Recently, I decided to record all the “firsts” in my life. Time passes. And what do you know? Memories fade. Details become fuzzy. Last Thursday, omw from the UK to the USA. I flew first class. For the first time. My curiosity about what happens behind those curtains was finally satisfied. We’ve all done it. Craned our necks. Trying to get a glimpse of how the “other half” flies. Today I found out. Thanks to a family member with connections.
At 7:15 am, I arrived at Heathrow airport. Bleary eyed from lack of sleep. As the cab driver unloaded my suitcases, I cast a long look at them. Briefly wondering how I managed to stuff almost two years of my life into two. And a carry on. On a whim, I decided to hire a porter to tote the heavy, red monsters inside. A luxury yes. But then again, I blamed it on wanting to have the total experience. True.
Here is what yours truly will remember:
One last note; one of the flight attendants is a human version of a tree trunk. No doubt, a wrestler in his down time. It was comical to see him with bread rolls politely asking: “Would you like another roll ma’am?”. Then again, I awoke from my nap. Looked over. And saw him curled in a fetal position, wearing an eye mask, fast asleep. I won’t forget that image.
It will be hard to fly coach again. Knowing just beyond the thin curtains, the “others” are receiving royal treatment. Coach tickets can cost a small fortune. Many drive. Take the train. Or coach. Because of the exorbitant cost of flying. That night I thought to myself: why can’t all of us be treated this way when we fly?
Well, then. On with life.
Until the next post,
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