Why Frontier Airlines Is a Masterclass in Hustle—and a Cautionary Tale for Life

Imagine stepping into a world where customer service is optional, rules are fluid, and everything comes with a price tag—even your dignity. That’s Frontier Airlines in a nutshell. But as I sat there, clutching my $3.99 water bottle and pondering how I was now $850 poorer for a trip that started as a $300 dream, it hit me: we should all live like Frontier Airlines. Hear me out.

The Check-In Hustle: Proof That Confidence Beats Facts

Frontier taught me a valuable lesson before I even got past security: never let reality get in the way of your narrative. Here I was, confidently checking in on my phone, only to be told by an employee that I hadn’t. No boarding pass, she said, despite the fact that my phone was clearly glowing with the words BOARDING PASS. When she finally acknowledged its existence, she gave me the type of begrudging nod you’d reserve for a teenager mumbling, “You were right.”

This is a reminder to live life boldly. Tell people the sky is green and stick to it until they physically show you it’s blue. Even then, squint and say, “Are you sure?” Frontier employees don’t back down, and neither should you.

Baggage Drama: Minimal Effort, Maximum Profit

Frontier doesn’t just charge you for bags—they charge you for every bag-related feeling. Want to carry your bag? $69. Want to stow your bag? $69. Want your bag to weigh more than a small dog? Unacceptable. When my 48-pound bag was declared overweight (because Frontier caps at 40 pounds), I found myself frantically transferring items into my husband’s bag like I was on Supermarket Sweep. I even had to throw away brand-new shampoo, only for the same employee to hover nearby and micromanage the process.

Here’s the life lesson: set ridiculous boundaries and enforce them unapologetically. Who cares if your rules make no sense? Rules are for your benefit, not theirs. And if you can make $69 every time someone crosses your invisible line, even better.

The In-Flight Fiasco: When Chaos Meets Capitalism

Once we were seated—after paying extra for the privilege, of course—it became clear that Frontier doesn’t just sell seats. They sell survival.

The bathroom at the front? “Out of order,” said the flight attendant, who later waltzed out of said bathroom and sanitized her hands like nothing happened. Want a snack? That’ll be $8.99 for a pack of peanuts and $3.99 for a sip of Sprite. At one point, I thought water might be complimentary, but no. Hydration costs extra. Frontier Airlines: where even your thirst is monetized.

And yet, I couldn’t help but admire the audacity. Frontier doesn’t try to impress you; they just outlast you. When life hands you complaints, shrug, charge $8.99 for empathy, and keep moving.

Life Imitates Frontier

Here’s the kicker: Frontier doesn’t care if you like them. They don’t care if you tweet about them, write a scathing review, or vow to never return. Why? Because they already have your money.

Now imagine if we all lived like that: • In marriage: Give the bare minimum and still expect flowers for your anniversary. • At work: Deliver half of what’s asked and still push for a raise. • In friendships: Show up late, eat their snacks, and still leave with the leftover wine.

Frontier is a metaphor for life: set your price, ignore the haters, and always sell the credit card. Yes, they tried to sell me a Frontier Airlines credit card mid-flight—as if I’d ever willingly return. But you know what? I respected the grind.

Final Thoughts

Frontier Airlines is a dumpster fire with wings. They charge for the smoke, the flames, and the ash you leave behind. And yet, in their chaos, they teach us all a valuable lesson: know your worth and then charge double. Just don’t forget to pack light—and avoid the paralyzed woman in Row 12 if you value your peace.

-Reina A