Which is not a bad price, considering what two plane tickets cost, and that’s flying coach. And also probably having angry air marshals burst in while you’re still trying to figure out which part of the gross airplane bathroom you least mind letting your bare ass touch.
The deal also comes with chocolates and champagne, in case you want to eat a bunch of sugar before your cramped, obligatory plane fuck. You only get an hour, and that includes take off and landing, so it’s not like there’s a ton of time for being coy. I’m glad I’m not the guy who hoses out the Flamingo Air sex den. Or the pilot, for that matter.
“I have had a high heel in my ear once, been shot in the back of the head with a champagne cork, and thank God we wear headsets,” Dave MacDonald, pilot and co-owner of the business told WCPO-TV.
That guy is basically the concierge at an hourly hotel, only he has to be in the room with you and also he knows how to fly a plane. But anyway, if you want to join the mile high club for some reason, here is your chance. I kind of feel like the entire concept of the mile high club is a holdover from Pan Am times, when flying was classy and exciting—there is nowhere I feel less like getting down than jammed into a tiny seat, breathing in everyone’s recycled farts—but different strokes and all that.