Much like junk mail that’s lucky enough to be sent via airplane instead of by truck, I travel third-class as do most people. That’s always been my mode of travel when flying because of cost. I once flew fourth-class or “cargo status” in a tiny Cherokee Arrow aircraft, sitting on cases of food destined for a rural Alaskan village. There was no seat or seatbelt.
My tail was frigid by the time we arrived—warm flesh becoming well-acquainted with Green Giant brand frozen vegetables before touching down in Flat, Alaska.
A friend tells folks he strictly flies first-class. I once corrected him by saying he actually travels second-class. That upset the fellow and he quickly responded,
“There’s no such thing as second-class!”
I’ve had other friends, family, and acquaintances tell me the same with them all being wrong. By now, you’re probably wondering what is this guy talking about? Keep reading and you’ll see.
I thought I’d flown “first-class” twice in my life, but eventually came to the realization it wasn’t true. The first time I believed this happened was when I transported our Yellow Nape Amazon parrot “Jesse” from Alaska to Arizona.
Alaska Airlines made me purchase a supposed first-class ticket, saying there’d be more room up front where his small traveling cage was concerned. It cost me a few extra dollars to do so but was worth it in the end (pun intended).
The airline should’ve paid me, because Jesse entertained the dozen or so passengers around me from takeoff to landing.
The second time was when a flight attendant politely inquired if I’d mind sitting in the first row. They’d overbooked coach and my seat was needed. Why they picked my carcass I’ll never know. I’m sure it had nothing to do with good looks. Believing that I was flying first-class those two times was actually a misnomer.
Leaning back in my cushy leather seat on that second trip, I was on top of the world. The flight attendant had just brought a steamy hot towel, at the same time, asking what entrée I wanted for dinner—miraculously there was a choice. It was during this second excursion that I “saw the light” regarding what first-class really is.
Glancing around the cabin, I observed what appeared to be business people, yet recognized no celebrities, sports jocks, or politicians. Business folks generally sit up front because of their abundant frequent flier miles and nothing else. Frugal folks like me choose to save a few bucks and join the commoners in back.
On that second, supposed first-class experience—as we waited for a motorized tug to pull the Boeing 747 away from our terminal, I looked out the window spotting something that immediately caught my eye. Several hundred feet away was a red brick, two-story, executive flight facility, with sleek Lear Jets and Cessna Citations parked on the asphalt tarmac in front of it.
“Just one time,” I thought to myself.
As I continued staring, a shiny black limousine rolled up. The driver stopped in front of a short set of stairs connected to one of the executive jets. A man in a suit quickly exited, and then walked to the rear of his limo, opening doors for a middle-aged couple and their two children.
The family looked excited as they boarded their stylish jet. Continuing to stare as the limousine driver unloaded bags, he accepted a tip from what I assumed to be a crew member. That’s when reality slapped me upside the head.
“Now, that’s first-class!”
From that point on, first class on a commercial jet became second-class to me. For those wanting to argue the point, go ahead. Each time I drive by the Lake Havasu City Airport, I generally see a couple of sleek jets parked outside. Without question, this is the ultimate way to fly, and I’m sure the lucky folks owning or leasing these multi-million dollar planes will agree.
Years ago, my brother equated passengers boarding airplanes to cattle being herded onto trucks. That unique thought stuck in my mind and hasn’t let go. On a car show junket several years back, my brother-in-law, Calvin, bellowed like a steer upon entering the cabin. He could imitate this animal sound to perfection. As if rehearsed, another guy standing behind him let out another perfect,
“Mooooooo.”
Several people in line laughed with a flight attendant doing the same. As we slowly moved through the second-class section, not one chuckle came from those folks.
If you were to ask me why, I’d say they didn’t want anyone thinking they came from the same herd!
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