Here I am, sitting on a 767-300. Now *this* is a good-sized plane. The jet from Chattanooga was a small CRJ200: about a sixteenth of the space in here, if not less. The weather in Atlanta today appears to be beautiful. Still another 20 minutes of loading up this plane. I scored a window seat and a leisurely boarding. Perhaps the seat next to me will remain empty (the idle fantasy of the seated passenger). Or the supermodel that has been slowed down by her entourage will glide down the aisle, perch on her seat, and lean on my shoulder. Ah yes, the other idle fantasy of the seated airline passenger. (Should I excuse her lateness, based entirely on her looks? The questions abound.) Meanwhile, the seat remains empty. There’s the anticipatory hiss of the air nozzles and the occasional clunk of overhead bins being closed, as our pilot tells us that we’ll be getting underway soon – climbing to 36,000 feet (and, unstated, climbing back down, too) as soon as they finish filling out paperwork and loading cargo.
Next stop, San Francisco!
And yes… I have this mini-row to myself. Sorry, supermodel. Now my legs can stretch.