Economy Class? Now there's a contradiction.

Don't you think that the recline button on an airplane seat could be the most anti-social invention, ever?

The passenger in front of you may as well be mainlining on heroine, smoking a joint and urinating on the air stewardess. That behaviour would at least be somewhat socially acceptable in comparison to the rude, graceless and downright nasty act of putting a chair into the recline position.

There are 3 rules to enjoying a good flight:

1. In the event of an emergency, the exits are there, here and here.
2. The seat belt works like this.
3. You’re in Economy Class. Not First. Not Business. Economy. Which means that you may be expected to skimp a little here and there. There are no walk-in showers, bubbling hot tubs or horizontal beds. Please bear this in mind before you thrust yourself backwards into the lap of the poor, unsuspecting passenger behind you.

The shiny, smiling air stewards neglect to mention number 3.

I recently returned from a flight of eleven hours. Nine of which I had the unfortunate pleasure of hosting some stranger’s head in my lap.

Said person wanted to enjoy the recline position in Economy Class. Excuse me for being a bit direct for a moment, but what a stupid, selfish prat. If you want to recline in Economy Class, the best thing to do is buy a First Class ticket.

So, I am blessed with the sight of someone’s balding forehead within millimetres of my nostrils for the good part of a journey.

In a vain attempt to alert the said passenger into realising that he has perhaps performed a lewd act without realising it, I think of spilling some of my airline food over his head. But I fail miserably in this endeavour, realising that his act of reclination has pushed my food tray down to shin height.

“Excuse me sir,” I politely interrupt his attempted slumber. “But do you think you could put your chair back up ever so slightly. I’m sure you’re a very lovely person, but if you had wanted to sleep with me, you should have at least offered a movie first.”

But the reclin-ed man feigns temporary deafness.

Eventually I manage to crawl out of my chair and go stand near the galley.

“Excuse me, sir” says the shiny, smiling air steward (the one who forgot number 3), “but you cannot stand there – you’re blocking an emergency exit. It needs to remain clear in the event of a fire.”

As if I wouldn’t move out the way if there were a fire.

I opt to go to the lavatory. At least there’s a seat inside with no recline position option in front or in the rear. And a ready supply of water. Nice. But eventually the novelty wears thin.

I wonder up to the First Class curtain after flushing and peak through.

They have a camp fire burning, an ice cream van in the corner and Don McClean singing lullabies. Now that's class.