There’s a breed of traveller, a devil-may-care breed, that drives me crazy, writes Tim Roxborogh.

Literally every flight I've been on, this happens. And this is not incorrect usage of the word "literally" - not like a league commentator saying, "McCracken's literally tearing up the sideline!" Is McCracken "literally" tearing up the sideline? Is he really performing some serious earthworks to the field while the game is taking place? Is my example of incorrect usage of the word "literally" inexplicably from the 1990s? All good questions.

So, not like that. As in, literally every time I fly, almost the instant the plane's wheels make their first kiss of the runway on landing, you hear the clink of a seatbelt unfastened.

Who are these Touchdown Un-clickers who can't wait until the plane has stopped? It's such a bizarre act of underwhelming, inconsequential rebellion that it seems worthy of more analysis.

What is the Touchdown Un-clicker trying to say? Because it has to be a statement. It's surely impossible to fly without knowing that the rule is that you don't un-click until the plane is completely parked as indicated by the sign and the little beepy noise. Even if it was your first flight you'd soon learn this was the deal.


Combine this with the difficulty in unclicking an airline seatbelt without noise, this suggests a possibly subconscious, possibly conscious, desire by the Touchdown Un-clicker to be noticed. It's as if the Touchdown Un-clicker is hoping for a few sideways glances from the more preppy, still buckled-up passengers. Glances that say "I wish I could be so devil-may-care in life that I could unclick a seatbelt at 3 km/h and think to hell with the consequences!"

Not all of us can be so cool; so reckless; so intoxicatingly dangerous. That said, there is admittedly a whole other category of Touchdown Un-clicker. This is the person who un-clicks and stands up. Even better is when the plane is clearly still moving and this person is opening up the overhead locker. Your traditional Touchdown Un-clicker will quietly mock these people for going too far, while the rest of us - scrambling flight attendants included - struggle to comprehend either the ignorance or arrogance.

My favourite flight for Touchdown Un-clicking was a little jaunt from Singapore to the southern Indian city of Thiruvananthapuram, back in 2014. A spectacular name, no question, perhaps befitting the spectacular airline practices of the people who fly there.

No one was in their allocated seat and the flight was significantly delayed. Jumbo suitcases were squeezed overhead and seats reclined and tray tables unfolded before take off.

It was so farcical I just embraced it. And then about four hours later, as soon as that little shriek of rubber on Indian tarmac sounded, so did the ring of 100 seatbelts unclicking.

Did they not know? Did they not care? I guess there was safety (not in an aviation sense) in numbers as the flight crew were powerless to re-seat so many passengers. I may have even slyly unclicked myself, feeling a rush of adrenaline that hinted at the bad-boy lifestyle I could have had.

But to be a Touchdown Un-clicker in normal circumstances is unacceptable. I literally die every time I hear it.

Tim Roxborogh hosts Newstalk ZB's The Two on Sunday nights (8pm-11pm), does cricket commentary for Radio Sport and writes at