The View From the Front

I didn't feel guilty as I sat in seat 1C on the MD90 Jet at Gate D6 in Salt Lake City. I was bound for O'Hare, on my sixth flight in five days. Sure, there were families plodding their way to the back of the plane, laden with baby gear, toddler toys, and 'tween electronics. Sitting in 1C as the flight boarded made me the first passenger encountered by everyone heading back to coach. I busied myself with a video podcast on my iTouch, nodding and smiling at the little ones who passed into my line of vision. Not a moment of remorse entered my soul when I reclined as soon as we soared out of the Salt Lake Valley, feeling that my enduring flight after flight and delay after delay has earned me the right to sit in that seat. Granting first class seats to frequent flyers is almost like the airlines saying "We know that this flying thing stinks." But I earned my extra elbow room during winter snow and summer squawls. I paid for this privilege in the uncompensated hours away from my family – the same hours that would mathematically reduce my hourly honorarium to bupkus. I wasn't feeling smug, only justly compensated for my time and inconvenience.