Flying First Class

On a recent transatlantic trip, I found myself stuck on grounded planes and stranded in various airports for close to 40 hours. Heavy snowstorms had paralyzed the Northeast, closing entire airports and creating a travel nightmare for pretty much the entire western world. Clearly, I picked the wrong weekend to fly.

At the beginning of my odyssey, I remember looking jealously into the first class cabin, admiring the footrests, fully reclinable seats, and gourmet menus. Those people really knew how to travel, and I have to admit I wished I was one of them.

As time wore on, however, and we were diverted (and re-diverted) to various airports, it became clear that none of us were going to be reaching our desired destinations for the night. When we finally deplaned in Charlotte at 11pm, we entered a teeming mass of 4000 stranded passengers, with no vacant hotels in sight and approximately 7 customer service representatives attempting to rebook an impossible number of flights.

Over the next twenty-four hours as we all struggled to fend for ourselves, it became ever-more evident that airport nightmares like the one we were living are indeed the great equalizer. It didn’t matter if we had flown in the luxury or coach sections; if flights weren’t going out and hotels were full, we would all be waiting in the same line and sleeping on the same floor.

Such “survival of the fittest” situations always seem to bring out the best and worst in humanity. I couldn’t help thinking that once the seat numbers on our ticket stubs disappeared, the real distinctions between travelers became evident. Some people responded to the extremely long wait at the ticket counters by cutting in line – or spending an hour haggling with the airline representative over the best way to schedule their new flights, while the rest of us waited. Other passengers, however, volunteered to let mothers with young children go ahead of them. For every group loudly criticizing the airline and complaining about the (admittedly lousy) situation, there were other clusters of strangers taking advantage of the mix of nationalities to ask each other about recently completed vacations, occupational interests, and native countries. Since no one had eaten dinner and most airport restaurants were closed, tensions were running high – to the point that local police threatened to arrest rambunctious passengers. At the same time, I noticed an elderly woman from the Bronx offering to divide a precious package of her family’s homemade Italian sausages with the strangers around her.

As Americans, most of us aren’t used to going without food or being “homeless” for the night. I couldn’t help thinking that this is what some people face every day - without the promise of a hot shower or good friends awaiting them at the end. Having my own experience of curling up on the floor with just my coat for a blanket, I can’t help but think of the people sleeping on the streets of my own city in a different light.

On an even more fundamental level, however, my chance to see the world as an airport refugee showed me like never before the tremendous impact every small act of kindness can make on someone else’s life. Perhaps because I was completely at the mercy of fate, the little gifts of a smile from a security guard, a hard candy from an Italian grandmother, or an offer to watch my space on the floor while I went to the restroom overwhelmed me with gratitude. In the aftermath of a job interview during which everyone was trying to impress the evaluators with fake-niceness, I was all the more struck by the kindness of these strangers. It’s one thing to be charitable when you’re prosperous or on your best behavior– but when you’re hungry, your feet ache, and you haven’t slept or showered in 35 hours, even a little favor takes a truly heroic act. Moreover, seeing how these small kindnesses improved my night made me realize that I wasn’t quite as powerless in the midst of this chaos as I had thought. I didn’t have much, but I could also offer what I had to brighten the lives of the passengers around me.

As I collected my things and trudged to my gate at 5am, my theory was put to the test. I heard a girl several yards away from me at the point of tears, finishing the description of her vacation gone horribly wrong with the words “..and it’s been 20 hours and the stores are all closed so I can’t even brush my teeth!” I paused for a second and then turned in her direction: “Would you like some toothpaste?” From the way her face lit up, you might have thought I had just offered to save her firstborn son. Five minutes later, teeth successfully brushed, she came up to me with a smile, saying, “I want you to know you just made my day.” Such a simple thing, but such a big difference.

At the end of two very long days, I finally reached my destination for a long-awaited family reunion. Although I would certainly never volunteer for another 40-hour airport adventure, I have to admit it was a valuable lesson. On the final leg of my trip, I didn’t look at the people in the first-class seats with as much envy as I had at the start. In air travel, as in life, money can only get you so far. Perfect plans are disrupted, our securities disappear, and sometimes we all end up roughing it with nothing but the clothes on our back and our interior resources to make it through the night. In these times, it becomes clear: our real caliber is determined not by how nicely we are treated but by how we treat others when there’s nothing in it for us. Ultimately, this is all we can really control – and that’s okay, because it’s all that really matters. And, at the end of the day, it’s what truly makes us first class.