Seat 42 J

Flying economy is like serving in the army. You get treated like crap, you can only sleep while standing guard, trying to avoid the flailing arms of those sat beside you, and you’re fed just enough to be kept alive for the rest of the flight. We are soldiers, and our commanding officers are the frequent flyers. You see them wearing their neck pillows with pride, rationing their food and drink. Who knew that a cucumber sandwich, a miniature candy bar, and three drops of water were supposed to keep you satisfied for the next seven hours? Not me. My food was gone before the air-hostess could say ‘chicken or beef?’ And here I was thinking that she was asking me one mouthful at a time.