Classy

During my recent travels to Rhode Island (the land of Peter Griffin), I elected to ride first class for my brief flight from Dulles to Providence. I still cannot say for sure why this honor was afforded me. Perhaps it was my innate sense of growing self satisfaction. Perhaps it was my stylish GAP wool jacket. Perhaps it was because my seat, 9F, had a large "Do Not Occupy" sign on it. No one can say for sure. All we can discern from this event is that the flight attendant Ramona, a lovely girl from Bavaria, chose me to rise above my peers and to venture "inside the curtain," as us first classies like to call it.

During the next fifty-three minutes I experienced the ecstasy that is extra legroom and unabashed servitude. I used a pillow, even though my head was adequately cushioned. I used a blanket, even though I was adequately warm. I kicked off my shoes because the other first classies had done the same. I tell you, flying in your socks is like hot cocoa by a roaring fire in December. True first classies spurn the idea of ordering alcohol during a short flight. They wish for everyone to know that a mere beer is nothing to them. They pay $126 for the class upgrade so that the poor wretches on the other side of the comfort curtain know that the first classies can afford it. Wealth and privilege is nothing unless people know it. So, in keeping with the unspoken rules of the cabin, I ordered a Sprite Zero, earning an extra bonus point for watching my calories when luxury and beverage selection might induce me otherwise.

When the plane landed and Ramona welcomed us to Rhode Island with her Bawarian W's I knew the dream was over. I was, for the first time in my life, the first one off the plane. I looked back at my beloved seat on that Canadair regional jet, and longed to take it home with me. We had grown close over those fifty-three minutes, and I could tell it would miss me as well. But alas, the whore had another paying customer boarding in half an hour. It may have loose morals and a seat 28 inches wide, but it taught me a lot during my virgin trip inside the curtain. I don't know if I will ever see it again, but we will always have Providence.

Anyway, I'm in Rhode Island for the week, and already I've discovered that the only thing Quahog in Rhode Island is a small clam restaurant. I am so disillusioned and it is only Tuesday.