First Class

Last week I flew to Chicago in style; Non-stop and first class all the way, baby.  I was living large with the heavy hitters on the front of the plane; Full meal service, hot towel to clean my soiled hands, and, best of all, leg room, ah, leg room. 

This week I’m riding in the cargo hold with the rest of humanity.

I haven’t flown with this particular airline since Nancy and I were just married.  I remember showing her how to use her elbows, like Carl Malone used to, by holding them out to the sides and roll-jabbing them slowly but decidedly from side to side.  

I can see already, sitting here in the terminal, that flying with this airline is still not going to work for me.  I know I’m hard to please, but this seems ridiculous; Hundreds of people crammed at the furthest end of the airport terminal, waiting to stand in line - by their assigned number - so they can be crammed into a full airplane.     

Contrast this with leaving Chicago’s O’Hare Airport on Friday afternoon where, with a priority seating pass, I was the first person on and off of the plane.  Not that this is normal for me; normally I don’t travel this much.  And when I do, I usually drive.  But, this time I got lucky and found a little trick that allowed me, for a mere $5 per ticket, to upgrade from cabin class to first class.  I had no idea I had stumbled onto such an amazing find until I was sitting on the plane.  Oh, it was glorious.  And, sadly, I fear, for the rest of my life, it will make flying any other way a sad and sorry, counterfeit, experience.  Now I know better.  This isn’t always a good thing.