I reached a milestone last week that, I feel, is both impressive and utterly pathetic. While neatly folded in to seat 7C on my flight from Newark to Cincinnati (my final destination was Minneapolis), I surpassed one-million miles logged on Northwest Airlines.
This event passed with no fanfare whatsoever, unless you count the cru de ta of a shortbread cookie, in which case every other passenger was celebrating along side of me with the exact same savory snack.
One-million miles. You'd think that after all those flight hours, I'd be an expert on navigating the equally friendly and passive-aggressive skies. Truthfully though, I'm just one of the herd that shuffles from here to there, fingers-crossed that weather, airplane mechanics and the laws of physics are loyal to both my travel plans and mortality.
I've endured a few curious odysseys along the way. A few years ago I almost landed on the do-not-fly list when I admonished an airline waitress for over serving alcohol to a chatty old lady seated next to me, whose 5th, or maybe 6th Bloody Mary ended up in my lap and all over my computers keyboard. It was during a flight to Minneapolis, the land of 10,000 rehab centers, so maybe she was simply on her climb to the wagon and was just enjoying one last bender.
I've gotten to the point where flying is as routine as taking a bus. For that, I'm sad. People often ask me how I "do it". I always answer with the same simple advise.
On the way to the airport, I lower my customer service expectations to a level that would make an IRS audit feel like shopping at Nordstrom. Then, when I get to the airport, I lower them even more.
When interacting with a TSA agent, I never say thank you. I will, however, say you're welcome, even if they didn't thank me for the privilege of my wand search and pat down.
At any airport Starbucks, be prepared to consider English a second, or third, language. Save your special, "dopio-add-a-shot-180-extra dry" order for your familiar neighborhood Starbucks. At the airport, order black coffee and you have a 50% shot of getting what you ordered.
Once on the plane, I have a few steadfast pet peeves.
The overhead bins are for roller bags and other suitable carry-on luggage, and not the crushed velour fedora and accompanying smoking jacket purchased at the Caesars shops while in Las Vegas.
When getting out of your seat on the airplane, it's not necessary to use my seat back in front of you as a launching pad, or sling shot, if you will, when getting out of your seat.
There is grace and an orderly technique to reclining your seat, especially if you're sitting in front of me. Ease back, please. Otherwise the coffee ends up in my lap.
One-million miles. Maybe Northwest Airlines will send me a special luggage tag.
I won't hold my breath.
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1 comment:
Good one. As someone who got a small taste of the airline lifestyle, I appreciate yet another industry free of competition. Like the insurance industry, airline companies have the same captive market that allows the airport gift shop to charge $5 dollars for a bottle of water. I guess that's the beauty of "the free market at work". Yet another glaring example of how self deluded anyone that holds on to a false illusion of a past where capitalism was pure and socialism was held tightly under its thumb. American protectorate companies like airlines, motor companies and big pharma have been around forever despite an ever declining quality of product. It's like you said, it even f's up the biggest no brainer franchise in history, Starbucks.
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