It's not every day you fly first class across the country. In my case, in fact, it's actually
no days -- this was the first time in my life. I arrived several hours early to La Guardia airport after a curious weekend in New York. And in my possession, I carried a long awaited object of desire: a Southern, one-of-a-kind, psychological warfare earned vintage briefcase. To say I was feeling untouchable would be a gross understatement.
As the gate agent made the announcement that boarding had begun and welcomed only first class passengers, I strutted toward the roped off area. Breezing past the throngs of ordinary travelers I often reside in, and unnecessarily flaunting my cherished carry on, I felt myself standing a little taller. I couldn't help but wonder what the onlooking coach class passengers were thinking of me. Naturally, their attention was not on that last bite of airport fast food, or even on their wandering child making his way distantly into the potential gaze of a traveling kidnapper - it was on me.
Who exactly is that girl? What does she do in which she's able - at this ripe young age - to fly first class, and with a bag like that no less? How can we be just like that woman?
I took my place in 3F and whilst relishing in a long, pretentious stretch, decided to take a gander around at the select group that made up my fellow first-classers. Quite the classy looking lot. I settled into my leather cushioned seat, which was ever so spacious, and was greeted by my flight attendant.
"Good Afternoon. Might I interest you in coffee, tea, water or juice?"
"Water, would be lovely," I replied.
When did the champagne come into play? Let's get this party started.
An amount of time that seemed like only moments, and we were in the air. The same stewardess swished by and draped a black linen over my tray table, coming back within seconds to top it off with the first course - salad and shrimp. And this wasn't just any salad. Fresh tomatoes, kalamata olives, cucumber, artichoke hearts and feta cheese. Crispy lettuce and light balsamic dressing completed the masterpiece. To complement the shrimp - fresh lemon. Even the slicing of the fruit seemed like perfection.
Don't mind if I do. I drizzled the lemon juice over my untarnished shrimp.
The dinnerware was actually glass, and the napkins - cloth. Accompanied with my first course, was a nice red wine, which I made certain to sip delicately with my pinky raised, peering out the window as the sun set 30,000 feet below.
Now this... this is the life, people. I've been missing out in a big, big way.
The second course arrived in a flash. Lasagna with warm bread. And this wasn't just any pasta; the cheese was perfectly melted, the bread doughy. Take note of the doily in the top right, as well. When is the last time I even saw a doily?
Is this even for real? My wine was topped off momentarily, and I reclined my elegant airline seat in satisfaction.
Dessert was served - some sort of a heath ice cream dish built upon a hot caramel base. For those that know my epicurean tendencies, dessert isn't typically my field of play, but hey - I was living in the moment of posh first class. I savored every bite of the stuff.
Three glasses of red wine and a smug renewed sense of worth later, we touched down in Dallas. As we taxied in, I reflected whimsically on my three-hour journey and decided it was everything I'd ever hoped for.
But all too often, just when you're comfortable, overly confident and content with the situation, the universe throws you a curve ball. My 9:00pm flight to Phoenix was delayed - very delayed - and they anticipated us departing at... wait for it... midnight.
Wait, wait, wait a minute here. Didn't they know I was first class? Didn't they know the type of baggage I touted? Did they understand... I'd be losing my pretentious buzz? They didn't.
Tired, completely dejected and annoyed, I boarded with my not so elite, priority group at midnight. I was slouching. I didn't care what onlookers thought of me as I dragged by, and frankly - neither did they. First class or the back seat by the bathroom, we were all getting back to Arizona around 2am, and there was nothing we could do about it.
The airplane wheels crashed down onto the desert floor that was Arizona, and it became clear my fantasy was beyond over. I was just another tired soul counting the fleeting minutes that represented my sleep for the night until I had to wake up at 6am and trudge into the office for yet another 60 hour week. Back to reality, RB.
As I think back, the first leg of my west-bound journey is still every bit as elegant, decadent and pompous. First class really was, and certainly is, a luxury that should be indulged in by every eager traveler at some point. It's very likely I won't fly the likes of first class for quite some time, so until then, I'll treasure the memory. At least the memory I'll hold onto for the small amount of time my brain will allow.
Oh! And not to mention - I will treasure something that will not soon be forgotten - the world's best briefcase. #WIN
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