So, let me tell you about my first time flying first class. On the way back last weekend, for some reason still unbeknowst to me I was seated in First Class, this strange section of the plane that I had always passed on the way to the area where they fold the plebians into neat little pockets and keep under the plane. Never before have I ever sit in first class, but apparently American executes as poor judgment in seating as they do in on board meals, so there I was in the absolute front most (passenger) seat of the airplane.
I learned the luxury of privilege first when, as the peasants in the back were shuffling about, a woman came up to me and asked, “Mr. Spectre, may I get you something to drink?”
My initial reaction was one of alarm. How did this woman know my name? Why was she wearing a uniform? Maybe she was an operations agent from some clandestine government agency and “may I get you something to drink” was actually a code prompt, Mission: Impossible style?
Shrewdly, my mind raced through every Bond film I have seen until I looked up at her and replied suavely, “Why yes. Do you have tomato juice?”
She smiled and replied, “Yes.”
I nodded and said, “Then I would like the tomato juice.”
Then she got it for me. I was a little disappointed it wasn’t microfilm or something.
So there I was, with tomato juice and pretzels before coach even had their bags in the overhead bins. I had a remarkably comfortable seat, a full selection of personal videos, and the latest issue of Mobile PC. In short, I was fucking hooked up.
What I was not, however, was fitting in. With my green chuckies, Less Than Jake hat, and Nintendo T-shirt, I was certainly defining business casual for the flight with a populace of mostly affluent salesmen, a CEO of a small company, and a trust fund sorority girl. I actually had a couple people come up and ask if I was in Less Than Jake, to which I had to sadly reply, “No, I’m in a band that’s far worse.” They smiled, I gave them the website, and undoubtedly they are currently rueing the day they ever spoke with me.
Time passed and I had my drink refilled near constantly and tons of amenties that made the flight distinctly more comfortable, not the least of which being as far from the fucking engine as possible. However, as we neared Boston it was clear that shit was about to get pretty Western.
For the better part of the flight, all I saw out the window was cloud. Soupy and New England clam chowder looking, the ice accumulating on the window clearly indicated blizzard, but aborting our first landing confirmed it. The plane before us had crashed on the only runway that was left open and the rest of us were left moseying around Boston hoping to land. We would try to land two more times before finally getting it right, which sent us sliding sideways for a good while and almost exhausting all of the emergency runway.
After this ridiculously harrowing landing and everyone cheered and breathed huge sighs of relief the real benefit of First Class was clear.
“Mr. Spectre, do you need a moisty napkin?”
Yes, Agent 99. Yes I did.