Greetings from Gate 92

I'm way early for this flight. We're supposed to take off at 7:00, and it's now what-- 4:40? The SuperShuttle arrived at my door on time (and the driver was nice, unlike the last time), there was no slow traffic on 101, so we pulled up to the international terminal at 4:20.

The one ominous thing was that I didn't get my seat assignment. I was told that seats would be given out at the gate. Excuse me? Didn't I do this online? Should I have printed out the little picture of the plan with my seat choice on it? If I'm set in the middle of a row, I'm going to be seriously pissed. My ability to have a decent flight depends so much on my ability to get up, get more coffee on a regular basis, and generally be mobile in a way that doesn't require my climbing over others.

A few minutes later, though, I'm through security. Didn't set off any alarms, no beeps, no bags opened and searched. Every time I get through security without setting off anything, I feel like I've beaten the house. I have the habit of taking off absolutely every piece of electronics and metal while in the shuttle (rarely do I end up without at least a ride from parking to the terminal), but I almost always forget either my iPod, cellphone, or the flash drive around my neck-- three things that aren't so much equipment now as extensions of myself. (Interestingly, that doesn't apply to my digital camera or watch. I'm sure some marketing or product design person can make something of that fact.)

Incredibly, the couple times I've flown business and first class have started to spoiled me. I now get a little twinge thinking about the tiny seats, the sheep-herder service, and the fact that the gate doesn't have free snacks-- it's all so intolerable! Of course, some of this is an exercise in the tyranny of miniscule differences: the first class lounge is a cool place, but not several thousand dollars' worth of cool. On the plane, I'm not so sure: the seats are better, and the service tends to be nicer, if only because the attendant-passenger ratio is so much more favorable.

In reality, though, I've got a ways to go before I reach the state Michael Lewis found himself in at the end of Liar's Poker, where he dreamed of screaming at the hotel concierge because his pillows weren't fluffy enough and mints were only milk chocolate, not dark. (The details are different, but equally trivial; and the dream helps drive Lewis out of investment banking.) I've always had pretty low expectations when it comes to flying: I just want to get there safely, and consider everything else about flying a challenge to be overcome, not a pleasure to be enjoyed. A good flight is one where I get a lot of writing done.

[To the tune of Derek & The Dominos, "Little Wing," from the album "Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs".]