’s easier to push away the pain, to curl up in my hammock and tell myself that it’s all going to be okay. But somehow, I still hold onto the hope that I will shatter the chains of this tropical purgatory. I need to know that there is more to the world than this. I need to feel alive. I need a vacation from my vacation.
—E. Leventhal
