Discovering Airportgate

For a West Texan boy of fairly modest means, flying in and of itself has always been an prodigious event. In fact, I remember strong feeling of jealousy when my sister got to fly to my grandparents house, when the summer before I’d driven with them to California, stopping at the Grand Canyon and the Petrified Forest.

Now a few kernels of wisdom and insight that I’ve picked up in the last 14 years hint that I got the better end of the bargain, but it’s still a close call.

I remember flying alone for the first time, following all of the signs, earnestly listening to the flight safety video, talking with the people sitting next to me. Mmm… and the Southwest peanuts. Those were the wonderful days before we accommodated individuals with a horribly defective gene that causes allergic reactions to peanuts – oops, once again enter my sister. I always ordered Ginger Ale to go with them.

Each take-off and each landing was a milestone, and each window seat demanded full attention to be paid to the land below and the wing-hindered views of the cloud cover. Turbulence was bliss. Everything about flying was an adventure. I dreamed of going to the Air Force Academy and becoming a pilot.

Unfortunately, I’ve found that I, and probably thousands of others in the general masses, have been seriously duped. For while I was content with peanuts and my one cubic inch of allotted foot space, it is highly likely that there were indulgent individuals who boarded and exited the plane first, roamed freely about an airport lounge without the hindrance of minding their baggage, ate and drank without converting any money, and had twice as many movie choices!

Forget the fact that their tickets may have cost four times as much – I am appalled that they have diluted the simple joy of Orville with such pleasantries. They spread out and their elbows find no one close enough to share the sheer excitement. Their legs idly dangle out in front of them, without bracing knees into the seat in front to obtain maximum impact from the turbulence. They let themselves be distracted by the redundant chore of eating a full three-course meal and the drink attendant… err, flight attendant… is rarely brining Ginger Ale.

Instead of dreamily studying cool new gadgets in the airplane shopping magazine, they’ve already placed an order for 3 of everything, and spend their time reading important financial magazines and newspapers.

I would have never stumbled into this appalling scheme, except for the fact that my flight was booked through a corporate travel agency. The ticket entitled me to a “Fast Track” sticker, which allowed be to enter the security check through a different door. Through the glass I could see hordes of people waiting in line to have their carry-ons x-amined. I walked through so quickly I could barely pull all of my gadgets out of my pockets in time.

As a side, it was much simpler back when the only electronic in my pocket was a disposable camera. Now, I pull up as closely to the machine as possible and use two trays to hold my keys, coins, phone, mp3 player, spare battery, headphones, camera, spare memory stick, and sometimes a charger as well. Plus, out comes a wad of papers that includes my train pass, passport, frequent flyer number, boarding pass, booking reference, hotel address, and receipts that need to be saved. In fact, usually 50% of my net worth is on my person!

Returning my gaze to the glass, I see the children loudly expressing (it looked loud at least) their annoyance with waiting in line, and being hungry and thirsty.

Aah, thirsty. I walk to the lounge where my ticket is scanned, my bags are held, and I help myself to some cheese and a piece of chocolate cake. I pour a drink from an elegantly labelled glass bottle of cold water and walk to the newspaper rack. In this surreal world, which includes a television with the news blaring, it seems irrelevant that the flight is delayed 20 minutes.

Reverting to my former nature, I instead pull out a John Grisham book and happily exit the lounge into a world of mystery and other tales of deception.

When I later boarded the flight, I continued to read, trying desperately to restrain myself from sprawling in the overstuffed seat and attempting in vain to butt my knees into the seat in front of me – it was too far away. I tried to make my back stiff, but the chair was too soft. Sulkily I devoured the gourmet chicken, the tangerine salad, and the apple pie a la mode after discovering that there were no peanuts to be found.

Ginger Ale was the only reminiscent comfort available.

For the moment I’m in Geneva pondering all of these disturbing trends. I’ll fly home on Thursday. I hope I get bumped up.