Reid & Robie

I’ve got a surprise especially for you, something that both of us have always wanted to do.

– Two Tickets to Paradise

With our anniversary looming on the horizon, Robie started hinting around about how 29 years of wedded bliss should count for something.

By this, he meant he should be in line for a distinguished service medal after nearly three decades of putting up with me, an argument I knew I had no chance of winning.

Running to my computer, I looked up romantic destinations near Liverpool only to discover the options were a tad limited. But once I found a place Robie always wanted to visit, I started the process of securing reservations. And despite my decades of experience in the travel industry, I was unprepared for the ordeal of booking flights on one of Europe’s low-cost carriers.

I was set for the online bullying airlines apply to upgrade our seats from the lowest class of service to something called Anything Plus. Need extra legroom? That’s our spacious Leg Stretch Plus category. Want to recline your seat or actually use your tray table? Try Functional Seating Plus. And if your bum’s too big for our Only-Small-Children-Can-Sit-Here category, get Derrière Plus.

But on Ryanair, the cabin class was only the beginning.

After checking the box for the inexpensive Basic service that came next to a string of giant red exes confirming we had no assigned seats, no priority boarding or access to the overhead locker, I confidently clicked “Continue.”

Next came a diagram of the plane that showed the handy-dandy seats the airline recommended for us at £8 a pop. But since I couldn’t figure out what disproportionate body image Ryanair was using to determine those seat recommendations, I decided to select our location in the plane myself only to realize that every option kept increasing the ticket price – some by as much as £20 per person. Then I remembered the giant red X telling me my Basic class of service didn’t come with preassigned seating.

Half an hour later, I found the “Select seats later” button guaranteeing Robie and I would have the most uncomfortable spots on the airplane, wedged between two large passengers without access to an armrest, a seatback button that never budged and a tray table that had been broken since Tony Blair was prime minister. Still, I gamely clicked “Continue.”

Instantly I was informed in no uncertain terms that it was unlikely we’d be seated together and that the best seats would sell out if I didn’t pay up now because when I changed my mind, as the airline insisted I would, their computer algorithms would recognize me and automatically offer the same seats for five times the price.

Bravely, I clicked “Continue without a seat” hoping the phrasing didn’t mean Robie and I would be flying in the cargo hold.

A popup arose to inform me, “You have chosen random seat allocation,” which went on to explain that in keeping with this reckless choice we wouldn’t be able to check in for the flight until 24 hours before departure.

Was there any other option?

In the U.S., 24 hours is the earliest anyone can check in for a flight. And after years of traveling on the only airline that doesn’t believe in seat assignments, I long ago learned to set a timer on my phone for 1 day and 5 minutes before flight time.

This startling news led me down an internet rabbit hole where I discovered that in Europe, passengers can check in for flights 28 days early. And when this number conjured up two of the worst movies of the early aughts I dove deeper into the depressing 28 Days starring an alcoholic Sandra Bullock choosing rehab over jail and 28 Days Later, a British post-apocalyptic horror film starring Cillian Murphy (newly of Oppenheimer fame) waking from a coma after a highly contagious “rage virus” ravaged Great Britain and brought complete societal collapse.

With these images swimming around in my brain, I returned to the Ryanair tab and stoically clicked “Continue with random seat allocation,” trying not to think too hard about it.

I was told that in our Basic class of service we were only allowed one bag per person, and it had to fit in the seat in front of us. But for £11 per person, we could add a rolly bag.

Now, since this trip was supposed to be a present and a surprise, I wasn’t going ask Robie what he planned to pack. But I knew if I told him he could only take a backpack he’d make do. Because after nearly three decades with me, the man’s a pretty good minimalist.

Clicking “One small bag only,” I was annoyed by another popup sporting a big red triangle around an exclamation point that read, “If you bring a second bag or if your bag is too big to fit under the seat, you will be charged a fee of up to €75 or local currency equivalent at the boarding gate.”

Despite clicking “Continue,” I apparently wasn’t yet done with the bags. I scrolled through options for checked luggage ranging from 10 kg to 20 kg with price tags of £15.99 to £19.99 per person per flight. Oh, and the choice to add specialty equipment like golf clubs, a guitar or pram for another £15.

I resolutely stuck to the gameplan and clicked “Continue.”

Another ad warned me not to “get caught by unexpected events” by adding travel insurance to cover medical expenses, loss of personal belongings and trip cancellation for as little as £13.72 per person. But would that fee also cover the exhausting amount of time this transaction was taking?

“No thanks” to the insurance.

Next up: Did I want to include Security Fastrack to my reservation?

Wait what? I didn’t need an FBI background check and in-person interview to get through security quicker? Or as would most likely be the case here, visit MI6 since who doesn’t want to be double checked by Double O Seven?

Still, it seemed strange to think of airport security like a Disney E-ticket where all I had to do was fork over some cash to get to the front of the line. And, strangely, this add-on was only £5 per person when we left Liverpool but £7.99 on the return.

Refusing Fastrack, I was greeted with a chart detailing more insurance options that spelled out exactly what came with the standard policy, Insurance Plus (that ubiquitous airline word again) or an annual policy offering a full year of coverage for just £29.83 per person. But since these things read to me like every adult talking on a Charlie Brown TV special squawking, “wah wah waaah,” I continued scrolling to the next section.

Here I learned how I could pay the airline now any amount of money I was willing to part with and get 10% off inflight purchases like duty free, food and drink. Such a deal! While I didn’t even know what they planned to offer I was already leaning toward one of those tiny bottles from the drink cart.

Next, I could hire a rental car through Ryanair, pay to park at one of the airports (or both, incongruously), schedule transportation to and from the airport or presumably get there via the only free option – walk.

“Continue.”

Finally, my passenger details!

After entering my international phone number, I learned I could pay £2.99 to let Ryanair send me flight details via text messaging. Um, no.

Then I had to choose how I wanted to get our boarding passes. For £10 each, Robie and I could get them printed at the airport like some commemorative concert t-shirt. And while I envisioned framing my Ryanair golden tickets on a wall and proudly pointing to them as I retold this story at future cocktail parties, I opted for the free e-ticket download on our phones.

Next, I was given one final chance to add priority boarding and two cabin bags per person plus insurance. Pass and pass. Except this time, I was forced to click “I don’t want to be insured” in big, bold letters above a notice that told me in no uncertain terms that “The UK Government recommends that all passengers obtain travel insurance.”

Nope, uh-uh. Not these two passengers.

Lastly, I was told my estimated carbon emission for the flight would be 29 kg of CO2 and prompted to offset my dinosaur ways by donating £1 per person to the airline. As I considered this, I wondered what Ryanair would do with my donation. Were they even required to use it toward building an eco-friendly future where battery-powered, solar- and wind-generated airplanes flew the friendly skies? Or was my money going to some idiot in Airline Operations who was at this very moment thinking up a way to charge me for the air I consumed in-flight?

Pretty sure I knew the answer, I nixed the donation.

Finally, I got to the section I’d anxiously waited for. And that’s the first time I’ve ever said that about entering my credit card details online. But after wading through this excruciating purchase and the continued popup notifications reminding me every few minutes that my reservation was expiring, I was ready for the torture to be over.

Because it shouldn’t take an hour and a half to buy two airline tickets, should it?

Carefully typing my credit card information so there was no chance of the charge getting denied, I clicked “Confirm” one final time and paid the as-advertised fare of £30 per person.

That’s right. For the ridiculously low price of $78 Robie and I had two roundtrip tickets to Dublin for our anniversary.

Because my baby’s worth it.

Check out this BBC article on how Spain recently slapped budget airlines like Ryanair with €179m in fines for “abusive practices.”