Business travel at a
fraction of the cost.
The French boutique airline, La Compagnie, which in June
started operating flights between New York, London and Paris, appears to have
it all – until you try to register on their site. As I travel between all three
places and enjoy my creature comforts, when I tried to sign up I discovered I
couldn’t, as there were just two options: Mr or Mrs.
As a single woman, I have always
refused to tick the “Miss” box on any application form, for one simple reason:
no man is ever asked to tick “Master” or “Mister" i.e. a man is never asked to
declare whether he is married or not. While many sneer at “Ms”, it is, to me,
entirely correct. The only reason women were ever required to declare their
marital status was because, as singles, they were deemed unable to have the
resources to pay their bills: having a man as an appendage made a woman
reliable (allegedly. They’ll learn).
I had this argument with British
Telecom some years back, when they asked if I was a Miss or a Mrs. I refused to
tell them and questioned whether men were required to say if they were single
or married. Of course, they were not.
La Compagnie also offers special
deals, yet the current ones are all “for two”. I have no partner, I travel
alone, yet always find myself excluded from the things I enjoy the most. I
can’t, for example, have the Chateaubriand or the paella “for two” in a restaurant.
I once ordered the latter and said I would pay the full price, but was refused
on the grounds that it would be “too much for one person”. No amount of my
arguing that I would just leave half of it would persuade the waiter to help me
part with my money. I very much doubt they would have treated a man with the
same gastronomic contempt. I ended up with a pork chop. For one.
Single women are still perceived
as weirdos when out alone or, at best, second class citizens. In San Francisco one lunchtime last year, I was pointed to a really nice table in the middle of the
restaurant, only to be bumped when the maitre d’ spotted a couple behind me in
the queue. She then told me I could sit at the bar or outside. The bar was
overcrowded; the outside seat had a great view of Alcatraz (possibly the only
time anyone has wanted to escape to the prison). I left
without eating and phoned to make a complaint.
“We really don’t treat women
like that,” said the manager. “You just did,” I pointed out, adding that the
couple who took my table probably had a green salad between them and a jug of
tap water. I would have had champagne, wine, three courses, and probably still
been in there when dinnertime came around, to begin the routine all over again.
It is hard enough being single in
a world where travel companies continue to charge single supplements, tax breaks benefit couples, and society as a whole celebrates and
fawns over marriage, without having to deal with the anti-singles frustrations
socially. I happen to be a big fan of marriage: I come from a very stable
background and am lucky enough to have had a loving mother and father who could
not have been better parents. It just hasn’t worked out that way for me. I’m
not bitter about it; I don’t really think about it, unless I am asked. I have a
wonderful family, incredible friends and, for all its obstacles, a better life
than most people in the world. I am truly blessed.
But I still get treated like a
social leper as a single woman. Most married couples don’t include you at their
social functions unless they have a recently divorced/largely unmarketable/psycho
man in their circle that they might be able to palm off on you. Then there are
the practical difficulties to deal with when you are out. If you have to go to
the toilet when you are in a restaurant, you have limited choices: leave your
stuff at the table and return to find it removed by a waiter who thinks you
have done a runner, or have it stolen by a passer-by.
The third option - asking
the people at the next table to keep an eye on your things - attracts the kind
of looks you might get had you handed them a rifle and asked them to commit
armed robbery in your absence.
It’s not as if I haven’t tried to
meet someone who will split the Chateaubriand with me, but it hasn’t gone well.
I recently attended a gathering of singles, where a French hobbit grappled with my friend’s right breast in what appeared to
be an attempt to secure her stick-on name badge. He was 103, if he was a day.
Next, a walrus appeared at my side, claiming to be a criminal psychologist. The walrus was also in the early stages of
dementia, because he asked me my name five times.
There was also an attempt to
entertain us by a 'close-up magician', who tried to hypnotise us with
non-existent snake oil. We had to imagine our hands were glued together with
said oil and then try to pull them apart, the premise being that we wouldn't be
able to. Er, we did.
The truth is, that if a man is single, there is something wrong with him
(all the good ones really are taken); but if a woman is single, the chances are
that she has had the good sense and guts to ditch the men who have that
something wrong with them. That’s not to say there aren’t strange women out
there (heck, I know some guys who would categorise me as that) but, for the
most part, there are far more bright, sharp, funny women on the market than
there are men.
If a man is free, trust me, there’s something wrong with him,
and unless you act fast to secure Windows 2016 about now (you have to look out
for those inevitable Christmas break-ups), you’re going to miss out on the good
guys next time around, too.
So, as I sit contemplating my Chateaubriand and paella free lifestyle while
planning my travel over the next few months, I’m going to suggest to you, Sir
Richard Branson, entrepreneur, enabler and grand empowerer of people, that you
get behind my campaign to get great deals for single women. I can’t think of
anyone better to have on our side, and all it needs now is for me to sign off.
Yours, hopefully, Jaci Stephen (Ms).
No comments:
Post a Comment