When airlines treat buying a ticket like you’re negotiating with a moody stockbroker
Airline pricing isn’t just math, it’s theatre. And not the fun kind with costumes and an orchestra pit.
More like an experimental improv performance where you, the hapless traveller, are cast as the bewildered straight man to an airline’s chaotic clown.
The personal part (where I play financial whack-a-mole)
I had to fly a lot recently for family reasons.
Nothing glamorous, no sun hats or cocktails with umbrellas. Just necessary trips, the kind where you grit your teeth, log in, and brace yourself for whatever the airfare lottery machine spits out.
The first time, the price looked almost reasonable.
The second time I checked, it had gone up.
By the fifth time, I was convinced the airline had installed a miniature Wall Street trader inside my laptop, pacing around with a cigarette, muttering, “We’ve got a repeat buyer here, boys. Let’s squeeze him.”
Every refresh felt like watching a stock ticker on fast-forward, except instead of building a retirement fund, I was just trying to get a seat in economy without selling a kidney.
That’s ‘demand pricing’ at work and it stinks.
The “folk remedies” for ticket trickery
Naturally, I tried all the internet-approved hacks:
- Incognito mode: As if my browser could trick a multi-billion-dollar airline algorithm by wearing a fake moustache.
- VPN: Because apparently pretending to be in Albania might make flights cheaper. It didn’t.
- Clearing cookies: I spent more time deleting crumbs from Chrome than actual crumbs from my kitchen counter.
At one point, I even whispered to my screen like it was Dickens’ Mr. Bumble: “Please sir, may I have the ticket for slightly less?”
Spoiler: sir said no.
The psychology of urgency theatre
Here’s the real kicker, airlines know exactly what they’re doing.
The flashing “Only 2 seats left at this price!” banners, the menacing red text that screams “Prices may rise soon!”
It’s the retail equivalent of your mum saying, “Better eat your dinner now before your brother gets it.”
They’ve turned buying a ticket into a casino game. Except instead of chips, you’re gambling with next month’s grocery budget.
Why this fascinates me (instead of just making me angry)
I’d love to say I took the noble road and swore off air travel in protest, but no.
I did what writers do. I sat down, sighed theatrically, and started narrating the whole ordeal like it was a podcast only I could hear.
It reminded me of Vonnegut’s bit about how laughter is a coping mechanism for frustration.
In this case, my laughter was more of a startled-goose noise, but still, it counts.
Things that definitely won’t help, but feel satisfying
- Refreshing Skyscanner every 30 seconds, because apparently I believe in magic.
- Telling friends “I’m never flying with them again” (a lie; you know I will).
- Fantasising about bartering with the airline directly. “Two goats and a Spotify playlist in exchange for a window seat?”
A totally unscientific conclusion
Airlines price tickets like moody stockbrokers hyped up on espresso. We can’t control it, we can’t outsmart it, but at least we can laugh about it together, or cry.
Or both, preferably in an airport bathroom stall where the acoustics are excellent.
Your turn. What’s the wildest price jump you’ve ever seen while trying to book a flight? Tell me, so I don’t feel like the only goose in this honking parade.
