I’m currently sitting in a business class seat on a flight from Houston to New Orleans.  I have no idea how I got so lucky, but my slipshod approach to airline travel often results in my earning undeserved upgrades.  You know, I book my ticket last minute, check in late, refuse to choose a seat, etc. and because I generally travel alone, I often end up with an early boarding number or a random seat with extra legroom.  This is my first time in business class.  Ever. Because I am not above embarrassing myself, let me tell you, it was not a smooth ride getting here. 

I landed in Houston and deplaned while chatting with the man I sat next to for that two-hour flight (story to follow in my next blog).  I checked the departures screen as I exited and noted the United flight to New Orleans leaving out of Gate A-2.  Perfect! I was at the right terminal and had some time to work on a blog post while I ate the Stroop Waffle they had given me on the plane.  I found a seat in a quiet spot, ate my treat, wrote for a bit, and waited for 11:15 to roll around so I could board for the next leg of my trip.  At the appointed time, I got up and strolled over to Gate A-2.  It was immediately obvious to me that I was not in the right place. There were approximately four people in the gate area, and there was no plane.  My heart started to race and my adrenaline spiked as I approached the desk to determine just how wrong I was – fully aware that I had minimal time to correct whatever mistake I may have made.  I cut in front of the only two people in line at the desk and discovered that I had looked up the wrong flight to New Orleans.  I was not only at the wrong gate, but in the wrong terminal, and by this point – my plane, which was two terminals away, was set finish boarding in seven minutes. 

Dead sprint feels like an inadequate term to describe the mortifying dash I completed through the Houston airport – purse swinging, flip-flops slapping, bargaining with a higher power the entire time.  At one point I started to feel nauseous, although I’m not sure if it was the exertion or the sheer terror of the possibility of missing my flight.  As I flew off the airport tram, sprinted down the stairs, and rounded the corner to my actual gate, I reminded myself that this is why I run marathons and lift heavy weights.  I’m training for my own ridiculous life.  I could hardly speak by the time I got to my gate, and could barely control my shaking hands as I placed my mobile boarding pass on the scanner under the watchful eye of the gate attendants (who clearly, did not love me).  Only as I wobbled down the jetway on coltish legs did I notice my seat assignment. 3C. Business class baby.  So I’m sipping my free wine, my heart rate has finally slowed, and while the only strangers I talked to on the way were angry gate attendants and one very nice TSA agent who pointed me in the right direction – I am now having a great time in business class, and I have one hell of a story.  

Until next time….