paul kenny

I Wish I Sold More

I flew home yesterday from Karen’s memorial service in Jacksonville, on a connecting flight through Charlotte. When I landed in Charlotte, I walked with all my stuff from my JAX arrival gate (D7) to my DFW departure gate (B15). The walk was more stressful than usual because the airport was so crowded.

The moment I set my stuff down at B15, a passenger with expensive clothes and one of those permanent grins established eye contact, pointed his finger at me, and said, “Are you in First?”

Wai... Wha...?

I said, “No, platinum.” My first instinct was to explain that I had a right to occupy the space in which I was standing. It bothers me that this was my first instinct.

He dropped his pointing finger, and his eyes went no longer interested in me. The big grin diminished slightly.