First Class, Last Nerve

Having just returned from a trip via American Airlines to visit my sister in North Carolina, I once again was delighted to experience the phenomenon known disparagingly as “gate lice.”

At MSP, people were relatively civilized: around 15 people made an “I vow to be the first in line” queue along the wall but out of the way.

In Charlotte, the CLT crowd was considerably more unruly.

30 minutes before boarding, they formed two enormous lines, one behind the sign for groups 1-5, and another of equal length behind the sign for groups 6 and up.

Yes, they stalwartly announce, multiple times, that people are not to get in line until their group has been called, but it does absolutely no good whatsoever.

I just sat off to the side watching the spectacle unfold.

So far not all that ridiculous. But then came the intercom announcement that, “We are now boarding our first class customers.”

Since I was flying first class, ideally I would then get up and get in line to be processed through the gate.

That’s not what happened. Instead, all pandemonium broke loose.

At that point every single passenger stood up and rushed the gate, forming a nearly impenetrable throng of humanity filling in all space around the erstwhile lines, completely obliterating them.

On previous trips I’ve ended up boarding behind everyone else since I meekly obey all the rules, wait my turn, then go to the end of the line.

This time, thanks to this insanity, there was no line.

I forced my way through the crowd towards the approximate location of the first class line as if there were such a thing, to discover that it did sort of exist.

It was comprised of the few actual first class passengers who were actually moving forward through the gate instead of just staring dully ahead, standing cheek to jowl with the rest of the rabble. It was only visible if you were looking on with a cougar’s vision, finely attuned to movement.

I positioned myself near the end of this nearly imperceptible line and was processed in a reasonable fashion.

I’m told people do this in part because overhead bin space is at a premium and people don’t want to be forced to check their carryons once the bins are full.

I avoid all this by voluntarily checking my carryon and only bringing a small satchel onboard with my iPad, Kindle, and essential medicine in case my luggage gets lost or delayed.

Racing to find space in the overhead bins and struggling to fit my bags up there while jostling with the other combatants in the fray? Ain’t nobody got time for that.

For even more craziness, we used to negotiate all this with Alice using a wheelchair and/or crutches. Hoo, boy, that was something.

Yes, wheelchair passengers are the first to board, even before first class, and you probably think that’s a pretty sweet deal, but that also means my wife and I were the last ones out at our destination. That’s an extra 40 minutes or so in those airplane seats for us, so it’s maybe not as awesome as you might think.

One common occurrence would be consternation from fellow passengers discovering my wife’s crutches when trying to fit their bags into the overhead bins.

We board an empty airplane and put the crutches in an empty overhead bin. Usually the flight attendant does it for us; she won’t allow us to keep them with us. And then we wait for the first person to discover them.

Usually people were cool about it. Sometimes they were not.

“Oh, for the love of… who would leave crutches up here?” one fellow demanded, waving the crutches in the air and looking around the cabin with a challenging glare.

I didn’t say a word. I was afraid he’d thrust them at me, demanding we find a different place for them.

After an uncomfortable silence, he huffed as he fit his bags into the overhead, then angrily slid the crutches on top of them.

One woman in a crowded airport tripped on one leg of her wheelchair and whirled around snarling, daggers in her eyes, then saw my wife sitting there in her chair and went, “Oh, I’m so sorry, so sorry, sorry…”

People just need to calm down a little bit, don’t you think?

On the other hand, we had one child point at her wheelchair and ask, “Mommy, why’s that lady riding in that thing?”

You know how you want to sink through the floor when that happens? Well, forget it. It’s a perfectly normal question and your kid is so stinking cute we couldn’t possibly take offense.

We never flew first class when Alice was with me. That came later—after her passing, after retirement, after life allowed for a few extra comforts.

One regret? I should’ve paid the extra money, at least once.

Just once.

On the flight out to North Carolina I was next to a woman travelling with her little one, and she dealt with her so flawlessly I was impressed.

She had her baby bundled in a baby carrier, sleeping placidly against her chest; from time to time there was a soft gurgle or a coo as she typed away on her laptop.

Every once in a while she would pause to snuggle and bestow a flurry of kisses on her darling, for no discernable reason other than the sheer joy of it.

It reminded me of the following story:

I’m boarding my flight for my computer conference and I’m praying for three things: that the plane doesn’t crash (natch), that I stay humble even though I’m scheduled to be the keynote speaker and expected to sign autographs (that could be a challenge), and, “God, if there is a baby on this flight, I’d like to be sitting in the next seat.”

Why, you ask?

Plot twist: I like babies.

People take babies on flights and it’d be nice for them to be next to someone who wouldn’t be annoyed. When I’m on a flight with a fussing baby I always think wistfully, “Oh, I wish I was by them so they wouldn’t be bothering anyone.”

Delta didn’t assign my seat until the very last moment, and they didn’t ask me what seat I wanted, so I got row 39… the very last row of the plane (keep Rick humble, check!)… right next to a charming couple with the cutest baby I have ever seen (well, besides mine).

God answers prayer! I sat down next to them, saw the baby and said, “Wow! I got the best seat on the plane!” Then I worried that they might think I was being sarcastic.

The baby began to fuss and the young woman said, “Oh, I hope our baby doesn’t bother you.”

“Not in the least,” I replied. “No worries, I’m a grandpa; I’ve seen it all.” She returned my grin with a relieved expression.

And then as a extra special treat for being so nice, God also gave me the loud autistic man on my left. But he turned out to be a pretty nice guy, despite the extra commotion, and by the end of the flight we were all best of friends.