I haven't written for a while... sorry, I've been busy.
Today, however, I have not been busy, which will be obvious to you after you read the following email conversation I had with a colleague at work. For privacy purposes, we'll just call him "J." I think I totally smoked him in this conversation... do you agree?
_____________________________________________
From: Todd
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 12:30 PM
To: J
Subject: So...
How much sympathy do you think T.O. gets after his suicide attempt?
_____________________________________________
From: J
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 1:35 PM
To: Todd
Subject: RE: So...
Slim to none… bordering on none
_____________________________________________
From: Todd
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 1:35 PM
To: J
Subject: RE: So...
Isn't slim already bordering on none?
_____________________________________________
From: J
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 1:37 PM
To: Todd
Subject: RE: So...
It depends on perspective. One year is very different from one day from our perspective, but from a historical or geological perspective, it's practically the same.
_____________________________________________
From: Todd
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 1:40 PM
To: J
Subject: RE: So...
I just thought that the whole meaning behind the expression "slim to none" is that the chance of something happening is either slim or the next worse thing… no chance… it can't be measured in an infinite number of increments as time can.
_____________________________________________
From: J
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 1:42 PM
To: Todd
Subject: RE: So...
Chances actually can be measured infinitely. Chance is represented as a percentage of likelihood. As you know, percentages are not integers. As such the percentage can be calculated out to any number of decimal places, creating an infinite number of possibilities.
____________________________________________
From: Todd
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 1:43 PM
To: J
Subject: RE: So...
But not categories… any one of those minute possibilities as you approach zero percent chance of something would fall into the category "slim"
_____________________________________________
From: Todd
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 1:47 PM
To: J
Subject: RE: So...
Furthermore, your argument actually negates the entire phrase "slim to none" because if a chance was slim and approaching none, it could never possibly reach none
_____________________________________________
From: J
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 1:48 PM
To: Todd
Subject: RE: So...
I'm guessing you cheated and this was a column in the most recent Economist.
_____________________________________________
From: Todd
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 1:58 PM
To: J
Subject: RE: So...
Nope, sorry… you're just going to have to accept the fact that I have a very beautiful mind.
_____________________________________________
From: J
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 2:01 PM
To: Todd
Subject: RE: So...
Beautiful like a baboon's @^$
_____________________________________________
From: Todd
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 2:02 PM
To: J
Subject: RE: So...
Way to punctuate what was, up until now, a relatively intelligent conversation.
_____________________________________________
From: J
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 2:03 PM
To: Todd
Subject: RE: So...
I thought it was a nice touch.
27 September 2006
06 September 2006
Rising above my station.
What is it that makes “first class” so… well… classy? In “Jerry McGuire” it's explained this way: “It used to be a better meal. Now, it’s a better way of life.” Of course, Cameron Crowe meant to point out that this is what is wrong with First Class because it magnifies the social schisms in the world today and blah-blah-blah-blah-blah… silly hippies lost my attention. Wake me up when Tom Cruise goes crazy again.
I’ve flown the friendly skies many times in my young life. I’ve been through almost anything that the air travel gods can throw at you. Lost luggage, delays, cancellations, out of apple juice… I’ve heard it all. One time when I was about twelve years old, I was traveling alone on a flight from Jersey to Pittsburgh that was rerouted, mid-flight, to Erie of all places… thank you, USAir. Unfortunately, if you fly in and out of enough airports, these inconveniences start to take on the behavior of water on a duck’s back and, up until recently, I had never really made an effort to delve into how the “other half” lives. You know those people who sit in front of the closed curtain where there are only 4 seats to a row, instead of 6.
Over Labor Day weekend, I flew out to Chicago to visit with my family and a grand time was had by all. We went to a Cubs’ game, ate great food, but of course, this isn’t the point of my story.
My flight out of BWI was an early morning flight. The United E-Ticket kiosk offered me an upgrade using my mileage plus miles and I honestly did consider it for about 10 seconds before I declined. I figured I would save it for a later date.
Upon boarding the plane, I immediately regretted my decision. I was seated in an aisle seat and the person in the center seat next to me was one of those people who really should have been encouraged (read: forced) to purchase two seats for himself. I did take pity on the man because he was polite and he seemed to do his best to not encroach upon what little personal space I had left. I imagine that he truly understood that the fact that we couldn’t even put the armrest between us down was an inconvenience to me, and would no doubt be on my mind, but at least I was patient enough not to say anything. We wound up talking about football for a while as we sat there, still as statues, with my left shoulder resting firmly in his right armpit.
While this experience was not unpleasant enough to ruin my weekend or sour me on air travel altogether, it was on my mind when I checked in for my return flight on Monday night. I had already found out that the flight would be delayed no less than an hour and a half and this meant that the earliest I would get into Baltimore would be 11:30pm. With the dark cloud of work the next morning hanging over the situation like the rain clouds in the Chicagoland area that were delaying all flights in and out of O’Hare, I couldn’t think of a better opportunity to upgrade to the elite status of First Class fliers; if only for a couple of hours. I bit the bullet, redeemed a chunk of miles and breathed deep as I embraced the thought of free booze and a better meal forthcoming.
Of course, the departure time kept getting pushed back (we didn’t actually leave until around 9:25pm central time... estimated arrival, midnight eastern). I passed the time in an airport bar growing more and more pleased with my decision to upgrade with each sip of Dewar’s, knowing that it would be the only scotch I would have to pay for all night.
Eventually, we embarked. Let me describe to you how awesome First Class is:
First, with a First Class ticket, you get to board first. And with “first” I mean, before the children traveling unattended and passengers in need of assistance. First Class goes first. PERIOD. Just like George Costanza in an apartment fire.
Next, comes the big, comfy seat. This thing is like a barca-lounger and, when you get to it, you have your own pillow and blanket (still in the original plastic) waiting for you. No more fighting for the communal pillows with the peasants. Each pair of seats has a center console with two of those air-phones that have credit card readers built in under the armrests. There is a small tray for your drink and a larger tray in the other armrest for your meal. The seat should be enough reason to pony up the extra dough, but wait… there’s more!
While all of the scrubs in the main cabin are still fighting over who gets which pillow and trying to find the closest available space in the overhead compartment, I was being offered a pre-flight drink. DING! El Scotcho Numero Dos!
Next, while I drank my pre-flight scotch the flight attendant came around and took everyone’s order for dinner. Our choice was between an asian chicken salad or an open faced pulled pork sandwich. I went for the pulled pork… Hey, I figured if I was going to be a little on the hedonistic side, I might as well not get the “healthy” meal.
Now would be about the time I made my first real observation about the other people flying in first class. Everybody, and I mean everybody, was reading a book. I know that a lot of people read in coach too, it’s one of the most popular activities, but not everybody. Usually you see people trying to sleep or talking to travel companions or listening to music and peering out the window like a mouse in a cage. Not here. At the very least, I thought I would see someone working on a laptop. Nope… not one person appeared to be working.
Once we took off, I realized why people chose to read instead of sleep, listen to music or work. First Class is a constant stream of service from beginning to end, or at least it is on a ninety minute flight.
First came the second round of drinks. DING! El Scotcho Numero Tres! What separated the in-flight scotch from the pre-flight scotch was that this one came in a glass tumbler and was accompanied by… get this… warm nuts. In coach, they don’t even serve peanuts anymore due to allergy concerns. In first class, not only do they serve nuts, but they put them in a little ceramic bowl and zap it in the microwave for you. They had a good mix too: cashews, pistachios, walnuts, pecans and almonds. If I was a squirrel, I would have gone into shock. As a human, I had to settle for simply delighted.
By this point I probably had unreasonably high expectations for the meal so I was a little disappointed that it wasn’t absolutely the best pulled pork I had ever tasted. It will have to settle for being the most satisfactory meal I have ever had on an airplane. Dinner did come with actual silver ware, cloth napkins, and a warm, soft chocolate chip cookie for desert. When the flight attendant cleared my empty place setting, they offered me another drink. I felt like taking the opportunity to wisecrack “are you trying to get me drunk?” But I immediately recognized that such a remark would be beneath First Class, and thus decided against it. I asked for a Perrier with a lime instead of a scotch, partly because we were landing soon and I had to drive home from the airport, but mostly because I wanted to see if they actually had limes. Of course they did… there’s no request too frivolous for First Class.
We landed… first, because we were in the front of the plane (that was a little First Class humor) and disembarked… first.
Sure, the next time I fly it’ll be with a coach ticket, but I have to say that I could definitely get used to First Class. Cameron Crowe was right when he said that First Class is a better way of life, but for the wrong reasons. I would pray that those of us who fly coach regularly don’t think poorly of those who fly First Class simply because we believe they look down their noses at us. I can almost guarantee you that those who have always flown First Class probably don’t pay any attention to coach at all. I’m certainly not one of those people, but after this weekend, I can absolutely vouch for the merit of a First Class seat… if only once.
I’ve flown the friendly skies many times in my young life. I’ve been through almost anything that the air travel gods can throw at you. Lost luggage, delays, cancellations, out of apple juice… I’ve heard it all. One time when I was about twelve years old, I was traveling alone on a flight from Jersey to Pittsburgh that was rerouted, mid-flight, to Erie of all places… thank you, USAir. Unfortunately, if you fly in and out of enough airports, these inconveniences start to take on the behavior of water on a duck’s back and, up until recently, I had never really made an effort to delve into how the “other half” lives. You know those people who sit in front of the closed curtain where there are only 4 seats to a row, instead of 6.
Over Labor Day weekend, I flew out to Chicago to visit with my family and a grand time was had by all. We went to a Cubs’ game, ate great food, but of course, this isn’t the point of my story.
My flight out of BWI was an early morning flight. The United E-Ticket kiosk offered me an upgrade using my mileage plus miles and I honestly did consider it for about 10 seconds before I declined. I figured I would save it for a later date.
Upon boarding the plane, I immediately regretted my decision. I was seated in an aisle seat and the person in the center seat next to me was one of those people who really should have been encouraged (read: forced) to purchase two seats for himself. I did take pity on the man because he was polite and he seemed to do his best to not encroach upon what little personal space I had left. I imagine that he truly understood that the fact that we couldn’t even put the armrest between us down was an inconvenience to me, and would no doubt be on my mind, but at least I was patient enough not to say anything. We wound up talking about football for a while as we sat there, still as statues, with my left shoulder resting firmly in his right armpit.
While this experience was not unpleasant enough to ruin my weekend or sour me on air travel altogether, it was on my mind when I checked in for my return flight on Monday night. I had already found out that the flight would be delayed no less than an hour and a half and this meant that the earliest I would get into Baltimore would be 11:30pm. With the dark cloud of work the next morning hanging over the situation like the rain clouds in the Chicagoland area that were delaying all flights in and out of O’Hare, I couldn’t think of a better opportunity to upgrade to the elite status of First Class fliers; if only for a couple of hours. I bit the bullet, redeemed a chunk of miles and breathed deep as I embraced the thought of free booze and a better meal forthcoming.
Of course, the departure time kept getting pushed back (we didn’t actually leave until around 9:25pm central time... estimated arrival, midnight eastern). I passed the time in an airport bar growing more and more pleased with my decision to upgrade with each sip of Dewar’s, knowing that it would be the only scotch I would have to pay for all night.
Eventually, we embarked. Let me describe to you how awesome First Class is:
First, with a First Class ticket, you get to board first. And with “first” I mean, before the children traveling unattended and passengers in need of assistance. First Class goes first. PERIOD. Just like George Costanza in an apartment fire.
Next, comes the big, comfy seat. This thing is like a barca-lounger and, when you get to it, you have your own pillow and blanket (still in the original plastic) waiting for you. No more fighting for the communal pillows with the peasants. Each pair of seats has a center console with two of those air-phones that have credit card readers built in under the armrests. There is a small tray for your drink and a larger tray in the other armrest for your meal. The seat should be enough reason to pony up the extra dough, but wait… there’s more!
While all of the scrubs in the main cabin are still fighting over who gets which pillow and trying to find the closest available space in the overhead compartment, I was being offered a pre-flight drink. DING! El Scotcho Numero Dos!
Next, while I drank my pre-flight scotch the flight attendant came around and took everyone’s order for dinner. Our choice was between an asian chicken salad or an open faced pulled pork sandwich. I went for the pulled pork… Hey, I figured if I was going to be a little on the hedonistic side, I might as well not get the “healthy” meal.
Now would be about the time I made my first real observation about the other people flying in first class. Everybody, and I mean everybody, was reading a book. I know that a lot of people read in coach too, it’s one of the most popular activities, but not everybody. Usually you see people trying to sleep or talking to travel companions or listening to music and peering out the window like a mouse in a cage. Not here. At the very least, I thought I would see someone working on a laptop. Nope… not one person appeared to be working.
Once we took off, I realized why people chose to read instead of sleep, listen to music or work. First Class is a constant stream of service from beginning to end, or at least it is on a ninety minute flight.
First came the second round of drinks. DING! El Scotcho Numero Tres! What separated the in-flight scotch from the pre-flight scotch was that this one came in a glass tumbler and was accompanied by… get this… warm nuts. In coach, they don’t even serve peanuts anymore due to allergy concerns. In first class, not only do they serve nuts, but they put them in a little ceramic bowl and zap it in the microwave for you. They had a good mix too: cashews, pistachios, walnuts, pecans and almonds. If I was a squirrel, I would have gone into shock. As a human, I had to settle for simply delighted.
By this point I probably had unreasonably high expectations for the meal so I was a little disappointed that it wasn’t absolutely the best pulled pork I had ever tasted. It will have to settle for being the most satisfactory meal I have ever had on an airplane. Dinner did come with actual silver ware, cloth napkins, and a warm, soft chocolate chip cookie for desert. When the flight attendant cleared my empty place setting, they offered me another drink. I felt like taking the opportunity to wisecrack “are you trying to get me drunk?” But I immediately recognized that such a remark would be beneath First Class, and thus decided against it. I asked for a Perrier with a lime instead of a scotch, partly because we were landing soon and I had to drive home from the airport, but mostly because I wanted to see if they actually had limes. Of course they did… there’s no request too frivolous for First Class.
We landed… first, because we were in the front of the plane (that was a little First Class humor) and disembarked… first.
Sure, the next time I fly it’ll be with a coach ticket, but I have to say that I could definitely get used to First Class. Cameron Crowe was right when he said that First Class is a better way of life, but for the wrong reasons. I would pray that those of us who fly coach regularly don’t think poorly of those who fly First Class simply because we believe they look down their noses at us. I can almost guarantee you that those who have always flown First Class probably don’t pay any attention to coach at all. I’m certainly not one of those people, but after this weekend, I can absolutely vouch for the merit of a First Class seat… if only once.
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