Odd: Here for It, #365
Hi! It's R. Eric Thomas. From the internet?
Hi!
Well, I have had a new experience. You know me, I love to be experiencing things. I love to be a citizen of the world. I love to be fascinated by the goings on and such.
Late last night/early this morning, I was on a flight from Los Angeles, sitting in First Class (you will quickly see that this is not a brag) and, just before the plane took off, I was kicked out of First Class. Hoisted by my own petard! Tossed, like DJ Jazzy Jeff in The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
I've only flown First Class twice before and, well, I guess I've still only flown First Class twice because American Airlines was like "gurl, you thought!"
I had to go to LA for an in-person meeting yesterday. But I needed to be in Philly for a friend's birthday party on Friday night and I needed to be back in Philly today and I have to be in Baltimore tomorrow, so call me Matt Damon because I was like "time for an Odyssey!"
And call me Lupita N'yongo, because I deserved more!
I arranged to fly out Saturday morning and, unfortunately, Zeus is mad at us, so the skies were filled with smoke and storms, which resulted in drastically diminished air space. My flight kept losing it's takeoff window and we ended up driving around the tarmac for four hours like we were on a safari, but instead of animals, we were just taking a tour of other passengers' rising anxiety responses.
It's always so fascinating to me when people get all huffy on the plane when there's delays and they start shouting things like "I haven't eaten in hours! I need to get to Seattle by 2 pm!" Like, honey, nobody is on this plane for fun. This is a bus with wings. Call us Felicia, cuz we're all going somewhere.
But at a certain point you have to just decide that this is what it is. I can't drive this plane! Who I look like, Orville?! I can't control the weather because I am not Halle Berry as Storm. I can't reunite Pangea or manipulate the space-time continuum. So, really, what is there to do besides listen to my little audiobook and do some work on my laptop while we mosey around Philadelphia International Airport for hours on end?
Being all upset about things beyond my control is just going to make me unhappy and, beloved, I don't want to be unhappy. How's it going to look for me to huff and puff and blow my own house down? I won't get my security deposit back! Ridiculous!
Anyway, I was on a plane for a total of 10 hours, eventually I got off the plane in LAX, went to my meeting, and then went back to LAX.
I'd booked a red eye home even though I use Clear Eyes regularly. I cashed in points to secure a First Class seat so that I could sleep. I'd been up since 5 am Eastern and I was getting back at 7 am Eastern and neither of these are times that I like to see in my regular life. The dawn is none of my business. What that Sun be doing on the horizon, I simply do not know. These are honk-shoo hours.
I was situated in seat 2C and I noticed that the seat next to me was, I believe the technical term is, "all jacked up."
The two seats behind me were also all higgledy-piggledy. I was confused about how it was that they'd sold all these seats in First Class but then they got this busted ass plane. What happened to the people who were supposed to sit in these other seats, I wondered.
Well, reader, I was about to find out.
A guy in a safety vest came on the plane and said that I needed to come talk to the supervisor back in the terminal. I assumed that they were just going to be like "your seat is also janky; are you okay with the possibility of doing a one-man Miracle on the Hudson at some point?" And I'd be like, "sure, fine, why do you think I grew this mustache?"
But instead, I got to the terminal and the supervisor looked at me with a pretend sad face and said "the computer has selected you and one other passenger to receive an involuntary downgrade because of your status and the amount you paid for the seat." They gave my seat away because I am a poor! Now I did not know that this was a thing that could happen! I was already seated! My butt! On the seat! May I speak to Ms. Computer, please?
The other passenger started shouting and pointing his finger. At this point, I rolled my eyes and said to the manager, "I don't want to be involved in whatever is happening there. I have decided to be zen about travel. You can read about it in my newsletter tomorrow. Call me Pumbaa and/or Timon because I am doing no worries."
Well, I should have hakuna'd a few less matatas, mama.
The supervisor handed me a new ticket and sent me back on the plane, past my old seat where some other (rich) person was already sitting, waaaaay back to a middle seat that did not recline because it was against the restroom. Ms. Computer! What did I ever do to you?!
This was not a downgrade, darling. I didn't just end up in steerage like Jack from Titanic. I ended up like the guy in Titanic who falls off the ship and hits the propellor on his way down. (I think about that guy like once a week. How insane! Did we really need to see that?! Like we get it! Shit was cray!)
Anyway, it was abjectly miserable, and I did not sleep, and I am, I believe the technical term is, insane, but, again, what are you gonna do? The long and short of it is: over the course of 24 hours, despite the wrath of the gods and the dueling apocalypses in our firmament and the rules of times and space, I went from the East Coast to the West Coast and back and that's nothing short of magical. It did not cost me one million dollars because I am obsessed with points and miles, even when they betray me and get me kicked out of Mt. Olympus like I am Hephaestus. I got to where I needed to be and I got to come home. And that's the whole point! Plus, now I get to do my favorite thing: write a strongly worded (actually very tame) letter to American Airlines that begins, "Dear Ms. Computer, call me Anne Hathaway in The Odyssey because I am very upset and also I have a craft project that I am probably not going to finish!"
This week in Asking Eric
I should have hakuna'd a few less matatas, mama,
Eric
