Dateline Boston — For my return trip back to Boston from my uncle’s house in California, I get smart. And modern. I decide to save the check-in email and wave my phone to be scanned at the gate, like I’m a woman in my 20’s. I am hip. I am cool. I am connected.
I get to my gate, and notice I am in Group 5 again. An announcement is made for people in Groups 4 and 5 to check their bags. I check mine so that it won’t be taken away from me like last time. This time I do not threaten the attendant, but I do tell him that the one time I checked my bag, it got lost. He tells me I was unlucky.
The groups get called, and it’s my turn. I take out my phone to get my email…and it won’t download. I get a message on my phone that says they can’t get a connection. I am not modern. I am not cool. I am not 20. The lady at the desk tells me it’s no problem, happens all the time…I wonder if I’m on a bad date. She asks for my name and prints a paper ticket for me in two seconds.
I find my seat and discover I am seated next to two women who might actually be in their 20s. They both have long hair, and the one next to mine flips hers as she whispers loudly to her friend that I am covered in tattoos. She flips her hair a few more times and thankfully falls asleep.
An announcement is made that snacks will be available for purchase. To find the options, we can look at the back of the magazine in the front pocket of our seat. I look at the page that has snack options, read the descriptions, and decide on the Classic snack. The flight attendant comes by with her cart. The woman across the aisle from me asks what snacks are available. The attendant patiently names a couple, and the woman asks what’s in those packs. The attendant tells her she can look at the back of the magazine and read the descriptions, all with a big smile. The woman asks more questions about what is in the boxes. Her daughter is reading the descriptions to her. The flight attendant finally tells her that she will come back. I tell the attendant that I know exactly what I want. She tells me she is appreciative.
Somehow I make it through the flight without watching any part of Shark Week. Is Shark Week over? No, there appears to be a shark on the screen of someone in front of me. I read my book. The rest of the flight passes uneventfully.
In Boston, Husband picks me up at the Baggage Claim, where I collect my bag that is not lost. That airline is so lucky.
Ms. Vaillancourt may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
