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May 23, 2008

First Class Stinks! (Literally)

The grass is always greener on the other side.”
My Daddy used to tell me this a lot when I was little. I always appreciated everything I had growing up- and still do. But there were times when my friends would have things that I didn’t and an ounce of jealousy would get sprinkled on top of the appreciation. He would always break it down for me- “You have a horse…you have both parents…you have, etc. Would you trade even one of those things, for what they have?” Never.
I was reminded of this yesterday during my flight(s) out to Casper, WY. I had two layovers, one in Cincinnati and one in Salt Lake City. Both were hardly layovers, as I had to run across the airport to catch both my flights…leaving just enough time to catch my breath before taking off.
When I got onto the plane in Cincinnati, I turned to the right- as always…and started looking for my seat number- 3A.
What? Why are these seats in the 20s and going up?
The flight attendant could see the confusion on my winded face and offered her assistance.
Oh, Ma’am…you are in first class.
REALLY? Are you sure?!
I’d never flown first class before so I immediately got super excited. (And also immediately thought “This has to be a mistake. But, whatever!”) I put down my bag and sat in the enormous (and comfy) seat. The flight attendant got me something to drink and I settled in for takeoff. I wondered if I’d ever want to fly in coach again, considering all the leg room and accommodations. That thought was halted when the person seated next to me arrived.
Let me just say…the grass might be greener- but that doesn’t mean a hill of beans if it smells like pure shit. This older lady smelled horrible. I’m not sure if she had a chronic gas problem or what but- it was impossible for me to breath the entire 3 hours. Honestly, I thought I was going to throw up. (And let this be known…the hot towels they give you up there, only made the smell worse.)
Aside from the odor, my other first class companions had absolutely no personality. In fact, they looked at me like “Why is this young, skinny, bitch in first class? Ugh, she is in jeans…” I made an attempt to bite the bullet and speak to Mrs. Stinky-Britches and she mumbled an answer and looked away. However, she had no problem chatting it up with Mr. Dick Snobby in the opposite row. (He was clearly not in nose-shot of her.)
I have never appreciated a tini-ini coach seat more than when I got on my connecting flight in Salt Lake City. It was a pleasure to sit in the cramped seat, next to a normal person and smell nothing but jet fuel.

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