Winging It

I do not travel nearly as much as I once did. Back in the day with my former employer, I would travel, on average, about 150 days each year and go to about 70 cities both large and small across America. I might also have traveled once or twice a year internationally.

I would try to choose the same airline, so I could build miles and status to receive perks like early boarding and an occasional free upgrade to first class.

My travel is not nearly the same any more. I may travel just a few times each year nowadays. I have to use different airlines, and my once preferred carrier does not offer nearly as many choices as it once did. Thus, I have no status on any airline and am like anyone else. When I do fly, I wait for the cattlecar placement on the plane.

Take, for example, the recent boarding experience that I had for my return flight home from Phoenix the other day:

Passengers boarded before me include first class, preferred members, families with babies, disabled people, people with wide-set eyes, purple left thumbs, green feet, and everyone else.

"We are boarding by zones. Only board when your zone number is called."

Everyone queues up anyway. (But the agent enforces the "boarding by zone" rule.)

"Attention, we are now boarding Zone 90" calls the gate agent.

Finally... That's me.

"Sir, we have run out of middle seats in the back of the plane. Would you prefer to be strapped to the right or left wing?"

Ummm... I guess the left. I do not have it in me to be a right winger.

"Okay, sir, step out here. Good! Straps nice and tight? That's great! (Who says you're not into bondage!) It may be a little windy, but the view is excellent!"



This is a joke. This is only a joke. For the above post, this blog tested your bad joke deciphering system. This is only a joke. Actually, I got to sit on the tail...