My legs are extended. My lumbar back is supported. My needs are well-tended to.
And I’m on an airplane.
My flight which was supposed to depart last evening was cancelled due to inclement weather. So I got bumped. As an apology and added perk, I got upgraded to first class for the last leg home.
I feel like a kid, wanting to push all the buttons and play in this new playground. I’ve never gotten to sit in the front few rows before, ahead of the definitive curtain of separation, in a magical land where the glasses are actually glass and the seats recline more than three inches. I don’t even have to angle my feet and knees at odd angles to get them to accommodate both the reclined seat in front of me, my seat-mate’s armrest-hogging ways, and my own bulky baggage. Right now, my toes are free to wiggle with glee.
I could get used to this.
I feel like at any moment my fellow first-classers will recognize me as a newbie. I’ve attempted many times to expose myself already. If they didn’t catch on when I couldn’t get my luggage into the differntly-sized overhead compartment, then perhaps they’d suspect when I ripped the handle on my “carry on” (really a grocery tote bag), and if that didn’t do it then their hunches were likely confirmed when I attempted to gingerly slide my laptop from the aforementioned carry on and simultaneously dumped half of its contents out, raining them on to the other passengers. (Thankfully my travel pillow, snack bag, and small Bible didn’t do any real damage.)
Surely, that would have alerted them to my impostor ways.
I am an imposter. And (since I can’t pass up the opportunity), don’t call me Shirley.
Maybe no one cares. Maybe no one is concerned about me and my glee at this little treat. I may never fly first-class again. So I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts, all 75 minutes of grandeur.
Despite a few debacles, I’m choosing to run toward my impostor status and celebrate delays and perks. Excuse me now while I recline fully and bask in the small things.