It’s plane rude! The non-negotiable rules of flying

Airlines are getting tougher when it comes to misbehaving passengers. A Hong Kong couple has been added to Cathay Pacific’s no-flight list after getting overly stroppy with a woman who reclined her chair, while a Perth man has been fined the cost of the fuel it took for his flight to return to the airport, a detour necessitated by his bad behaviour.

Personally, I’m with the couple who complained about the reclined chair, if not the aggressive manner of their complaint. It may be OK to recline your chair, but only if it’s a long flight, dinner isn’t being served, there’s no glass of red wine sitting on the tray table behind, and the person into whose space you are reclining is neither typing on a laptop nor jiggling a baby.

Oh, and you should ask first.

We all need to get on board with the do’s and don’ts of plane travel before we board.Credit: Getty Images

Speaking of asking first, they should hand out an etiquette book about how to conduct yourself on a plane. It could be tucked in with the safety instructions.

Point one: why do people jostle each other so they can be among the first to get onto the plane? It’s not the last chopper out of Saigon. Here’s a secret I wish to whisper: it is in the nature of air travel that everyone aboard will arrive at the same destination at the same time.

Second, the person in the middle seat is granted possession of both armrests. They’ve ended up with the worst seat, featuring neither a view nor a quick escape to the loo. The least they can be offered is somewhere to rest their arms.

What exactly are you trying to achieve? A more comfortable trip for your bag?

Next, I don’t expect people to dress for the opera, but could other passengers consider wearing shoes? Your feet, ensconced in a pair of thongs, will look terrific on a beach in Bali or Noosa. They are less attractive when the gnarly foot of the passenger behind is wedged into the gap between the window and my chair.

What a shame they don’t allow nail clippers aboard the plane – otherwise I could swing around and give your toenails a quick clip. They sure need it!

Manspreading, meanwhile, is rife – both in terms of seating (keep those knees to yourself) and also in the overhead lockers. There’s a way of placing your bag that maximises the space it takes, rather than making more space for others. What exactly are you trying to achieve? A more comfortable trip for your bag?

I’m sympathetic, of course, to children being aboard the plane. We can’t expect them to row across the Pacific or bicycle through Asia, all because their family wish them to visit Europe. A little crying should bring a sympathetic response. The only real complaint is the child who constantly kicks the back of my seat for 24 hours as if training for a soccer team. Unless the child has a guaranteed future with the Socceroos, I’m not that interested.

Conversation is welcome, but only in limited bursts. It’s pleasant to know you are visiting Germany to attend your nephew’s wedding in Hamburg, but a 23-hour account of your family history, and that of the bride, may be too much. If I have a book in my hand, it indicates I wish to read it.

Once we’ve arrived, could everyone not jump immediately to their feet, heads bent under bulkheads, luggage raining down from above, backpacks being spun through the air like swinging scimitars, while bums are pressed into the faces of those few who remain seated?

By forming a rugby scrum the best you can do is exit the plane 10 seconds earlier than you would have achieved while remaining seated. And you’ll still have to wait for your bag.

Which brings us to the baggage carousel. It’s like the mosh pit at a Bon Jovi concert. People are shoulder-to-shoulder, five deep. Bags that have already been retrieved are added to the fortifications. At the rear of the crowd the less assertive stand on tiptoes, hoping to chance a sighting of their bag.

Why can’t everyone stand a few metres back and then dart in once their bag rolls into view? I assume they are overly eager to retrieve their shoes, their feet grown cold throughout the flight.

And so they stand, pulling off one, then two, then three giant suitcases from the baggage carousel. Each bag is the size of a washing machine. I want to know what’s in those bags. Do you need 20 pairs of underpants for a 10-day trip overseas? I mean, how many bums do you have?

Another thing: the Germans have bums, too. So do the Mexicans. They even have bums in Wagga Wagga. So, whatever your destination, there’s a solution should you run short.

What else is in those massive suitcases? Have they taken their own fold-up ironing board? A jet ski, broken down into component parts? Were they saving on tickets by putting Grandpa into one of the bags? I’m sure I heard some moaning from one of the bags.

Then it’s the taxi queue (more bad behaviour); then meeting the taxi driver (grumpy because any destination short of Newcastle is a disappointment); then, finally, you are home.

Ready to start dreaming of another chance to fly, fly away.

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