I was coming down with something. I could feel it. I very rarely get sick, but when I do, it makes up for lost time.
Our week in San Diego was over. We were standing at the airport, saying our good-byes. I shook my brother's hand, and then embraced him. I had no idea when I would see him again; perhaps he would be deployed before we could meet up. I leaned in the car and offered a valediction to my two nieces and nephew. I would miss them, too. Goodness knows how much the kids would grow before we once again crossed paths.
One last thank-you to my sister-in-law, and we parted ways. How depressing, that it had taken so long to prepare for the week in San Diego. All the planning and all the anticipation; and now it was all over, much too soon.
I was looking forward to being home, but not the flight. If only there was a way to snap my fingers and magically teleport back to Wisconsin. Ashley and I collected our luggage from the curb and made our way into the airport. The routine would be easy enough; check in, check our bags, pass security, and kill an hour at the gate. I'd probably sleep on the flight, unless an infant was nearby. I cringed at the thought. There's that feeling again - I was definitely coming down with something. Man, I wish I could just be home.
It was at that moment that our journey took the most unexpected turn. Ashley and I approached the automated check-in kiosk. I typed in the confirmation number of our flight, and verified that we had two bags to check. A window popped up on the screen. Very simply, it read:
"There is an upgrade available for your flight. Would you like to upgrade to First Class?"
I stood there for a moment and blinked. We could fly home in First Class? There would be a fee; it was small enough that I could afford to do it, but significant enough to make me think twice. What the heck - I didn't even wait for an answer from my wife. One swipe of the credit card, and we were set.
What a difference a swipe of the credit card can make. The kiosk spat out our tickets with the words "FIRST CLASS" emblazoned in bold letters. We approached the check-in area. There was a line, as always. I habitually headed toward the roped corridor, intending to follow the intestinal path. A polite security officer stopped us, and smiled, "Hello, sir - I see you are flying First Class. You may step this way, thank you."
He ushered us down a straight corridor laid with red carpet. There was no line, but most luxuriously, no strollers. I could swear that I heard angels singing.
After an efficient check-in, Ashley and I passed through security and found our gate. This was probably my least favorite single aspect of flying. Every airline boards their aircraft according to seating arrangement. The aircraft is filled aft, to the front, for efficiency. The steward calls passengers according to section. Simple, right?
Leave it to a horde of people to screw up the simplest set of directions. Inevitably, every passenger will mob the gate in anticipation of their section being called, resulting in a massive human clot. This is why people scare me more than a stampeding herd of crazed, wild-eyed, rabid cattle ever will. People cannot follow simple directions.
The announcement was made, "All of our First Class passengers may board the aircraft at this time." A jolt - hey, that's us. You mean I don't have to fight the crowd? I don't have to sit there and wait while someone tries to stuff his or her mobile home into the overhead compartment (what is it about grownups not being able to follow simple directions?) I don't have to climb over anyone? I could get used to this.
We boarded. There was no line. A smiling stewardess took our bags, and stowed them for us. I sat down. Rather, the seat enveloped me. There was sufficient legroom for Ashley to pass by (I always let her have the window seat.) I didn't have to move. The stewardess returned, and actually called us by name, "Hello, you must be Daniel and Ashley. Can I bring you a drink before takeoff?" She did, along with a hot towel and bowl of steamed nuts. We had not even left the ground when my wife leaned over and announced, "I don't care how much this costs - we're flying First Class from now on."
It was without doubt the quietest, most relaxing and comfortable cross-country flight I have ever taken. Although I seriously doubt if we can afford to do it regularly, flying First Class was the perfect means of getting home. There are some luxuries in life that are made more enjoyable when they are only experienced by chance.
When we arrived in Chicago, our bags were ready and waiting. They were marked as priority. No congregating around the carrousel. It just got better and better.
All things considered, my favorite part about flying First Class occurred before we even boarded the aircraft. We were standing in the ramp, just outside the door, about to enter the cabin. A family of four was ahead of us. The little girl, age about 10, leaned up to her father and whispered in his ear, loud enough for me to hear:
"So, if there are any screaming babies seated next to us, can we stuff them into the overhead compartment?"
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
Our week in San Diego was over. We were standing at the airport, saying our good-byes. I shook my brother's hand, and then embraced him. I had no idea when I would see him again; perhaps he would be deployed before we could meet up. I leaned in the car and offered a valediction to my two nieces and nephew. I would miss them, too. Goodness knows how much the kids would grow before we once again crossed paths.
One last thank-you to my sister-in-law, and we parted ways. How depressing, that it had taken so long to prepare for the week in San Diego. All the planning and all the anticipation; and now it was all over, much too soon.
I was looking forward to being home, but not the flight. If only there was a way to snap my fingers and magically teleport back to Wisconsin. Ashley and I collected our luggage from the curb and made our way into the airport. The routine would be easy enough; check in, check our bags, pass security, and kill an hour at the gate. I'd probably sleep on the flight, unless an infant was nearby. I cringed at the thought. There's that feeling again - I was definitely coming down with something. Man, I wish I could just be home.
It was at that moment that our journey took the most unexpected turn. Ashley and I approached the automated check-in kiosk. I typed in the confirmation number of our flight, and verified that we had two bags to check. A window popped up on the screen. Very simply, it read:
"There is an upgrade available for your flight. Would you like to upgrade to First Class?"
I stood there for a moment and blinked. We could fly home in First Class? There would be a fee; it was small enough that I could afford to do it, but significant enough to make me think twice. What the heck - I didn't even wait for an answer from my wife. One swipe of the credit card, and we were set.
What a difference a swipe of the credit card can make. The kiosk spat out our tickets with the words "FIRST CLASS" emblazoned in bold letters. We approached the check-in area. There was a line, as always. I habitually headed toward the roped corridor, intending to follow the intestinal path. A polite security officer stopped us, and smiled, "Hello, sir - I see you are flying First Class. You may step this way, thank you."
He ushered us down a straight corridor laid with red carpet. There was no line, but most luxuriously, no strollers. I could swear that I heard angels singing.
After an efficient check-in, Ashley and I passed through security and found our gate. This was probably my least favorite single aspect of flying. Every airline boards their aircraft according to seating arrangement. The aircraft is filled aft, to the front, for efficiency. The steward calls passengers according to section. Simple, right?
Leave it to a horde of people to screw up the simplest set of directions. Inevitably, every passenger will mob the gate in anticipation of their section being called, resulting in a massive human clot. This is why people scare me more than a stampeding herd of crazed, wild-eyed, rabid cattle ever will. People cannot follow simple directions.
The announcement was made, "All of our First Class passengers may board the aircraft at this time." A jolt - hey, that's us. You mean I don't have to fight the crowd? I don't have to sit there and wait while someone tries to stuff his or her mobile home into the overhead compartment (what is it about grownups not being able to follow simple directions?) I don't have to climb over anyone? I could get used to this.
We boarded. There was no line. A smiling stewardess took our bags, and stowed them for us. I sat down. Rather, the seat enveloped me. There was sufficient legroom for Ashley to pass by (I always let her have the window seat.) I didn't have to move. The stewardess returned, and actually called us by name, "Hello, you must be Daniel and Ashley. Can I bring you a drink before takeoff?" She did, along with a hot towel and bowl of steamed nuts. We had not even left the ground when my wife leaned over and announced, "I don't care how much this costs - we're flying First Class from now on."
It was without doubt the quietest, most relaxing and comfortable cross-country flight I have ever taken. Although I seriously doubt if we can afford to do it regularly, flying First Class was the perfect means of getting home. There are some luxuries in life that are made more enjoyable when they are only experienced by chance.
When we arrived in Chicago, our bags were ready and waiting. They were marked as priority. No congregating around the carrousel. It just got better and better.
All things considered, my favorite part about flying First Class occurred before we even boarded the aircraft. We were standing in the ramp, just outside the door, about to enter the cabin. A family of four was ahead of us. The little girl, age about 10, leaned up to her father and whispered in his ear, loud enough for me to hear:
"So, if there are any screaming babies seated next to us, can we stuff them into the overhead compartment?"
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
