I navigate my way to the gate dodging vacationing families, couples and troops headed to one base or another. Grabbing my boarding pass, I glance down to see where my seat is. I didn’t have time to get online and secure an exit row so I may have to deal with whatever was booked. One thing that I assume when I get my ticket is that I’ll get a decent seat no matter what (chairman preferred and all that). I look down.
9B.
B means middle seat. B means touching elbows on both sides. B means “Escuse me. ‘Scuse me, pardon me. Whoops, sorry.”
I have my work cut out for me this morning. I quicken my pace thinking about a backup plan if I don’t get upgraded. I will not fly from Charlotte to San Fran in a middle seat. The airline gods dole out middle seats as if awarding prizes in some cruel bizarro lottery. Getting the best middle seat is like winning a lifetime supply of Sanka. You’re a winner but you don’t want it and you’d never ask for it. I can barely open my laptop in coach class anymore, throw in a middle seat situation and I’m one step up from overhead compartment class. What’s worse, the airline ripped out all of the power supplies to save on weight, so my computer won’t even hang in there for the duration of the flight.
I make my way to gate C12, which isn’t too bad of a hike. Another long line of people wait at the desk. Most seem to be rechecking their tickets to make sure they are okay. They don’t realize that once they get through the gates with a boarding pass they’re golden. On the other hand, some could be asking for seat changes. If any are granted, I could lose the coveted exit row. I see the flat screen on the board and my name is number one on the list for upgrades.
I get to the gate agent at the desk and smile. Being nice, even when you are getting shafted always works better, for your sanity and everyone else’s. It’s all part of the Airplane Karma.
“How may I help you, sir?” She is in her mid-forties, pleasant smile, speaks with a confidence that suggests she’s been doing this for a while. I imagine she is the go-to person for younger agents who can’t handle the more persistent (read, difficult) fliers.
I glance at her nametag. “Hi, Nancy. How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. How may I assist you, sir?”
She knows these lines get long and tedious. “I was hoping you all were ready to release the list for upgrades. I’m very excited,” I pointed to the screen that listed my name at the top, “because that would be me.”
“Lucky you. Unfortunately, first class has checked in full.”
“That is unfortunate.” I keep my chipper attitude, move on to plan B. “How about an exit row. Any love there?”
“I’m sorry, sir. We’re all booked for exit rows. Even middle seats.”
“That’s okay,” I say. This is not okay. Karma can jump in any day now. “As you’ve probably guessed, I have this middle seat.” I tip my pass so that Nancy could see it with her own eyes. “I was hoping you could find something a little more spacious.” I push out a laugh. “Five hours in the middle seat would be … well …” Either Nancy and I are on the same page with this, or not.
Nancy checks the computer, clickety-ckicking on the keyboard. I wonder what long string of characters Nancy could possibly be entering to that would lead to a seemingly simple answer.
“No window,” she says. “I do have an aisle, though.”
Better than nothing. “I’ll take it.”
She bangs out something else on the keyboard and says, “Five dollars.”
“What?”
“That will be five dollars, sir. For the aisle seat.”
“You’re charging me five dollars for an aisle seat in coach that’s already vacant?”
“Yes sir. Would you like to upgrade your current seat for this one?”
I’m principled to a fault and I decide right on the spot that I am not flying this airline anymore. I give Nancy a square-in-the-eye-what-for look, say, “No, I would not,” take my things and wait to board the flight.
