Every time I board an airplane, I participate in a ritual so magnificently stupid that it could only have been designed by a committee of people who have never actually been on an airplane.

The process works like this: First, they invite the people sitting in the front of the plane—the ones with the wide seats and complimentary mixed nuts—to board first. These passengers stroll down the jetway like they’re entering a spa, while the rest of us, crammed into the gate area like sardines auditioning for a smaller can, watch them with the kind of silent, murderous rage usually reserved for people who bring acoustic guitars to parties.

Then, and this is the beautiful part, everyone else has to walk past these seated first-class passengers to get to their seats in the back. It’s a parade of resentment. A gauntlet of class warfare. The first-class people are already sipping their pre-flight champagne, and we’re shuffling past them with our oversized backpacks, making eye contact that says, “I see you, and I hope your noise-canceling headphones malfunction.”

Here’s the thing: there is an obviously better way to do this. It’s so obvious that a reasonably intelligent golden retriever could figure it out. You board from the back of the plane forward. Row 35 gets on first, sits down, stows their stuff. Then Row 34. Then Row 33. Like a reverse avalanche of human beings, filling the plane efficiently from tail to nose. No one blocking the aisle. No one waiting while someone in Row 12 tries to fit a suitcase the size of a dishwasher into an overhead bin designed for a loaf of bread. It would be faster, smoother, and would prevent roughly 73%, give or take a tantrum, of the homicidal thoughts currently generated by commercial air travel.

But airlines don’t do this. They do the exact opposite. Why? The official explanation involves something about “premium customer experience” and “loyalty program benefits.” Which is corporate-speak for “we want rich people to feel special.” And sure, I get it. First-class passengers paid more, so they get to board first, recline their seats into actual beds, and enjoy the schadenfreude of watching economy passengers realize their “seat” is actually just a medieval torture device with a tray table.

But I think the real reason is darker and more primal: the overhead bins.

See, airlines have systematically reduced the number of bags you can check for free, which means everyone now carries on luggage that would have been considered a steamer trunk in 1952. We’re all terrified that if we don’t board early enough, there won’t be any overhead bin space left, and we’ll have to gate-check our bag, which feels like a personal failure on par with forgetting your own birthday. So first-class boards first to claim the bins. Then “premium” passengers. Then people with credit cards. Then people who made eye contact with the gate agent. The whole system is built around scarcity and anxiety, not logic.

And here’s what gets me: we all know this is insane. Every single person in that gate area understands that the process is backwards and inefficient. But we accept it. We participate in it. We don’t even really complain about it anymore, except in the form of jokes we make while standing in line.

This is how broken systems work. They’re not broken because no one notices. They’re broken because noticing doesn’t feel like enough. The looking is supposed to be the work, but we’ve convinced ourselves that the looking is pointless unless it comes with a solution, and solutions require power we don’t have. So we board the plane backwards, every single time, complicit in our own frustration, glaring at first class while they sip their champagne and we fight over bins.

The plane takes off. We all get to the same destination. And tomorrow, we’ll do it again.