sawing travel logs

in a world where business travel is the new waterboarding, something unexpectedly good just happened.

i got upgraded to first class.

it's not quite like winning the lottery, but then again, it doesn't suck.

i just sat down, frowning at my boarding pass the entire time, sure that someone would appear momentarily to escort me to the baggage compartment.

instead, the flight attendant is offering me food and beverages without asking to see an ID and major credit card.

what do i do?

my first inclination is to order several rounds of beer and wine...but it's 8 o'clock in the morning. around me i see several people to whom this makes no difference whatsoever.

they're doing some drinking, by god.

much as i'd like to take advantage of the opportunity, i just don't roll like that. i'd be a mess for at least the next 24 hours.

what's she asking me now? hang on, let me take off the bose-quality headset...would i like the spinach and artichoke omelet, or the fresh fruit plate? why yes, yes i would.

kidding. just the omelet, please.

the day didn't start nearly this promising. i woke up at 4:30 a.m., well before the alarm, and couldn't get back to sleep. it was still dark, which made it difficult to move around stealthily, so as not to wake mrs. spaceneedl and the little needls.

eventually i got myself together, collected my scattered travel gear, and took a reminder look at my itinerary. it said my flight was leaving 20 minutes earlier than i thought.

whoops. that meant i was running late. usually i don't care much about such things, but arriving late to seatac airport on a monday morning is a bad idea if you want to actually arrive at your destination sometime before friday.

(hang on, she's here with the omelet. and would you look at that--it comes with fresh fruit anyway. lovely.)

i hauled my butt and my gear out to the car and sped off toward the airport. i half-expected an historic traffic delay along the way, even at oh-dark-thirty. thankfully, it never materialized.

good lord, flying first class rocks. unfortunately, i can count the number of times i've done so on about three fingers. i don't know who these people are, and how they can afford this. all i know is, i'm not one of them.

hang on, she's back again. would i like a croissant or a banana nut muffin with my breakfast? some fresh-brewed coffee? tea? mimosa?

(let the record show i had the coffee and the muffin. the omelet was very tasty.)

wide leather seats. full-stretch legroom. conforming headrest. let's fly this buggy to fiji, whatta ya say, captain?

(hang on, she's back. we're what? in chicago? that can't be right, we just took off...three and a half hours ago.)

and so, in a world where first-class travel is an unheard-of aberration, and a ridiculous luxury...somewhere over the rocky mountains, i fell asleep.

i never even got to use one of the little heated finger towels.

but for a half- hour--right up to the point where the caffeine utterly failed me--it was glorious.