ADA Accessibility Policy
Home About Columns Contact Subscribe

THE FRIENDLY SKIES
DON'T COME CHEAP

   I travel on airplanes a fair amount for both business and pleasure, probably 15-20 flights per year. And I'm beginning to understand that old saying, "If you don't fly first class, your children will."
   There are two reasons I almost always flew economy---1) I considered myself a man of the people, and 2) I'm cheap.
    I've come to realize the second reason far outweighs the first. In the old days, before I became an elitist, I would wait in line with my fellow proletariats and, when finally allowed to board, trudge past the first class section where the privileged few would be sipping their drinks and trying not to notice the trash walking through their cabin.
   I'd scoff at the colossal waste of money they were spending for their temporary comfort. On average, you pay around five times the cost of an economy ticket for first class. Only about 15% of all seats (long haul) are first or business class, but the airlines generate about 45% of their revenue from these elitists.
    That fact got me thinking about my "man of the people" mentality. Naturally, I told my wife first.
    "I've decided that by paying extra for first class tickets we'd be helping keep the cost down for our fellow comrades in economy," I explained.
   "That's very noble of you," she replied. "I will say that I'll agree with whatever ridiculous rationalization you come up with for flying first class."
   She's neither as altruistic or cheap as me. She would have ponied up for first class many times if it wasn't for my objections.
   "Here's how it's going to work," I explained. "I'll check out the difference in price for economy versus first class and if it comes to less than $75 per hour of flight time for each of us then I'll pull the trigger and abandon my comrades."
    Since I was the family travel agent, I knew airline algorithms were all over the place. Sometimes first class tickets were less than twice the price of economy. This gave her hope.
    Sure enough, when I went to my office to buy our round trip tickets from San Francisco to Seattle for a short vacation last week, first class tickets were only about $125 more per person for the hour and forty-five minute flight. I gleefully made the purchase.
   "Huzzah!" I cried when I told my wife. "Our kids will definitely be flying economy. Their inheritance just took a huge hit. It's all about us!"
    We danced a little jig, knowing we'd be soaring to Seattle and back in blissful comfort.
    We left a week ago Tuesday. Since we were now elitists, we parked in the main parking terminal for the three night trip instead of long-term economy parking. That was for other people.
    At the check-in counter, we nudged past those waiting in line and went straight to the Premier check-in, where there was no line and my wife's bag was checked in for free, saving $50. The perks just kept on coming.
   Time to board. Yep, first on, first off. Privileged. We took our wide, spacious seats and waited for the common folk to trudge by. And trudge they did, jealously looking at us as they headed for their cramped, claustrophobic seats.
    I looked around at my fellow elitists sitting across from us. One looked homeless, the other was about eight years old. It put a slight damper on my elitism, but I took solace in knowing the service was about to start.
Once we reached cruising altitude, the flight attendant dutifully stopped by, asking what we'd like to drink. My wife ordered water.
   "WATER!!" I cried. "What a waste! You do realize we get free alcohol, don't you."
    "Of course I do," she replied, trying to recline her seat but realizing we were in the last row of first class and it didn't recline. "I just feel like water."
    So did I, but I ordered a Vodka Tonic, anyway. Then I waited for the free food to come.
   And come it did, a few minutes later. The sweet flight attendant offered a basket full of choices---Cheez -Its, a tiny bag of popcorn, an energy bar, or a lemon cookie.
    I grabbed the small bag of Cheez-Its and glanced back at the proletariats in the cattle car, squeezed three across on both sides of the aisle. Poor souls. They probably only got pretzels.
 

Home     |      About     |    Columns     |     Contact          

© 2006-2017 hoppecolumns.com 
All rights reserved.