That doesn't mean travel is always a luxury. For every cool trip I've taken, there's been a 26-hour run to St. Louis to go with it (I've been there twice and only seen the Arch once, from a plane).
During the height of travel season each year, I commonly find myself in Terminal C of Reagan National, my face resting in my hands, listening to the same woman on the intercom every five minutes saying, "The USO Lounge is open daily..." and thinking about the lonely Holiday Inn room waiting for me way over there in one of those other time zones.
During the height of travel season each year, I commonly find myself in Terminal C of Reagan National, my face resting in my hands, listening to the same woman on the intercom every five minutes saying, "The USO Lounge is open daily..." and thinking about the lonely Holiday Inn room waiting for me way over there in one of those other time zones.
The goal for all business travelers who trek our carry-on bags deep into coach is that we can one day sit up front with the lucky few. First class. It represents everything that flying can be. It's like traveling with the characters from Mad Men minus the cigarette smoke. It's the opposite of draining. It's like you're not flying.
Airlines dangle frequent flyer programs out in front of travelers and we gobble them up the same way young boys 23-year old men stay up all hours of the night playing video games: If there's a level higher than where we are and its within reach, we're going to do what we can to reach it.
My first trip in first class didn't happen until last December--a good six years after I started traveling for my job. I had cobbled together enough US Airways miles within the calendar year to reach Silver status and then Gold. The trip? A 25-minute jump from DC over to Philadelphia...at 6:55 am.
I boarded like a king. Took my seat. Watched all those little people drag their sorry asses to the back. Drank my OJ. Ate my snack.
I boarded like a king. Took my seat. Watched all those little people drag their sorry asses to the back. Drank my OJ. Ate my snack.
Sure, we sat on the runway for a longer period than we spent in the sky. It didn't matter. I had made it.
The truth is that reaching x status doesn't really mean much of anything since it doesn't guarantee first class. You learn this quickly when asking for upgrades that never take shape. Furthermore, your shiny little x status is only good for domestic upgrades. The international stuff is saved for mileage rainmakers like George Clooney in Up in the Air: Emotionally impotent travelers who spend such a huge slice of their lives in the sky that the airlines treat them like actual friends--people these travelers so desperately wish they had.
Now that I'm in Brazil full time, my shiny status doesn't seem to serve me much good, which is ironic since earning big chunks of miles 5,000 at a time flying to the US has never been easier.
It's all soul-draining stuff. The constant ebb and flow of wasted hope on upgrades that don't happen. I know the truth of it all. You really want to fly first class? Pony up the cash or let go of the dream.
It's this kind of attitude that left me completely floored last week when a kind, beautiful, perfect, flawless, goodhearted, loving US Airways desk lady nonchalantly tapped a few keys at my asking and printed out a first class ticket with my name on it. Charlotte to São Paulo. Nine hours and fifteen minutes of unlimited food, drink, movies and a seat so big it was both a window and an aisle, a chair and a bed.
I was the first one to board the flight because I was both A) more excited than I ever had been before to fly and B) I still didn't fully believe this was happening.
Zone One was called out on the intercom and sure enough, the boarding pass for seat 2A beeped under the scanner like everybody else's.
The next four hours were spent eating bad (but better than coach) food, drinking free cocktails, starting and then abandoning a host of recent comedies and awkwardly holding the classic "hot towel" that my flight attendant brought me.
By the time I decided to extend my chair out into a bed, my head was spinning to the point that I had to sit down in the bathroom for a few minutes before returning to my seat. I felt like a freshman in college, still figuring out what this booze stuff was and how much of it I could handle. Keep it together, JMD.
I laid down and awoke in the daylight. We were 20 minutes from landing. I didn't want the flight to end. I wanted to sleep more. I wanted to eat more. I wanted to put on the socks they gave me in my little gift bag.
As thrilling as it all was to have finally made it to the front, the dark cloud of coach misery still hung over me. I could see it whenever I looked around. There were 20 first class seats on my flight. I counted six other passengers.
It depressed me because even though I was upfront with the kings, I knew there were dozens of me's sitting back there in the darkness. Their upgrade requests denied. Their statuses, useless. How many flights had I been on where this amount of prime real estate lay vacant? No wonder it never happens and may never happen again.
I shook my head in disappointment, took off my Bose Quiet Comfort headphones, put down my breakfast pastry and waited for the wheels to touch down. All this while thinking, "How can I do this again, and again, and again?"
I was the first one to board the flight because I was both A) more excited than I ever had been before to fly and B) I still didn't fully believe this was happening.
Zone One was called out on the intercom and sure enough, the boarding pass for seat 2A beeped under the scanner like everybody else's.
The next four hours were spent eating bad (but better than coach) food, drinking free cocktails, starting and then abandoning a host of recent comedies and awkwardly holding the classic "hot towel" that my flight attendant brought me.
By the time I decided to extend my chair out into a bed, my head was spinning to the point that I had to sit down in the bathroom for a few minutes before returning to my seat. I felt like a freshman in college, still figuring out what this booze stuff was and how much of it I could handle. Keep it together, JMD.
I laid down and awoke in the daylight. We were 20 minutes from landing. I didn't want the flight to end. I wanted to sleep more. I wanted to eat more. I wanted to put on the socks they gave me in my little gift bag.
As thrilling as it all was to have finally made it to the front, the dark cloud of coach misery still hung over me. I could see it whenever I looked around. There were 20 first class seats on my flight. I counted six other passengers.
It depressed me because even though I was upfront with the kings, I knew there were dozens of me's sitting back there in the darkness. Their upgrade requests denied. Their statuses, useless. How many flights had I been on where this amount of prime real estate lay vacant? No wonder it never happens and may never happen again.
I shook my head in disappointment, took off my Bose Quiet Comfort headphones, put down my breakfast pastry and waited for the wheels to touch down. All this while thinking, "How can I do this again, and again, and again?"
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