Unlike travel agents, dahrlings, airlines can’t say they get no respect – ‘cause whether they are making money or on the verge of bankruptcy, human males are endlessly fascinated with airborne projectiles. No matter what the size of the yield – they’re in love with their jets.
But, wouldn’t you know it, as soon as things start going swimmingly and the miracle of ancillary fees transforms red ink to blue chip stocks – bang! Some eruption – whether it’s a volcano or a nation – renders them impotent.
The price of fuel is looming over carrier cockpits like the blade of a guillotine. Threatening to turn what could have been the summer of love into a massacre.
We wee peons in the global travel machine can consider ourselves lucky, dear Pumpkins. We may not get any respect, but at least our testicles are safe.
