Zone La-Dee-Da

Steve and I splurged and flew first class to Fort Lauderdale. I had never flown first class before but I was surprised how fast I copped a bit of an attitude about it.

First of all (sigh), there was all this rabble in our way when we got in line to board. We were in Zone 1 but they should really have called it Zone La-Dee-Da because that’s how we felt. I was just annoyed because (God) all these people in the steerage of Zones 5 and 6 (ugh) were in the way. It was going to be 10 or 15 minutes before they got on so I don’t know why they didn’t hang back and let us through.

The stewardess offered us a drink before those in coach were even in their seats. I later got a second drink: ginger ale served in a real glass. And Reader, they left me the rest of the can. They left me the rest of the can.

We even had our choice of snacks, presented to us in a cute little basket. I had the pretzels. It was between breakfast and lunch so I really didn’t need anything but they were free and when someone offers you free stuff, you take it.

So we got to stretch out and watch the peasants trudge past us. Some guy was walking by and said to his friend, “There’s first class. We’re not allowed to talk to them. He sounded like he was kidding but I could have assured him he was closer to the truth than he knew. There’s a reason a curtain separates our castes, buddy.

I should have worn a sleep mask to look like a real douchebag to everyone who walked by. We would have been outclassed in the douchebag department by the couple in row 1. They each had their own fancy pillow in a special plastic bag. Now, I don’t mind a little high-maintenance in the friendly skies so I could have given them a pass on the pillows but the plastic cases were a little much. If there’s ever a major disaster that disrupts society and forces us to scrounge to survive, these people have a very remote chance of survival.  

We flew home coach, all the way back down to Earth.