Weekend Edition / Dear Ohad...
Snarky etiquette meets points-hoarding delusion in this week’s Dear Ohad. From overhead bin wars to seafood crimes at 38,000 feet, Ohad tackles the absurdity of modern travel with dry wit and zero patience for your TikTok-blasting seatmate. Bonus: romance advice that won’t get you deported.
Why do people still stand up the literal second the plane lands? Seatbelt sign is on, the door’s not even open, and suddenly it’s a calf-stretching Olympics. Am I missing something?
—Aisle Rage Rising
Dear Rising,
You’re not missing something—you’re witnessing evolution in reverse. This ritual isn't about efficiency; it's a mass psychological breakdown triggered by prolonged seating and pretzel fatigue.
Let’s decode the madness:
- Seat 34F thinks standing speeds exit: It does not. It speeds blood pooling in your knees.
- The Aisle Grabber: Has zero intention of disembarking soon, just wants the power trip of loitering half-upright, crotch at your eye level.
- The Optimist in Row 7: Hopes the jetbridge is a waterslide and we’re all being ejected in order of enthusiasm.
My solution? Stay seated. Make eye contact with the jumpers. Let stillness be your act of rebellion.
TL;DR: Standing early doesn’t get you out faster—it just makes you part of the world’s worst flash mob.
What’s the deal with people treating the overhead bin like it’s a game of Jenga? Someone crushed my hat with their third duffel bag and then smiled.
—Crushed & Cranky
Dear Cranky,
Overhead bin etiquette is dead, and what replaced it is bare-knuckle capitalism in the sky. If you don’t stake your claim, you’re packing your parka under your knees.
Rules for survival:
- Vertical, not horizontal. That roller bag didn’t come with a “sideways privilege” card.
- One per customer. The second bag goes under the seat or into the void of shame, aka gate check.
- Soft items squish. If you bring a hat box on a regional jet, expect it to be sacrificed like a minor character in a horror movie.
Pro tip: Be the first in your boarding group or just accept that your bag is getting intimately acquainted with someone else’s neck pillow.
Is it ever okay to bring a full meal on a flight? The guy next to me unwrapped a tuna sandwich at 38,000 feet and now my hoodie smells like cat food.
—Airborne Appetite Appalled
Dear Appalled,
Tuna on a plane is not a meal. It’s a hate crime.
There’s a three-tier smell scale for in-flight food:
- Level 1 (Safe): Pretzels, granola bars, apples. Boring, blessed, scentless.
- Level 2 (Borderline): Chicken Caesar wrap. You’ll survive, but barely.
- Level 3 (Biohazard): Egg salad, curry, blue cheese, or anything that could be described as “funky.” If the sandwich has its own zip code, it should stay at the gate.
Next time, fake a severe allergy and alert the crew. Or just sigh loudly until passive-aggression does its work.
My seatmate watched TikToks on full volume for an hour. No headphones. Nothing. What am I legally allowed to do?
—Symphony of Suffering
Dear Suffering,
The Hague hasn’t classified it as a war crime—yet—but I’m lobbying.
You’ve got two options:
- Polite first strike: “Hey, could you use headphones?” (This counts as Geneva Convention compliance.)
- Go nuclear: Summon a flight attendant. They’re paid in miles and microaggressions, and will gladly be the fun police.
Alternative strategy: Start playing your TikToks louder. Bonus points if they’re about emotional wellness and boundaries.
Everyone on Instagram’s doing “30 countries by 30.” Am I failing if I’ve only done, like, four?
—Late Passport Bloomer
Dear Bloomer,
Let me tell you a secret: half those people are counting layovers and the other half are running from commitment.
There’s no Nobel Prize for mileage. Travel isn’t a race; it’s a deeply personal journey with bad Wi-Fi and overpriced airport lattes. Four countries deeply experienced beat 30 passport stamps with zero insight.
So unless you’re in a contest with your ex (and even then, choose therapy), skip the race. This is not LinkedIn.
Is it tacky to ask to split the bill by item when traveling in a group? I didn’t order the lobster or six mojitos.
—Budget-Conscious & Bitter
Dear Bitter,
Not tacky. Necessary. You’re not running a seafood subsidy.
There are two acceptable modes of travel billing:
- Even Split Agreement (ESA): Pre-agreed, no grumbling, all-for-one vibes.
- Itemized Justice (IJ): You order a salad, you pay salad money.
The only people who object to splitting by item are the freeloaders who ordered steak knowing you’d cover the fries.
Speak up. Venmo shame is better than post-trip resentment.
What’s the protocol when you meet someone amazing on a trip and they live, like, six time zones away? Asking for my extremely confused heart.
—Wanderlust Wrecked
Dear Wrecked,
Ah yes, the “Romeo in Reykjavik” scenario. Equal parts magical and mildly self-destructive.
Three paths forward:
- Fling & Fade: Cherish the moment, write a poem, move on. (Most common. Least painful.)
- Time-Zone Tango: Start texting, then get crushed by scheduling a video chat that works for no one.
- Reunion Fantasy: Book a reunion trip in three months. If they show up? Gold. If not? You’ve got solo spa time.
Remember: vacation romance thrives on novelty. Real love survives baggage fees and airport Wi-Fi. Ask yourself—do you want them, or just the version of you who existed by the beach?
Until next time...
May your upgrades be complimentary, your seatmates hygienic, and your in-flight movies not dubbed in Hungarian by accident.
Questions, confessions, or unsolicited tales of mid-flight foot massages? Slide into my inbox: newsletter@upnonstop.com.
