Dear Passenger in 4A,

Good morning and welcome aboard today’s flight to Park City—the land of fresh powder, $19 lattes, and people who consider 7 a.m. “late.” And yet somehow, at this ungodly hour, you’ve decided to light up like it’s a smoky après-ski lounge.

Just a quick PSA: smoking hasn’t been allowed on airplanes since the days when leg warmers were a fashion statement and Dynasty ruled prime time. So unless you just teleported here from a ski chalet in 1985, please extinguish your Marlboro before my complimentary coffee starts tasting like an ashtray.

If you really need that rustic “mountain smoke” aesthetic this early, might I suggest a fireplace at the St. Regis? Very alpine, very chic, and significantly less likely to trigger the smoke alarms at 30,000 feet.

Sincerely,

Where the F*ck Have You Been Hiding (and why are you already this chaotic before breakfast?)