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Authors: Holmes Rupert
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Against that, however, you must remember that my headphones were free.
I stepped up to the woman behind the ticket counter. OConnor? I beamed. Flight 570 to JFK.
First class? she asked, looking up at the sign that saidFIRST CLASS CHECK -IN. Insulted, I murmured, Of course, and wanting to show her that I had not just wandered in by accident, I asked, The planeis a jumbo jet, correct? I only fly jumbos. She told me it certainly was and printed out a boarding pass for me.
I wasnt kidding about preferring jumbo jets to all others. What I loved most about flying a 747 first-class to and from New York was its upstairs lounge. Ascending a spiral staircase from your seat, you found yourself in a parlor car lined on three sides with orange-and-red banquettes. There was a slim, well-stocked bar and, in its earliest rendition, a Fender Rhodes electric piano. Once dinner or lunch was out of the way, I tended to antigravitate to the lounge, skipping the in-flight movie (which by FAA regulations was required to star Michael Caine), opting instead for a glance at some book, with a longer glance out the lounge windows at the continent of clouds directly below us.
As it happens, Im not a great flier. Beejay, my roommate in college, had told me before my first flight that I was in more danger of having a fatal accident in our bathroom than on an airplane … from which I reasoned that one should never,ever use the bathroom on a plane, as this is clearly the most dangerous place in the world. One of the reasons I most liked the upstairs lounge was that Id convinced myself that, were the plane to crash, Id have all the passengers below me to break my fall.
Perhaps Kim and Karl would let me sit up there for takeoff. I stepped down the telescoping gangway that all the airlines were now employing, and crossing the threshold into the jumbo jet, I decided to head straightaway up the spiral staircase for a glass or two of predeparture champagne
But there was no spiral staircase. It had clearly been stolen. I asked a stewardess, named Kim, about this with some urgency. Her answers were unsatisfactory. Yes, the plane was a wide-body. Yes, it was a jumbo jet. No, it had no spiral staircase. Yes, like a 747, its first class compartment was to the left of the boarding door. No, it was not a 747. Not all jumbo jets are 747s.
Ohmigod. It was a DC-10.
Kim handed me a glass of champagne to steady my shaken nerves and I almost forgot to thank her, so disoriented was I trying to find my seat. The seating configuration up front on a DC-10 was unusual: two-two-two. I was in the middle pair in the last row of first class. Miles away from a window. I did have a well-centered view of the movie screen where Michael Caine would shortly appear. But gone for the journey would be any view of that cumulusian continent of which I was so fond.
How booked up are you? I asked Kim. Any chance of switching to a window seat?
Kim turned to an older stewardess who was helping a gentleman off with his sports jacket. Helen, do we have a window seat available?
Helen shook her head unhappily. No, doggone it, Im afraid first is all fullI was just checking that for Marge at the gate. She looked down at me apologetically. Theyre almost as jammed up in economy as we are, so I cant even offer you a window back there. She stepped away.
Would you like a little more champagne? asked Kim. I sat down and accepted her offer as she tried to sell me on the virtues of the DC-10.
These center seats are really wonderful. See, if you push herecan I show you … ? She used her foot to depress a button at the base of my seat. The seat swivels to the left and right, something the side seats cant do. She moved me forty-five degrees one way and forty-five the other. Whee. This was even better than the mechanical pony outside of Woolworths, and only seven hundred dollars a ride.
Kim then indicated a low circular table
I stepped up to the woman behind the ticket counter. OConnor? I beamed. Flight 570 to JFK.
First class? she asked, looking up at the sign that saidFIRST CLASS CHECK -IN. Insulted, I murmured, Of course, and wanting to show her that I had not just wandered in by accident, I asked, The planeis a jumbo jet, correct? I only fly jumbos. She told me it certainly was and printed out a boarding pass for me.
I wasnt kidding about preferring jumbo jets to all others. What I loved most about flying a 747 first-class to and from New York was its upstairs lounge. Ascending a spiral staircase from your seat, you found yourself in a parlor car lined on three sides with orange-and-red banquettes. There was a slim, well-stocked bar and, in its earliest rendition, a Fender Rhodes electric piano. Once dinner or lunch was out of the way, I tended to antigravitate to the lounge, skipping the in-flight movie (which by FAA regulations was required to star Michael Caine), opting instead for a glance at some book, with a longer glance out the lounge windows at the continent of clouds directly below us.
As it happens, Im not a great flier. Beejay, my roommate in college, had told me before my first flight that I was in more danger of having a fatal accident in our bathroom than on an airplane … from which I reasoned that one should never,ever use the bathroom on a plane, as this is clearly the most dangerous place in the world. One of the reasons I most liked the upstairs lounge was that Id convinced myself that, were the plane to crash, Id have all the passengers below me to break my fall.
Perhaps Kim and Karl would let me sit up there for takeoff. I stepped down the telescoping gangway that all the airlines were now employing, and crossing the threshold into the jumbo jet, I decided to head straightaway up the spiral staircase for a glass or two of predeparture champagne
But there was no spiral staircase. It had clearly been stolen. I asked a stewardess, named Kim, about this with some urgency. Her answers were unsatisfactory. Yes, the plane was a wide-body. Yes, it was a jumbo jet. No, it had no spiral staircase. Yes, like a 747, its first class compartment was to the left of the boarding door. No, it was not a 747. Not all jumbo jets are 747s.
Ohmigod. It was a DC-10.
Kim handed me a glass of champagne to steady my shaken nerves and I almost forgot to thank her, so disoriented was I trying to find my seat. The seating configuration up front on a DC-10 was unusual: two-two-two. I was in the middle pair in the last row of first class. Miles away from a window. I did have a well-centered view of the movie screen where Michael Caine would shortly appear. But gone for the journey would be any view of that cumulusian continent of which I was so fond.
How booked up are you? I asked Kim. Any chance of switching to a window seat?
Kim turned to an older stewardess who was helping a gentleman off with his sports jacket. Helen, do we have a window seat available?
Helen shook her head unhappily. No, doggone it, Im afraid first is all fullI was just checking that for Marge at the gate. She looked down at me apologetically. Theyre almost as jammed up in economy as we are, so I cant even offer you a window back there. She stepped away.
Would you like a little more champagne? asked Kim. I sat down and accepted her offer as she tried to sell me on the virtues of the DC-10.
These center seats are really wonderful. See, if you push herecan I show you … ? She used her foot to depress a button at the base of my seat. The seat swivels to the left and right, something the side seats cant do. She moved me forty-five degrees one way and forty-five the other. Whee. This was even better than the mechanical pony outside of Woolworths, and only seven hundred dollars a ride.
Kim then indicated a low circular table
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