Recently, my long-suffering wife and I flew, with the aid of an airplane, from our home in rural Possum Kingdom, South Carolina, to Hartford, Connecticut. And I must admit there are few places where one's status is more closely defined than commercial air travel. It starts with boarding, where the Favored board via "Sky Priority" and the rest of us are forced to enter via "General Boarding," a euphemism for "Scum Suckers." Once aboard, seating is segregated. There's First Class, Cabin, and Peasant. There are free cocktails in First Class, and a single Goldfish cracker for two dollars in Peasant Class. In First Class, the equivalent of a La-Z-Boy recliner is available. In Peasant, one is joined at the hip to another peasant, and knees are propped against the back of the seat in front of you. Ultimately, it was worth it to be a peasant. The flight was smooth and family waited to greet us, and it was autumn in New England. Even peasants can appreciate those things.
