Last week I traveled to Portland to visit some friends and do a little work while there on a startup project I have going. It was my first trip to Portland and my first time flying Virgin America. Or is that Virgin! America? I don’t even know.
Anyway, so yeah, the purple overhead lights, the snarky safety video, the holy shit it’s a fuckin’ disco plane! Sure, there are TVs and such, but get this, they are charging 25 bucks for a day pass for the internet. Uhm. What? The flights are like 5 hours long. That’s outrageous. Especially when I looked around and watched people take out their credit card, purchase access at this exorbitant price, then proceed to check Facebook the entire flight. What? You just paid $25 to be on Facebook for a few extra hours while in the air?
So yeah. I got a little hungry on the plane. Usually they give you peanuts or crackers or pretzels or something. But not on Virgin! America. No, here, it’s all pay to play. They have the whole menu built into the TV system, you order from your seat, swipe your card and a flight attendant shows up with the food. Yet, they still go around with the carts for beverage service. So, it’s a mishmash, really.
And there it was. The moment when my eyes bugged out of my head: ARTISAN CHEESE PLATE… on a fucking plane.
Artisan cheese on a plane
Hello, but do you know what this word means? Nothing, and I repeat NOTHING, that comes off the “Sky Chefs” cart is artisan. NOTHING. That shit is preservative-stuffed, machine produced, robot cut, shrink wrapped essence of assembly line production food style product. No. Just no. And no again.
Listen here, Virgin! America, you should really be ashamed of yourself. Really very ashamed. But, then again, who gives a shit, I’m checkin’ Facebook on a disco plane!
Chomp.
