First Class Idiot

In all of my travels and just plain people watching, I find one of the most amazing things is the social environment that is created by the various airlines. Buying a "first-class" ticket has a lot of weight to it in this little micro-society.
The frills with flying first-class include:

• A seat big enough for you're a$$ to actually fit in with armrests wide enough to not cut off circulation to your arms.
• Free drinks before you take off.
• A steward or stewardess that treats you with respect and with a smile.
• You don't have to worry about getting your foot ran over or elbow jammed by the beverage cart.
• You get to get on the plane first, and off the plane first, no crowd - no rush.
• Leg room - No idiot in front of you trying to lay seat back against your already numb knees like he's on the easy boy at home.
• Free drinks while you're in the air.
• Free meal if the flight is long enough instead of a tiny package of stale pretzels.
• Some airports have an express lane through security.
• The person setting next to you is probably intelligent and not a complete idiot, unlike the random draw you get in coach.
• Did I mention they have free drinks…

First-class tickets are a bit more expensive than coach and companies often will not pay for this frill for their employees. I average about 9-12 flights a month, and about 4 of those flights a year I'm offered an upgrade for another $50.00. My suggestion is if you get this offer take it. Not that flying first class is that much better, but it's good to pamper yourself from time to time and to understand another important thing - the social difference of what it's like for just a couple of hours to know how the other half live. There are no distinguishing differences of those in first class and those in coach in regards to income, these folks just paid fifty more bucks. However, the social dividers are there just like regular society.
I can't tell you the amount of times I've stepped on the plane, knowing I have to go sit in the coach section in the 'B' seat and just felt overwhelmed with jealousy. While some lady is at row 32 trying to stuff a 500 cubic inch carry on into a 200 cubic inch hole, the line grows for people awaiting to accomplish the same task until the line stops outside of the plane door. I'm standing there in the first class section waiting pre-imagining what lies ahead. I'll be packed into an area that is the equivalent of a Haitian bus ride deep only without the chickens flying around. Babies will be crying, a smell that God only knows what will cover the air until they turn on the vents, I'll be stuck between two huge guys the size of Shaq, and there will be no place for my carry-on except the only place my feet could go. Meanwhile, I stand there looking at these people in first-class. They set there smugly drinking their cold beers, whiskeys, and cokes. They look at you and you know they are thinking, "Poor bastard". Every time I think, "If I could cut a fart right now and leave it with you a$$holes I would." And then the line moves and all the dread I was anticipating comes to life… again.
Then there are those few times I get to ride in first-class. I usually get on right away and enjoy a nice refreshing scotch. I grab some reading material and then lean to my left, then my right, then lean back – it doesn't matter, I have all the room I could ever need. After a few minutes I get my second free drink and by this time the line is backing up for all of those sitting in the coach section. There's always somebody that will make eye contact and I think to myself, "You poor bastard." And then he or she moves on. By this time I have comfortably nodded off and I'm gently awakened by a sweet stewardess who is smiling and says pointing towards my glass, "I'm very sorry sir, but I must take this." I smile in return andthink, "That's ok, it's free and there's more after I finish my nappy-wappy….zzzzzz" I later wake up and get another drink and look at the person setting next to me. Generally, there is a slight nod at one another and no conversation whatsoever. It's the complete antithesis of being in coach.
Here is the conversation that haunts me by some idiot on every flight one side is flying home, the other flying to wherever:

Person:	Flying to Atlanta	Flying to Wherever
Idiot:	"So where ya' headed?"	"So where ya' headed?"
Me:	"Home"	" {whatever city the flight lands at which makes the question even dumber}"
Idiot:	"Do you live there?"	"Do you live there?"
Me:	"Yea, just outside"	"No"
Idiot:	"Where outside?" (is this guy going to visit me?)	"On business?"
Me:	"Roswell, just north."	"Yea"
Idiot:	"Where about's north is that?"	"What do ya' do?"
Me:	"It's up 400 about 12 miles north of the perimeter.	"I'm a Quality and Engineering Manager that oversees the quality and engineering departments for a firm thatinstalls equipment for Central Offices for Telephone companies like AT&T, SBC, Sprint, Verizon, and so on."
Idiot:	{Puzzled look}	{puzzled look}
Me:	"Where do you live?"	"What do you do?"
Idiot:	{Rambles on about where their from and why they are traveling.}	{Rambles on about their job}
Me:	{Sleeping or pretending to be}	{Sleeping or pretending to be}

I don't want to be unsocial, but I am sitting too close to you, I don't know you, and we won't keep in touch when we get off this plane even if you give me your business card, even if I thought you were kind of cool. We won't be in touch ever again, so shut up.
Coach is miserable, first-class is great. I spend my time there thinking creatively and spiritually. In coach I spend my time concentrating on the void. Keep all thoughts out of my head, it will be over soon. No, don't run your fist through the back of that guy's head, resist the temptation… resist the temptation… focus on the void…pain means nothing…..
When you're in coach you think those people in first class are stuck up. When I'm in first-class I won't even look at the people in coach. Why, because they have that nice little curtain that you can close to block your view of them. If the stewardess doesn't close it, damn sure bet on it I will. Poor bastards.
MDD