After a long morning spent in Terminal 2 of the Salt Lake International Airport last Friday morning, Mike and I finally boarded a plane to Southern California. We were the lucky recipients of the only 2 stand-by seats available.
(Why in the world would we risk flying stand-by you ask, when we were about to embark on a fun, child-free extended weekend? Well, I'll spare you the details. But it had something to do with Mike, his forgotten wallet and ID and 2 very incompetent airline employees.)
Nonetheless, Mike and I were the very last passengers to board the plane. Just as we stepped over the airplane's threshold, the kind Delta employee whispered, "You'll be in first class." I was so desperate to get on the plane at this point that I likely would have considered flying with the cargo. But I graciously smiled and tried not to look too enthusiastic, lest Mike think I had completely forgiven him for spending the first 4 hours of my vacation at the SL airport, rather than in sunny California!
As we stepped onto the plane, Mike kindly let me choose which seat I wanted. (Sitting together was not an option.) In a matter of seconds I had to consider two things--which man looked as though he'd react kindly if I accidentally squeezed his thigh during take-off, and which one would I really want to be standing next to in line if we were to meet our Maker sometime during the flight.
(Have I ever mentioned before that I have severe anxiety when it comes to flying?)
Not wanting to break any first-class etiquette rules, I sat down and acted as though I was a seasoned first-class kind of gal. I politely ignored the man next to me engrossed in his smart phone, although just as the plane began to speed up on the runway, he made conversation with me despite the open book on my lap. The conversation didn't last long, as his bio-chemical degree and 30+ years in the energy profession seemed far above chatting with a mother of five kids, even if she was a fellow FIRST CLASS passenger!
Before we even taxied onto the runway, I was being given drink choices, and as soon as we were safely in flight, I was offered a snack from a basket with all sorts of delicious first-class kind of treats. I had no idea how many was appropriate to take (I really wanted one of each), so I settled by following the lead of a fellow first-classer and only took two.
I loved being treated like I was important. Well I mean, I AM important-I know that, but it sure was nice having someone else think I was too. I could get quite used to a first-class type of life.
Flying first class was quite the contrast to our return flight home. I was squooshed next to a handsome man who kept reaching into my bag and stealing my chocolate and kept reading my book over my shoulder. Not to mention the part he told me to "be quiet" as the turbulence had me launching into a dialogue about how we were mere seconds away from meeting our Maker.
I flew to California on Friday in first class style--I returned to Utah on Monday as far away from first-class as I could get on the second to last row of the airplane. My time spent in California was near perfection (more on that tomorrow), my first couple of hours home Monday evening were not.
One child, felt an immediate need to paint their toe nails, and knocked over the nail polish bottle on the carpet.
Another child couldn't wait any longer to go pick up the five chickens he'd been waiting to get for six long days and all sorts of chicken paraphernalia kept finding its way onto my kitchen counter.
One child decided to pee in the toy room rather than in the bathroom.
This all occurred in the first hour home.
There was no question that my vacation had ended.
And it truly was a vacation--but that will have to be tomorrow's post!