Let me start by saying, I initially wrote this blog while on my flight home from England to Boston a few weeks ago. My mood has since improved—there are worse things in the world, right? But I couldn’t shake the irritation long enough to let this one go. So here we are.

I am fed up with “hidden” airline charges. Just completely over it. And today, I have to call out one of the culprits… British Airways. Do you know how hard this is for my little British heart? But duty calls.

I was traveling to Rome for a wedding and then on to see my family in England. My flight from Boston to Rome? Surprisingly smooth, minus the minor detail that my connection time at JFK was quietly reduced to 40 minutes. But hey, I made it—so no complaints there.

The real fun started with British Airways and their new seating strategy, which appears to be modeled after a high-stakes auction. If you want to book a seat in advance as a “coach” traveler, be prepared to pay. And the earlier you want it, the more it costs. Brilliant! Because what’s travel without a little added stress? I am an A-type personality—I need a seat assignment, not a suspense thriller.

On the way back from Rome to London, I didn’t book my seat ahead of time (I was too busy living my best life in Italy). But surely my airline, which happily accepted my hard-earned cash months ago, would honor my seating preference. Nope. Upon check-in, they informed me there were no seats left. As in, none. Zero. Nada. I blinked at the agent and said, very politely, “I’m not leaving. I booked my flight four months ago, and I need to see my family.” A few keystrokes later, she “miraculously” found a middle seat in the back row. Not ideal, but at least I wasn’t hitchhiking across the Channel.

Then came the baggage fees. My suitcase, which had not gained a single souvenir, was apparently four kilos over the limit. Cost to check it? $65. The agent cheerfully informed me, “Nothing is for free.” Touché.

Now, for the flight back to Boston—oh, what a joy. My pre-paid seat cost me $49 (a bargain, considering earlier options were $100-$200). I boarded the massive BA plane, walked past the first-class cabin with only a handful of people enjoying their champagne, and entered an eerily empty coach section with over 200 available seats. Did I miss the memo on an upgrade lottery?

But let’s end on a high note. Thanks to the seating ghost town, I got all three seats to myself. I sprawled out, propped up my little wine glass, and enjoyed a surprisingly lovely flight. The BA crew? Fantastic. Friendly, attentive, and up for a chat about movies—Silver Linings Playbook, anyone? The real issue here isn’t them—it’s the airlines and their endless, joy-draining fees.

Why are we paying for seats, bags, taxes, surcharges, and—get this—tea? Yes, my friend was charged for a cup of tea on Aer Lingus. Blasphemy! Travel should be exciting, not a never-ending payment plan.

So yes, I’ve made peace with my extra charges (sort of), but I can’t help but ask—why do airlines make something as incredible as flying feel like a financial obstacle course? Am I being unreasonable here?

Public Service Announcement: Apologies for the mildly negative Life-Food-Wine post, but let’s be honest—we’ve all been there.