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Worst Class

Anyone who knows me well knows how much I love to travel. Anyone who knows me well knows that’s a big fat lie.

I’m aware that many people would kill to have the opportunity to go to the places I’ve been—to see the world up close and personal. Don’t think I’m ungrateful, but to tell the truth, I’m the biggest home-body in the said wide world. As far as I’m concerned, Dorothy got it right when she closed her eyes, clicked her ruby slippers and stated, “There’s no place like home!”

Go ahead and say it. I’m a first-class brat. Who in their right mind wouldn’t look forward to an upcoming trip? Good thing I’ve never claimed to be in my right mind.

I’m usually okay once I get to my destination, it’s the flying I dread most. Let me give you an example taken from yesterday’s flight.

First off, because they didn’t let us choose our seats we were down-graded to worst-class. By that I mean seated at the very back of the plane where the amenities are pretty much nonexistent. I shouldn’t complain because at least I had a full seat. My husband had to sit by a nice man who took his seat in the middle and half of each one on either side. His beard was long and bushy, likely to cover the rash on his chin that was obviously itching.

Did you know there aren’t any windows on the back row? And that the seats don’t recline? If the person in front of you wants to lay his seat back, you don’t have room to open your tray table. You’re too close to the screen to watch the movie and it’s too tight to open your laptop. That’s not a good combination for someone with restless leg syndrome, claustrophobia and ADHD. This might be a good time to confess I’m also OCD—and mention that the girl in front of me had on a face mask and carried a bag brimming with flu medications. Much of the time she pulled the mask down around her chin—probably so she could breathe better—never mind that I couldn’t.

The good news is that the bathroom is right there. The bad news is that the bathroom is right there. You get to know the business of everyone who comes and goes. If there’s any turbulence (which there was) it totally stirs the pot. Peee-yoo! That’s not all bad because the smell makes you lose your appetite, which is okay because by the time the snack cart gets all the way to the back it’s slim pickings. I guess that’s just the way the cookie crumbles. Literally.

Before you call me a spoiled brat, keep in mind that I wasn’t flying first-class. And I obviously wasn't wearing ruby slippers.