Another Week, Another Airplane

This year, to celebrate our twentieth anniversary, we decided to spend a week in the Bahamas. The stars all seemed to line up for this trip. We got the last room at a really great resort, and first class tickets for less than coach! Ahhh, life was good.

Until we got to the airport. Then it started to suck.

There was only ome line for all international travel. No special, speedy line for first class on this airline. Oh no, just an incredibly long line of cranky people and one ticketing agent. It was ugly.

Wait. They had machines at the counter too. This should really move things along then. Except the machines didn't work for international travel, only domestic. So we got to stand there for an hour watching people from the domestic line cut over, use the machines and happily be on their way in minutes while we ground our teeth down to stumps and watched each other grow old and withered. The mood was getting uglier by the minute.

Finally, a second agent showed up. We'd be through in no tme now. Not! If possible, the line moved even more slowly than before. Were they hand printing the boarding passes using wet clay tablets and papyrus reeds? Maybe they were translating the flight info from ancient Greek texts into Latin and then English.

At this rate, not only would we miss our flight, but it wasn't looking too good for Christmas either.

At last, we were next. Without waiting to be called, I rushed up to the counter where the man informed me that he was taking a break. Trying to keep myself from vaulting over the counter and ripping him apart with my bare hands, I turned to tell Tim not to come up (okay, I yelled from the counter that the guy was leaving).

The mood of the waiting crowd now made the mob that stormed the Bastile look like they were holding a peaceful, non-violent protest. And it was going downhill from there. Needless to say, the poor guy rethought the whole break idea.

Fortunately, we made it to the gate on time. Too bad the plane wasn't on time. Or the flight crew. Did they not realize that we were teetering on the edge of sanity after the ordeal out front. Were they trying to push us over the edge?

Eventually, the boarding call came. First class? Not first on this airline. You are zone 1,2,3 or 4 just like everyone else. No special treatment here. (I was starting to understand why our tickets were such a bargain).

But at last we were up, up and away, looking forward to a nice breakfast (okay, not nice, it was airline food after all...edible).

Half and hour after take-off, the flight attendant came through with a large basket. Fruit, croissants, something with chocolate inside to soothe my nerves? I peered over the edge of the basket, licking my lips in anticipation only to find...bags of potato chips!

"Take as many as you want," he chirped cheerfully. "We've got plenty more!"

Potato chips!!! If we were getting chips, what were the people in coach getting, pictures of food?

To add insult to injury, he then preceeded to get on the intercom and deliver a fifteen minute commercial for the airline touting the many advantages of becoming a prefered customer! Prefered member? Advantages? What did all that mean? Did you get a bag of chips and a bag of peanuts? Maybe you got earplugs to block out the annoying sales pitch.

Finally, we landed in Nassau, got our luggage and began our week-long vacation, which gave us plenty of time to get the one thing we needed in order to get on the flight home...valium (and something chocolate)!