We have just strapped into our 18” wide seats, having already observed that the fellow-travelers in the cabin just ahead of us are sipping champagne and chatting happily. Our cabin is all elbows and knees as the inmates ferociously claim space for exceedingly fat bags and, of course, elbows. Because WE have the special airline credit card and thus early boarding, we have been able to claim all the overhead space we desire. I toss my jacket up top in a final act of privilege. I intended to concede the armrest to Jann, but I’m having second thoughts. I spend the next twenty minutes leaning into her to avoid having my shoulder dislocated by the bags thumping seat to seat as their owners hurry past.
The question now on both of our minds is: which flight crew did we win in the grand lotto of overseas travel? Will it be the nice one, or the one that will insist on demonstrating for us in so many ways how their airline sucks. Hope springs eternal… the woman at the door smiles and says, “welcome.”
I’m feeling pretty good about this. The first pass with the beverage cart goes well. I got another smile, this time from the male purser, and Jann has bubbly in her plastic cup. Another smile, and a friendly pat on the shoulder as he returns with seconds. I think it’s time to fake sleep. This is getting altogether too chummy.
