First Class - it’s called Business now, but I like the sound of first class better. Especially since I’ve been there recently.
Several weeks ago, my nose a little elevated as if I were a dog smelling a bowl of meaty rib bones, I was in the group boarding the plane first. My emotions were mixed. Every now and then I realize I could develop an attitude, but the few times that’s happened it doesn’t last too long; something or somebody knocks that mind set right out from under me, or I do it to myself.
The only other time I had traveled first class was years ago. A patient of Willard’s was a gate attendant and had been checking tickets at the airport (this was before all the suitcase searching, body screening, barefoot walking and fanny pats). When this nice man saw that Dr. Boggan and his wife would be in the back of the plane he said, “I don’t think this is a full flight. Wait a minute, and I’ll get you upgraded, Doc.” Willard and I flew first class to Denver. I must say, though, that wasn’t long enough for me to get an attitude.
But this recent trip was different. On a Danube river cruise I took with some other Jackson ladies, Margaret Vise, Carol Kirkland, Ann Barksdale and Edrie Royals, my family insisted I needed to suck it up, pay the extra cost, and sit in the front of the plane.
Honest confession is good for the soul. I did enjoy the preferential treatment. Not just the boarding first, but the free champagne, getting to choose an entrée from a menu and larger, comfier seats. Over the long haul, from Dallas to Heathrow my seat even made into a bed. There was one small drawback, though. I crossed the ocean riding backward. The next time, before I board the plane, I’ll check my ticket. In days past I couldn’t even ride backward in a station wagon or a truck without tossing my cookies. I would have been embarrassed to do that, especially in first class. I didn’t look out the window.
After long hours of studying the plane’s interior, the final touchdown for our flight was Bucharest, Romania, where we checked into a hotel and crashed for the night.
***
The next day, before boarding our ship, the Viking Jarl and beginning a Danube River cruise, our group took a city bus tour. Cruise-mate Edrie and I sat together - we were across from two, round-faced, gray-haired ladies.
“I’ve never traveled with anybody from Mississippi before,” one of them said as we introduced ourselves.
“Well, I’ll hafta tell y’all,” I drawled. “I’m still tard from that there plane ride, but I’m having more fun that a lost dawg in a meat market.” Without me meaning to, my mouth may have set an unfortunate tone with those remarks.
We enjoyed a few pleasant hours in the modern Romanian capital, and also heard about the powerful influences of the old days, some good and some tragic, making me wish I’d studied up on my history before coming to Eastern Europe.
I especially liked the open air, Village Museum. Showcasing traditional village life the museum contains 272 authentic peasant farms and houses from all over Romania. It was an interesting and beautiful place to visit.
But when it was time to load the bus and head toward Tescarus, a popular indoor/outdoor restaurant, I must admit, my friends and I were fighting jet lag and were ready for some rest.
Long narrow tables and chairs were crammed in so tightly it looked like Cox’s army could be seated at the restaurant. Edrie and I sat on the near end, opposite each other, the two bus ladies were down from us. When one of them got up, apparently to go to the restroom, the tables and chairs were stacked so close she couldn’t get past me. A straight metal bar ran across the bottom of the table and blocked the legs to my chair.
“Move up,” the lady said.
Sliding down as far as I could, my legs stretched straight out, my back close to the chair seat, my nose touched the table top.
“Let me by,” she said.
“Lady, I’ve literally got the pedal to the medal. This is as far as I can go,” I answered. “I’m sorry.”
Finally, sucking in a deep breath, stepping past me on tiptoe Ms. Roundface managed to squeeze through and stomped from the table.
After our meal and standing in line to board the bus I tried to apologize again. “I’m sorry.”
“You should have tried harder. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I see why I’ve never traveled with anybody from Mississippi before.” She sagged her shoulders, sighed and stepped onto the bus.
“Are you okay?” Edrie asked as she and I slid into our seats.
“Maybe she should have worn a girdle,” I whispered, then covered my face with my hands.
Bottom line, after all was said and done, I may have flunked, First Class 101.
