Should have flown on Hooters Air
Apparently there have been several cases recently where Southwest Airlines asked women to adjust their clothing in order to board their airplane for a flight. I don't know how I feel about that one way or the other, but a good quote was
[Southwest] dressed its stewardesses in hot pants and called itself "the love airline" back in the 1970s.That's classic. I wish I'd lived in the 70s.
Interestingly, there is a quote at the end of the article by Lynda White, the self-declared "First Lady of Manners," which blew me away. She had just finished recommending business-casual attire on a plane, "because you might be seated next to a potential employer or business contact." Okay, I'm with her so far... I think that much makes sense, although I wonder how many people actually end up working for the guy in 14B. This is the one that really got me, though:
If you wear provocative clothing, tattoos, or you smell of alcohol or cigarettes, who's going to believe you?I'm sorry, what? Who's going to believe you? What the hell does that mean? I suppose if I meet someone who reeks of stale cigarette smoke and they tell me they're a non-smoker, I might be disinclined to believe them. But what does having a tattoo or wearing provocative clothing have to do with believing someone? That's just plain stupid (unless the quote was printed out of context, which I'm sure is possible).
Now, I don't know anything about Ms. White other than what I read in this article, but I've painted a mental picture in my mind, and to me she's the kind of person who will take a rather insignificant detail and use that to base an entire judgment about a person. Kind of like I just did.
Labels: crazy talk, hot pants, love airline, Southwest
2 Comments:
I agree. Who the hell wants to talk to the annoying person sitting next to them on a plane anyway? My lovely wife has the kind of face that says, "Hi! I'm the nicest person in the world. Hey all you random people, feel free to start a conversation with me! Never mind that I'm fake sleeping with my headphones on. Talk away." I guess my face says, "Shut the hell up." No fake sleeping needed . . .
Ha. Now that you've got the relationship locked up, I guess the shut-the-hell-up face is a benefit rather than a hindrance. At least, that's what I tell myself every morning when I look in the mirror at my move-to-another-section-of-the-plane reflection.
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