Travel Obsession

I'll admit it. I have an obsession with scoring an A boarding pass on Southwest. It ensures an aisle seat, space for my carry-on, and let's admit it, it's a status symbol. The secret to getting the A is checking in 24 hours before your flight - not 23 hours and 59 seconds. One second early, and you will be denied your pass. By the time you click in again, you're already a B. It's embarrassing to be a B. And I can't even imagine how much therapy I would need if I had to carry around a C pass!

Plan "A" was in effect again this week. Hovering over the "check in now" button at one second past, I speed-clicked. Yes! A-17. This was my best number ever!

The next morning, I proudly stood in the A line. Casually, I waved my boarding pass while turning to people behind me. "This A-17 pass makes a great fan. A-30 never seemed to cool me off - ha, ha".

Once on the plane, I found the perfect seat - 5C. Being on the aisle, I could go to the restroom without bothering anyone and I could jump up when the plane landed without having to wait for some slow-moving goofus to let everyone in the back off of the plane before letting me out of my row. Row 5 was close enough to the front for a quick exit but not so close that the decrepit pre-boarders could walk as far as my middle seat.

The middle seat - my other obsession. A perfect day - A17, C5, and an empty middle seat. It made me think of the Austin Lounge Lizards song "Jesus Loves Me But He Can't Stand You". I always laughed when I heard it, but today, I'm thinking that there might be something to it. I am loved.

While basking in comfort, I glanced up as the last person boarded. It was a woman with a 2 year old. Then I heard those dreaded words "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a woman here with a baby. Can anyone move to another seat so that they can sit together?" I'm thinking "Why is she so special? Lots of people don't get to sit with their loved ones when they arrive late for their flight. Run faster next time, lady."

When no one volunteered to give up their seat, the flight attendant tried to appeal through eye contact. I did what everyone else on the plane was doing - slouched in my seat, dropped my head so close to my magazine that it looked like I was legally blind, and tried to make myself invisible.

Maybe I was wrong about how much Jesus loved me because as I covertly twisted my eyeballs to the right, I was staring into the flight attendant's hip pocket. She tapped me, and loud enough for the people in the terminal to hear, asked "Ma'am, would you mind moving to a middle seat?" You could have heard an airplane-shaped graham cookie drop while everyone silently thanked God it wasn't them and then waited for my response.

In a panic, I noiselessly ran through the things I wanted to explain to her. "Excuse me, I don't know if you realize it, but I'm a 'A'. I believe that a more appropriate course of action would be to pick on one of the butt-lazy 'B' folks who couldn't drag themselves out of bed early enough to be an 'A'. Or how about the clueless 'C' people who walk down the aisle looking for their 'C-47' seat number? I always get a kick out of that. Just tell one that seat 'C-47' is actually 4 rows back - in the middle, and they wouldn't know the difference. And you probably wouldn't even need to offer them an extra bag of peanuts."

Before I could stutter out my alternate solutions, she began impatiently tapping her foot so close to my ankle that the breeze was causing me to come down with a cold. With an audible sigh and intentional shoulder droop, I was just about to consider reluctantly agreeing (maybe if they threw in a free round trip ticket or a life time of 'A's. . .) when I heard a croaky, high-pitched, death-whisper - "I'll move". I turned and saw a frail 98 year old (at least) lady struggle to get up while asking for help to get her walker from the overhead compartment. The whole plane broke out in applause for her while actively avoiding eye contact with me.

Why did this end up being between me and the oldest living person on earth? There were plenty of virile young men who could have easily been heroes, and probably didn't have an 'A' boarding pass, but no, they all acted like they had no idea what was going on. In a weak effort to explain myself, I mumbled "But I'm an A" to which I'm pretty sure I heard "you got that right, lady". I spent the rest of the flight pretending to be asleep and ignoring any offers of a questionable "beverage" from the evil flight attendant. I should have flashed my 'A' more.