![]() As I drag my bags toward the back galley, even the pleather seats are cold to the touch. I’ve clearly arrived during Arctic Phase. It’s great fun for everyone, and the reason I end most trips with a stopped-up nose and a sore throat. Then, once we’ve shed our sweaters, pulled our hair up, and stuffed our pockets with tissues to dab at the sweat slipping down our necks, it overcompensates with air-con until every passenger on board is waving at me with blanket requests. Rather than commit to a moderate temperature, it prefers to pump hot air into the cabin until it feels like a sauna. ![]() There’s a time-honored game the plane likes to play with its crew.
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