Up in the air as the 1%

I remember this time, Daragh, my ex boyfriend, and I were at JFK on our way to New Orleans. While wating for our flight he managed to get us an upgrade to frist class by taking advantage of the last minute sale: $100 dollars a person and you get a taste of grandness for 3 hours or so. Of course we were drunk before take-off.

As soon as we were up in the air, the wonderful flight attendant assigned to the first class cabin, kindly asked if we would give up our blankets in order to relieve the suffering of some less fortunate beings who were flying in coach. In our delirium, we said “Of course!” in unison. She bowed half way, which I took as a sign, not just of gratitud but also of respect, She took the blankets away and Daragh and I continued to enjoy our good fortune; Good God! to think that a few moments ago we had been doomed to coach, to think that that could’ve been me! But it wasn’t. What joy!

We were in a late night flight, so after having cleared JFK and the marvelous NYC skyline, tere was nothing else to see out the window and I fell asleep.

I do not know how long I had been unconcious but by the time I woke up the temperature had dropped considerably and there was nothing around me to layer up. Daragh was out cold, just like I had been just a few minutes ago, I tried to wake him up but — oh, yes, I forgot to mention he is Irish — there was no waking him up. I sat back, reclined my seat, brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them to give myself some corporal heat; what a terrible mistake we had made! And how appropriate, I finally could identify with the feelings Katrina donors had after they found out what “those people” were going on cruise trips and/or drinking away their charity money and what did the donor have to show for it?

Cold.

Where is she!

I did the old submarine-telescope-scanning from my seat, I went to the bathroom, to all the bathrooms, hoping to run into her.

Nada.

Where do flight attendants go when you most need them?

I went back to my seat where I found my then sweetie, his body curled up into a bowl trying to stay warm, his mind still too drunk for consciousness. I was jealous, I should’ve drank more. I was also appalled, I couldn’t take it anymore, I belled the flight attendant, I had to, I didn’t care anymore if I embarrassed her in front of her peers and customers; or as they like to call us now in commercial airlines, guests and what if this get recorded in the black box? it would cause permanent damage to her... Carrier?

But enough is enough. Right?

She came out of nowhere, literally. I said “me and my boyfriend are really cold, anyway we could get a blanket?” She looked puzzled. I studied her face and now I was a believer.

Of the hardships of the 1%.

She had no answers for me. In the hierarchy of a commercial Delta flight, no one was above me, therefore, no one to turn to in the time of need for me and my loved one.

It was then, at the very moment of hopelessness and despair, as it often happens, that genius stroke and I remembered that before the drinking started, in a desire for entertainment and objective information, I had purchased the New York Times at the airport exit’s Newsworld…

So Yes. Yes, I did.

I reached down under my seat for a life saver of sorts; the big,news loaded pages of the New York Times, to cover my still unaware beloved and myself for all in first class to see! For the flight attendant to see: Pure resourceful ingenuity that only the ones on the very top of the food chain have to have in order to survive external conditions, the very spirit that fuels the American dream.