Peanut Economics

Ryanair is a low-cost, Irish airline that offers flights all over Europe. It is a young traveler’s haven. And it is cheap for a reason.

At a bar one night, a friend complained about Ryanair’s new baggage policy. Apparently, on one-way flights, passengers now must pay five Euros per carry-on bag. This upset my friend, Ethan, greatly. “Some things you just shouldn’t have to pay for,” he said. “They shouldn’t get to squeeze every penny out of us just so they can increase profits.”

“You can always choose another airline if you’re not satisfied,” I responded. “But isn’t Ryanair cheaper, even with the carry-on fee?”

“The human body is not designed to be on a Ryanair flight,” he said, avoiding the question.

The flights are known for being uncomfortable. The seats are narrow, the cabin stuffy, the bathrooms cramped. And the flights are almost always full.

“Yeah, and they charge for water, right?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Exactly. Nickel-and-diming us at every turn.”

“You might also look at it like this,” I said. “They’re fighting tooth and nail to save the customer money who’s smart enough to bring his own water bottle.”

“No,” he said, “Cuz that person still has to pay full price.”

He seemed to be missing what to me was a painfully obvious point. “The whole reason it’s a low-cost airline is because the cost of water (among other things) is not included in the ticket. Whether you like it or not, you are paying for water on Delta, United, Southwest — all of them. You just don’t get the choice.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, the tension in his voice rising.

“On other airlines, it’s built into the cost of the ticket.”

Another friend, Ambar, jumped in. “You guys hear they wanted to sell standing tickets?”

“Sounds great to me,” I said as Ethan chirped, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but the EU obviously won’t let them,” Ambar continued. “Pretty soon they’d be charging you to use the bathroom.”

I wanted to jump, to scream, to slam my fist on the table, but I didn’t. “They already do charge you to use the bathroom! They had to install the toilets, right? That costs money. They have to pay an employee an extra hour’s salary to clean the bathroom. That costs money. They have to buy toilet paper, and water for flushing. That’s not free.”

“Well, that’s bullshit. I want everything printed on my receipt, like at the supermarket,” Ethan said.

I thought about telling him that even the itemized receipt we get at the supermarket doesn’t include the 1/10th of a cent added to a head of lettuce for shelf installation, or the 1/100th of a cent added to a toothbrush for the welcome mat that prevents us from slipping when we walk onto the marble floor on a rainy day.

“They can’t print literally everything on the receipt,” I said. “Otherwise, people would accuse them of nickel-and-diming. If they had a flight with no bathroom, they could charge less for that flight. And I’d sign up for it in a heartbeat.”

Ambar said, “Dude, you can’t hold your pee for one hour, let alone a four-hour flight across the continent,” as he pointed at my water bottle.

I know he doesn’t think I’m stupid, but I felt insulted nonetheless.

“I drink so much water because I know I’m never too far from a bathroom. If I knew I was going to be on a long flight without one, I’d start cutting back my water intake the day before and drink sparingly the day of. But I’d be willing to do that to save 40 or 50 Euros on the flight.”

“No, man, you’d have people peeing their pants.”

“Perhaps. But maybe I’d be willing to tolerate the bad smell in order to splurge on a nice hotel when I get to my destination. Or, maybe I’d do it once, be miserable, and never do it again.”

“You’d have anarchy,” Ambar said.

“I’d have options,” I responded.

It was Talib’s last night in Madrid; we had gathered to say goodbye. “Guys, we are speaking in such hypotheticals,” he said, in his half-Algerian, half-French accent that makes his words sound so profound.

“Ok,” I said. “Let’s get down to a small, concrete example. Say I’m hungry, but only a little bit hungry. I walk into a supermarket and say, ‘I would like one peanut, please.’ What right does anyone, anywhere, have to tell me that I must buy a whole bag?”

“Well I’m not gonna sell you just one peanut if I’m the owner of the supermarket,” Ambar said.

“Your loss, then. I’ll go to the next supermarket and buy my peanut. And if I’m willing to buy one peanut, and they’re willing to sell me one peanut, then just because most people need more than one peanut to feel full, then what right does anyone — you, Ethan, the European Union — have to block our transaction? When you insist that they should enforce a law that requires bathrooms on planes, you are also supporting their right to make me pay for peanuts I don’t want to pay for.”

“Trevor, you eat, like, four pounds of peanuts every day,” Talib said. “You would never buy just one.”

We all laughed and sipped our beers and I could’ve gone for a handful of salted peanuts.

If you enjoyed this post, you might enjoy my book, Ticketless: How Sneaking Into The Super Bowl And Everything Else (Almost) Held My Life Together. Available on Amazon.