Hardly a First Class Experience

I flew first class today and I'm still going to complain about my flight. Hear me out. Over the course of nine hours, I took a series of three red-eye flights, meaning my sleep was interrupted every couple hours so that I could spend time waiting in four of the country's finest airports. As for the first class aspect, I don't consider this seating to be the treat my dad intended when he upgraded it for me. First class just made me feel awkward. The airline puts out a special blue "elite" carpet for the first class passengers to board the plane on, which is just excessive. I had been chatting with a stranger in the terminal while waiting for my flight, and imagine how embarrassing it was to have to say farewell and stand in the "I'm better with you" line immediately afterwards. Fair or not, I'm sure I immediately went from friendly and relatable to pompous and elitist; at least, I would have thought the same in my position. Furthermore, since I was exhausted, I preferred sleeping to receiving any of the additional accommodations first class has to offer, making it pretty much a waste.

At least first class might offer me the perk of peace and quiet so I could sleep. Through the magic of poor seating arrangements, however, across the aisle a mother and daughter sat, separated from the father by me, who was to my left. From their inane conversations, I quickly learned that the two people of the couple, who I'd estimate to be in their fifties, were named Donald and Maureen. Foreseeing a whole plane ride of being spoken over, I attempted to problem solve and offered to trade seats with Donald. Frustratingly, Donald replied, "I prefer a window seat, actually." Um, okay. At least speaking up would deter em from being too obnoxious throughout the flight, I figured--incorrectly.

The attendant came around with a tray of hot towels and a pair of tongs. While I declined, everyone else accepted and rubbed it against their faces, making audible sighs, particularly Donald, as if it were some remarkable luxury. To counter that temperature perhaps, immediately after we were offered a "cold plate." I wasn't sure what that was and whether I was supposed to rub it on my face as well, so I again declined. Donald, however had two cold plates, which turned out to be plates of raw vegetables and cheeses, and chewed with his mouth open.

Even after chowing down on two cold plates, Donald was still hungry. He kept asking Maureen for food, causing me to continually wake up as snacks were passed over me. At one point, I felt a grape land in my lap. Donald said, "Uh oh!" and I made sure to open my eyes quickly and hand him back the grape, lest he find it appropriate to reach toward my crotch to fetch it himself.

And then there was Maureen, who kept requesting this or that throughout the whole flight. Water, wine, coffee, diet cola... I don't know how a bladder can handle that much on a two hour trip. Well into our descent, Maureen ignored both the verbal and pictorial fasten seat belt warning and stood up to put a pencil in the overhead bin. A flight attendant, belted in herself, screamed at Maureen to take a seat. Maureen sassed back, "I had to put away a pencil, I'm not about to hold it for the rest of the flight!" as if it were a big deal or there were no other place to store the pencil. She then set back her seat into full recline, so the attendant again had to speak to her, asking her to put her seat back up, sending Maureen into a pissed tizzy. "Donald," she whined, expecting him to change United States flight regulations -- after all, this was first class. Maureen's next response was to then look around and find another sleeping passenger and pointing at him. "He doesn't his seat all the way back," she hissed. "Do something!" Maureen is either an ill-tempered tattletale or very concerned for the safety of her fellow passengers. The flight attendant had to unbuckle and wake the man to put his chair in the upright position.

While landing, I could clearly hear the flight attendants' conversations about how obnoxious Maureen was and how much they disliked Continental airlines, their employer. It seemed pretty unprofessional and if I could hear, it meant that Maureen could likely hear, too. Indeed, she did, and as we deplaned, she bitched to Donald about how the attendants are "idiots" and "unprofessional." How can someone be so right and so wrong simultaneously.

Next time I fly, I'm taking coach. I prefer the trashy, I-don't-know-any-better antics in the back to the snotty, I'm-paid-to-be-inconsiderate antics up front.