Self -entitlement is deeply rooted into our society, We work hard to purchase that gas-guzzling Hummer and rack up overtime to buy that coveted pair of glossy cherry Christian Louboutins. Well deserved. Bravo even, but enough is enough.

In a world where everyone has a case of me first and the gimme gimmes, I’ve come to find that high flying airplanes is where they hold their conventions to exercise their right to be all about themselves.

Those hours of brainstorming the big deal or the trophies that align their walls don’t give them the right to demand the rest of us give in to their grandstanding ways.

Don’t get me wrong, I definitely came into this industry with starstruck eyes and delusions of grandeur that would rival those of Anne Frank. A large part of me still believes people are good at heart. Some of the passengers I’ve encountered would tell you otherwise.

A woman with skin like a reptile once barked at me to lift her oversized Louis Vuitton into the overhead bins. Fearing she packed bricks, I sweetly suggested we check the bag to avoid injury. She whipped around, shooting daggers from her eyes, and declared, “That bag is worth more than you make in a year, there’s no way you’re checking my s***.”

It took everything in my power not to chuck that Chinatown knockoff at her head, and the restraint of a nun to force a smile while I handed the bag back to her.

Another gross example of narcissism happened when a larger woman suddenly became ill and passed out in front of the lavatory door. Between three flight attendants, we were having a hard time moving her when we felt the passenger in the bathroom forcing the door open. Ignoring our requests for a moment to move her, the impatient man squeezed out the barely-ajar door and stepped over the woman, declaring that he “had work waiting for him at this seat.”

One of my favorite “extra special passenger” stories is the one that decided cursing out a gate agent for a three-hour delay was the best way to expedite the extended wait. Shouting and making a scene, the passenger demanded to know how the airline could do such a thing to him, yelling the overused phrase “Do you know who I am?”

Instantly recognizing that appeasing the passenger by throwing back insults would be useless, the gate agent calmly picked up the P.A. system and cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please, can I have your attention please?”

The boarding area grew quiet and turned their eyes to the speaker and Mr. Big Shot, waiting for the gate agent’s words.

“Does ANYONE know who this man is?”

The gate agent and I still talk about that day, when we watched Mr. Big Shot turn purple and run away and never return to board the flight.

Most of my reactions to these peacocks kept me from losing my job, but still chop away at my belief that there’s any hope for humanity. To those miserable self-absorbed characters in the world, I say, get over yourself.

Make way for the easy-going passengers that smile, say please and thank you and those not consumed with themselves. Those are the passengers that I bend over backwards for. Those are the people that I will gladly roll out a red carpet for.