First Class Fool

On a flight to Madrid, I was somehow lucky enough to score a seat in first class.  I'd never been seated in first class, then or since.  The ticket was purchased with obsessively collected frequent flyer miles, and I hadn't even requested an upgrade, so I have no idea how it happened.  But I wasn't arguing.

Clearly, I didn't belong.  In my black knit pants and bleach stained t-shirt, I strolled to my seat. Before I even had a chance to set down my bag, a woman was offering me champagne. A little startled and unclear whether it was free or what, I just opted for orange juice.  It was freshly squeezed.  These folks have it good.

I arranged my collection of magazines and bottle of Lipton iced tea in the seat pocket ahead of me.  Then I sat down in my enormous leather chair, fidgeted a little more, and finally buckled myself in.  So much leg room!  Only...I could no longer reach my magazines.  Or the cute little toiletries bag they gave me with the mini lotions and lip balm.  They were all up ahead in that distant seat pocket, completely out of reach.  So, click went the seat belt and I began the process all over again.

The woman next to me was friendly and seemed to be a first class regular.  She was well dressed with a cashmere scarf artfully thrown over her shoulder.  Her travel plans included Barcelona and northern Spain.  As we chatted, the flight attendant passed by with the menu and wine list for our perusal.

"Anything look good?" she asked.  "I hope the wine selection is better than it was last time."

Um, yeah.  I have no idea.  From rack of lamb, crab cakes or pasta, I chose the pasta.  Experimenting with lamb and seafood didn't seem like a good idea, even in first class.  They brought us warm loaves of bread with butter in a little dish, no foil packets.  Cloth napkins.  But before that, I had to figure out how to release my tray table, not an easy task.  I tried to look casual as I peeked sideways to see what my neighbor was doing.  Ah, it's hidden in the arm rest!  After some fumbling, I managed to get it together.  For dessert?  Ice cream sundaes with a choice of toppings.  I may not know wines, but I do know sundae toppings.

Time to relax.  I thought I'd just recline in my fancy chair and listen to some music, U2's The Unforgettable Fire, in fact.  Between the two seats was a control panel.  You could tilt your head back, recline, lower the foot rest, adjust the width at your knees - just about anything you could imagine at the touch of a button.  This was going to be comfy.

I push the button to recline.  Nothing happens.  I try to adjust the neck rest.  Nothing happens.  I try again to recline.  No good.  Maybe the foot rest.  Nope.

"That's just great.  My chance to live it up in first class and I have a rotten seat," I thought to myself.  "Oh well, let me try one more time."

Just about then I noticed a little something out of the corner of my eye.  My cheeks instantly blushed.  The movement I had detected was my neighbor's footrest going up and down haphazardly while her seat shifted back and forth.  I had been controlling her seat, not mine.  Oh, jeez.

After I had apologized profusely for what seemed an eternity, she politely said, "Well, that was unusual."

I was stuck in coach for the flight home.