I have learned a lot of things from airports. First and foremost, no matter how “safe” your child scissors are, they are not safe for a plane (learned that the hard way). Second, expect others to treat you as if you do not exist. After all, the world revolves around them. Third, airports provide some of the best people watching on this planet; be sure to take advantage of that. And finally, when you are upgraded to first class while your father remains in coach, take every available opportunity to rub it in his face.
Now boarding first class.
“Well, I’ll see you when we land,” I grinned. Dad pretended to roll his eyes and shooed me away without another word. I handed the unenthused flight attendant my ticket and proceeded down the hallway, my carry-on suitcase clicking behind me. I relaxed into the softer-than-coach seat, seeping into the luxurious leg-room. Soon, envious faces were inching past, heading towards the crowded, musty, nightmare that was coach seating. Portly men talking into Bluetooth headsets, exhausted mothers towing their already wailing children, and the occasional over-dressed woman plodded down the aisle. When my dad came into view, I made a big show of spreading out, even complaining to him about the possibility of my carry-on sliding around with all of this room I had.
He was swallowed by the crowd before I knew it and I turned my attention to the small window. I eyed the heavy jackets the scuttling workers wore below and took satisfaction in the fact that those would not be needed where Dad and I were going: San Diego, California. Outside, I watched the small clouds of their breaths and felt grateful for the warmth inside the plane.Soon, the plane took off, and a flight attendant hurried over to my seat as soon as we had reached altitude, notepad in hand.
“We have two options for dinner tonight,” he declared. “Would you like our farfalle pasta with marinara sauce or grilled chicken? Both come with a slice of cheesecake for dessert.”
I gave the man my order and he swiveled to the next person. I pitied my dad in the back of the plane feasting on meager portions of pretzels, likely being subjected to some blubbering baby that I was not able to hear from the front.
Dinner was presented with a flourish. When the waiter came back to ask me what I would like to do with my cheesecake, I asked if he could possibly bring it out to coach for my dad. He was all too happy to oblige, and I could only imagine my dad’s face as he watched the finely-dressed man proceeded down the cramped plane aisle carrying an embellished slice of cheesecake.
I spent the remainder of the flight enjoying the various commodities of first-class life. My phone was fully charged by touch-down thanks to the built-in outlets, and I had drunk my fill of soda and water out of real mugs. As the plane descended, my favorite waiter returned and offered me a warm, cloth towelette. I paused, perplexed, now aware this was a real thing and not just something old-school movie butlers offered. Also, I was faced with the dilemma as to what one actually does with a warm towelette, so I politely declined.
Inside the San Diego terminal, I waited for my dad to drag himself from the farthest end of the plane out to where I patiently waited. His eyes fell on me, and he started laughing and shaking his head.
“Cheesecake... really?” he chuckled.
“I thought it would be nice to give back to my favorite lowly peasant in coach,” I sneered and we exploded.
“Well played,” he placed a hand on my shoulder and led me through the cacophony of the other passengers searching for their own families. We wound our way through the crowd, collected our bags from the baggage claim, and, finally, pushed out of the airport doors into the lukewarm, San Diego sunlight. Palm trees stood like soldiers leading the way towards a week of sunshine, shopping, and uninterrupted time with my dad.
Now boarding first class.
“Well, I’ll see you when we land,” I grinned. Dad pretended to roll his eyes and shooed me away without another word. I handed the unenthused flight attendant my ticket and proceeded down the hallway, my carry-on suitcase clicking behind me. I relaxed into the softer-than-coach seat, seeping into the luxurious leg-room. Soon, envious faces were inching past, heading towards the crowded, musty, nightmare that was coach seating. Portly men talking into Bluetooth headsets, exhausted mothers towing their already wailing children, and the occasional over-dressed woman plodded down the aisle. When my dad came into view, I made a big show of spreading out, even complaining to him about the possibility of my carry-on sliding around with all of this room I had.
He was swallowed by the crowd before I knew it and I turned my attention to the small window. I eyed the heavy jackets the scuttling workers wore below and took satisfaction in the fact that those would not be needed where Dad and I were going: San Diego, California. Outside, I watched the small clouds of their breaths and felt grateful for the warmth inside the plane.Soon, the plane took off, and a flight attendant hurried over to my seat as soon as we had reached altitude, notepad in hand.
“We have two options for dinner tonight,” he declared. “Would you like our farfalle pasta with marinara sauce or grilled chicken? Both come with a slice of cheesecake for dessert.”
I gave the man my order and he swiveled to the next person. I pitied my dad in the back of the plane feasting on meager portions of pretzels, likely being subjected to some blubbering baby that I was not able to hear from the front.
Dinner was presented with a flourish. When the waiter came back to ask me what I would like to do with my cheesecake, I asked if he could possibly bring it out to coach for my dad. He was all too happy to oblige, and I could only imagine my dad’s face as he watched the finely-dressed man proceeded down the cramped plane aisle carrying an embellished slice of cheesecake.
I spent the remainder of the flight enjoying the various commodities of first-class life. My phone was fully charged by touch-down thanks to the built-in outlets, and I had drunk my fill of soda and water out of real mugs. As the plane descended, my favorite waiter returned and offered me a warm, cloth towelette. I paused, perplexed, now aware this was a real thing and not just something old-school movie butlers offered. Also, I was faced with the dilemma as to what one actually does with a warm towelette, so I politely declined.
Inside the San Diego terminal, I waited for my dad to drag himself from the farthest end of the plane out to where I patiently waited. His eyes fell on me, and he started laughing and shaking his head.
“Cheesecake... really?” he chuckled.
“I thought it would be nice to give back to my favorite lowly peasant in coach,” I sneered and we exploded.
“Well played,” he placed a hand on my shoulder and led me through the cacophony of the other passengers searching for their own families. We wound our way through the crowd, collected our bags from the baggage claim, and, finally, pushed out of the airport doors into the lukewarm, San Diego sunlight. Palm trees stood like soldiers leading the way towards a week of sunshine, shopping, and uninterrupted time with my dad.