Tieche European Vacation (Part 2)
Travel Log 2: The One Where We Get An Upgrade and I Nearly Lose My Soul
IT’S SO HARD….TO SAY GOODBYE…TO YOUR CANINE
As we prepped to leave, the most difficult part was getting Jaelle to believe, very much against her will, that no, it’s not a good idea to bring our dog to Europe with us. She protested, even on the way to the airport.
Here she is, saying goodbye to him and whispering reassurances that like Arnold, she’ll be back.
UP, UP AND AWA..IT A MINUTE.
I work at a church, and a few months ago, one of our older members found out in passing that we were going out of town over Christmas. He asked me if we had a ride to the airport. When I told him “no” he demanded that I allow him to take our family. He said that his nickname with folks is “Jeeves” because he loves being a personal chauffeur. It’s been six months, and “Jeeves” - whose real name is Pete - has taken us to the airport three times (Christmas, Spring break to check out Baylor, and now this). It’s not in my nature to ask things of people - my own, backward insecurity which operates in an earn-to-be-friends currency of works - but Pete says he loves driving us. I get that. I mean, we’re awesome people. But it really does feel like our own UberBlack.
I figured that would be the most opulent part of the trip. But I was wrong.
Upon arriving at the airport, we checked into our flight. While we were sitting at the gate, they called our name to come up to the front.
There, we were informed that the flight was full, and they needed to move us UP TO BUSINESS CLASS. This upgrade for the 11-hour leg to Paris, would mean reclining chairs, larger personal entertainment units and far better culinary options.
We stood there, dumbfounded.
Business class. This was like a $400 upgrade. Per ticket!
“Umm, okay,” we said.
Seriously folks, I have never sat in a wider chair on an airplane. I felt like a toddler with its own seat in that chair. My hips, like Shakira, simply do not lie. And they were very happy. I texted my friends. My buddy responded:
In this episode, Dave, who once vehemently stood against opulence, gets accidentally upgraded to first class and becomes a snob.
Hahahahahaa….wha? Fear ran through me. A cold chill. I wondered if this were some sort of test. Would this corrupt me? Like Israel’s leaders (as outlined in tragic form in Ezekiel) would my love for Yahweh be replaced by my appetites, as I lost track of my mandate to shepherd and care for the people? Would I become corrupt, like them? Or worse, would I become like a US senator?
Surely not, I assured myself. That could never happen to me.
OH! MERCI, MERCI ME
No sooner could I ponder the affect of this upgrade on my mortal soul when the attendants started off giving us little Air France gift bags “for a comfortable flight.” Gift bags! Who has heard of such a thing?
On Spirit Airlines – which I tend to fly when I can scrape together enough dollars to avoid the lawless hellscape of Frontier Airlines – there are not such perks. You do not simply “get” free things. On a recent flight to Dallas on Frontier, I was told with a fair amount of contempt by a flight attendant – who seemed to hate me, all the other passengers, and likely himself – that I got one four ounce glass of water for the duration of the three-and-a-half-hour flight, and if I wanted more, I could buy a bottle of water for $4.
And my wife jokes that the official tagline of Spirit Airlines is:
Spirit Airlines. Where your Spirit flies free. But there are fees if you want to bring along your body.
But here? With AirFrance? Gift bags with minute confections from famed French chocolatier Debauve & Gallais and designer kerchiefs from the Hermès summer kerchief collection.
(NOTE: I’m going to say it. I know everyone is thinking it. Their winter kerchief collection was disappointing. Okay, let’s move on.)
Inside the bag was a note, on thick, linen paper, gilded with gold, and penned by hand in elegant calligraphy. The note informed us that we had free access to the onboard WiFi. And not just the texting. NO! The streaming. The STREAMING. I could stream Netflix to my phone, from 30,000 feet over the Atlantic if I wanted.
The plebeians behind us, packed together like livestock in the rear of the plane, did not have that option. They had a four-inch screen where they could watch John Wick 3 in stunning SD - if they were lucky.
I felt myself smile.
One more perk of being a member of the ruling class, I suppose.
Next, it was nearly time for dinner. They handed out warm towels, for us to prepare because we are not uncivilized. And yes, friends, that is wine. Which of course was complimentary. It came served in a real glass made of real glass. This was not a hard plastic Dixie Cup with warm Diet Coke like they serve to the lowly proletariats. No. It is time for déjeuner, which I will have you know, is veal, paired nicely with a lovely Chambolle-Musigny.
Do you know what the common folks in the back of the plane are getting?
Baggies with Cheez-its.
Peasants!
Remember, folks, it’s not Arrogance unless it’s from the French region of Arrogance, otherwise it’s Sparkling Condescension.
(Condescending means I talk down to people).
CURTAIN CALL
Then, they shut the curtain between our cabin and the rest of the plane. I was now behind the curtain. The feeling of smug superiority began coursing through my veins. I was now…part of the elite!
MY PRECIOUS
Somewhere over Iceland, drunk on free, unlimited water, gorged on the endless supply of reruns of Just Shoot Me from my personalized entertainment system, I fell into a deep sleep.
I awoke, with a start, like Scrooge hearing the chains of Marley. It was an epiphany. This luxury was not good for my soul.
Like Gollum, I could feel myself being distorted and misshapen.
Like Superman, weakened by Kryptonite, I needed to crawl away.
Like Desmond, from Lost, I was in danger of being untethered. I needed my constant. My reminder. My source. My link to my humble, Midwest beginnings.
I knew what I needed to do.
I must…
Resist…
Mammon…
I must…
Get…
To…
My constant…
BACK TO LIFE. BACK TO REALITY.
Luckily, there is one thing that no amount of money can buy you, that is a great, great equalizer among men.
Massive Jet-Lag.
And the nausea that comes from deep exhaustion. And if I thought I was a king for a moment, I was about to deal with two sleep-deprived teens who would bring me back to earth quickly.
But thank you, AirFrance. For the lesson in humility.
Like Icarus, I flew too high.
And I learned my lesson…
But damn if that seat wasn’t comfortable.
\FIN
<Shakira, Shakira>
1. Guess I have to get my upgraded airplane fare pix on your Substack. Worth it for so much lol!
2. Nearly lost my birthright over a bowl of lentils --plated on bizclass porcelain--too. We passed the test and shall remain Galadriel. Praisealujah.
3. Happy 20th! So happy for you and wishing you all the trip/memories of a lifetime!