Hate is a strong word. It’s even stronger when followed by, “…more than Greyhound Bus.” That’s pretty serious hatred, considering Greyhound Bus was sent here by the devil, is somehow less pleasant to deal with than the MVA, and was the setting for a man having his head sawed off.

Considering all this, RyanAir, Europe’s discount airline service, is way worse.

Let me start from the beginning. So I was heading to Ireland to visit with my boyfriend’s family, and thought a side trip on my “Winter Holiday,” as they call it over here, would be vitally necessary, seeing as three weeks straight on this rainy, foggy rock would be enough to make Kermit the Frog suicidal. My chosen destination for boyf and myself was London, since I have a friend who lives there and it’s a very short flight, hence, easy trip, right? Wrong.

Enter RyanAir.com, in all it’s hideous bright blue and yellow glory. Flights to London for 1 euro! I can’t afford not to go! So I choose my Filene’s Basement-priced ticket and then of course they tack on the “taxes and fees” for God-knows-what, bringing the price for two tickets up to about 50 euros from the original 4 euros I was lured in with. It’s significantly more, but still a deal, wight? Wong.

Then we come to the lovely bit where you choose all the options that will cost you extra. Like checking your bag: an extra 15 euros. I’ll carry it on, thank you very much. Ah, but wait, I was delivering a bottle of specifically purchased Bath & Body Works shower gel to my friend, so I’d have to check it. Damn you Ryan Air!! The tarmac will run red with your blood yet.

So with checking the bag and 7.50 euros for boyf’s travel insurance (pfff) the total fare had gone up to about 75 euros, approximately.

So I proceed to the part of the site where you pay, and since this is a website online and not a fucking MetroCard machine, and I have yet to discover a place on my computer where I can shove cash into, God knows I’ve tried, the assumption is that the only method of accepted payment is electronic, i.e., a credit or debit card. I choose my “preferred method,” Visa obvy, and enter all my precious information. Guess what though. There’s a fee for paying them. I have to pay them to pay them. To give them the pleasure of taking my money.

What the fuck is this? The Soviet Union? Now I know we’re not in America where apple pies roam free across the land, and shady fees and bullshit like this would get a company buried under lawsuits and pissed off fat people, but c’mon, Europe, you’re willing to take this kind of rape with a smile on your face? Seriously??

This sent me into a rage, it was the most utterly insane thing I’d ever heard. So the 1 euro tickets (for two) went up to 50 euros for mysterious “fees,” plus 15 for my bag and 7.50 for “insurance,” then another 20 euros was tacked on because I had inconvenienced them so by giving them the details to my checking account, instead of, what? Hand delivering a suitcase full of money and taking my top off? If I could’ve chosen that option and kept my damn 20 euros, I would have.

All of this took place in front of my computer, and was enough to cause me severe enragement, but it gets better, oh how it gets better (can you sense my sarcasm?) Now there is nowhere left for them to squeeze in an imaginary charge, it’s just not possible… until I get to the airport weeks after I booked the ticket, fully recovered from my previous desire to punch my computer screen right in its face for having the gall to let Ryan Air take me for such a fool. And it turned out that day that boyf was not able to travel with me due to a problem with his passport in the American Embassy.

I go to the desk to check-in, like you would at any other airport for any other flight. What I fail to realize is that I’ve stumbled into crazyland. The employee tells me that I’ll have to pay to check in at a separate desk that’s over 50 feet away. Well, Ryan Air, let me tell you, if anyone knows the meaning of the word “efficient,” it ain’t fuckin’ you guys.

So I got to walk to this other desk, pay them 10 euros for so graciously checking me in for the fucking flight I’ve already paid about 1000% more for than it was advertised, and then get back in the check-in line. So I paid, didn’t make a fuss, stood around and waited for the surly staff to check me in, then was on my way. “At least it’s over,” I thought, “at least it’s all taken care of now.”

Frankly, I’m amazed I got through security without removing my wallet, because at this point I’m sure the airline would charge me for the pleasure of getting a full body cavity search.

The topper on the cake is this: when I was returning to Dublin from London, I got to do it all again. Yep, same thing. Paid for the opportunity to have a frumpy woman stare at me blankly when I foolishly didn’t realize I had to pay, again, to check in at this airport (duh!). But this time I decided I would carry my bag on and take my risks with security finding and discarding the bottle of mouthwash I’d bought. It wouldn’t have been uncharacteristic for them to just rifle through my luggage anyway and take anything that they fancied, as part of the fictitious “conveyor belt operation tax” or some bullshit.

Whatever happened to no taxation without representation, anyway? I don’t know anyone who approved this crap. It’s unconstitutional. That’s right, I’m throwing out the big “U” word, and I’ll certainly be writing to my member of Congress about this non-American business and their non-American business practices. I can only assume that they hate freedom and are aiding terrorists with this kind of nonsense.

By the time it was all over, the tickets which were supposed to cost me 4 euros ended up costing me roughly 140 euros for shit that isn’t even real, and the portion I’d paid for my boyfriend’s ticket went completely to waste. Is that right? Look I’m not a fucking rocket scientist, I can’t do math. All I know is, I got raped and now I can’t sleep at night. Rest assured, they will be getting a looooong complaint letter or two. Or twenty. And ya know, you have to write them a letter because they can’t deal with this sort of thing via email or over the phone. Like I said Ryan Air, go fuck yourself.

And you know what else I don’t appreciate? Being assaulted with shitty advertisements the entire time I’m in the “aircraft.” I don’t want to hear any more about donating to starving children or purchasing “whiskey cognac” or buying a fucking scratch card. I want to get there safely and in silence. Frankly, if I could’ve traveled from Dublin to London on a packed L train, I would’ve preferred that.

Just re-living this experience to tell it is causing me to suffer painful flashbacks, but as a survivor of this kind of jicannery, I know I must tell others of the horrors I’ve endured. Don’t travel with Ryan Air, EVER. Any other airline is cheaper. Ryan Air looks like a deal to begin with, but once you’ve gone through the de-lousing, forced abortions (sorry! only one carry-on!), and mandatory beatings, it’s not at all worth it.

I guess the bright point in all this is that I got to London and back, alive, in this clanky piece of junk they call a “jet.”