I’ll admit it: I’m no fan of flying.
And no, it’s not that I’m terrified the big bird will finally realize — as it really should have long ago — that it has no business being up in the clouds.
I don’t like the long line-ups. I don’t like the measly leg room. I don’t like taking my shoes off in security or throwing my laptop on a cafeteria tray or paying for two dozen pretzels. I’m of an age to know it was not always like this. I remember it being, well, fun.
“Fun?” asked a son. The family was at the dinner table and the conversation had turned to travel.
I was remembering flying, back in the day.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “It was fun!”
“Yep!” chimed in the husband, who is also of an age. “It certainly was!”
Back in the day, I told the sons, things were a whole lot different.
“For one thing, you didn’t have to pay for food,” I said. “And the food was amazing. Think steak with mushroom sauce. And baked potatoes with sour cream. And chicken cordon bleu. And appetizers and dessert.”
The sons looked skeptical.
“It’s true,” I said. “And we were given linen napkins and real silverware. None of this plastic stuff.”
“No plastic?” asked the youngest, incredulous.
“No plastic!” I said. “And there were cocktails before dinner — you didn’t pay for those either. And there was wine with dinner, and there were drinks after dinner. You had those with your coffee, which came in fancy china.”
“China?” the sons said at once.
“Yes to the china. No to the plastic,” I said.
If people felt inclined, I continued, they were also welcome to smoke.
“No way!” they replied.
“Yes way,” I said. “Of course, that wasn’t good for anyone. But people could choose to sit in smoking or non-smoking, because it was assumed the smoke would only stay in the smoking part of the cabin.”
The sons looked at each other, no doubt wondering what their mother had been smoking.
I wasn’t done yet.
“The flight attendants — they were called stewardesses, back then — were brilliant. All you had to do was ring a bell and they’d fetch you miniature bottles of whatever you wanted.
“They’re still brilliant, of course, but these days, they have a lot more to deal with. Like cranky passengers.”
“Passengers weren’t cranky back then?” asked one of the sons.
“Heavens no!” I said. “They had a wonderful time!”
It was, I told them, a very different world, and a long, long time ago.
One thing was certain, though. The vacation didn’t start when you picked up your bags. It began when you boarded the plane.
