Everything Flies

Maybe it's my Delta Platinum Preferred prejudice, but I definitely notice a difference when I fly Southwest Airlines. Never my first choice, perhaps because of the gang seating mentality. Lining up like cattle waiting for the slaughter never seemed like the most dignified manner to prepare for a flight. Or maybe it's their lack of a first class cabin. I don't like to think of myself as someone who needs to be separated from the common folk. Well, maybe I do.

In coach, and especially when I fly SWA, I notice a different clientele. The Greyhound of the skies, this is everyman's airline, and I'm always depressed when I meet everyman. Parents who can't control their kids should really have to drive from Jacksonville to Indianapolis. Maybe after 20 hours in the car they will figure out that it's time to get your kid to sit put. People in coach who have their inane conversations at dance club volume maybe don't realize that it is hard work NOT to listen. I don't want to know about your uncle's goiter surgery, or the prospects for this college team, or even your tips on how to make a good guacamole dip. I want to read my book, or to work on my laptop, or to do nothing at all. Instead I am assaulted by your voice and the kicking feet of your tantrum-throwing children.

Taking SWA today was a gamble. If all the stars in heaven align correctly, the plan is that I can arrive home tomorrow night before 10 PM, thereby optimizing the pre-race sleep. This was the only airline with a direct flight Indy to Jax, and I didn't want to risk a connection combined with the Turkey Day Tumult at the airport. Flying is a crap shoot either way, but I thought that slumming was the best of the options in this case. The payoff of that gamble remains to be seen.