MILE HIGH (SALMON) CLUB

I somehow accidentally got myself a business class seat back from Vancouver, and ohhhhh no, I think I get its appeal. It is a scary feeling when you sense your standards shift slightly up, and your inner poor person / brooklynite winces into her ramen. Business class: First to board, first to de-plane, infinite cocktails, a sort of strange gourmet dinner,  little porcelain bowls of nuts, mild feelings of superiority that feel totally gross but right. The guy across from me complained to our servant / stewardess: Since this flight’s delayed,  I’m going to miss my connection, which means I’m going to have to get the later flight to New York and FLY COACH. The servant / stewardess replied, with great sincerity: Oh, no. I am so, so sorry. My moral center rolled its eyes as I transcribed this dialogue. I then asked for more warm nuts and stretched my legs out on towards infinity.

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