The whole point of blogging eluded me; it even seemed a
little self-indulgent, but spending weeks jet-lagged and lonely in India
changed all that. Now I get it. It’s like being on a perpetual first date: it
makes all my experiences seem fascinating; my observations appear witty and
insightful. I am bathed in the illusion of specialness, and I like it, which
can become a problem. Because that’s when you start calling too much, or find
yourself acting moody and possessive, and then, finally, you get dumped like …
I was by United Airlines.
For a couple of years we had something special. That was
before the recession when I was doing a fair amount of business travel. For
those two years I was a Premier Executive flyer. I got to sit in bulkhead or
exit row seats, boarded through the red carpet line, and would get the
occasional complimentary business class upgrade. All my tickets were stamped
“PREMIER EXECUTIVE” in bold type. I was reluctant to throw them away.
Then the recession hit. Business slowed down, and my travel
stopped. So did my Premier Executive status. For two years I was special. Then
one day, through no fault of my own, I became a nobody. They say, “Better to
have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all.” These people have
obviously never been dumped from the Premier Executive program. Overnight I was relegated to boarding
group 7. Baggage handlers and homeless people were being called to board before
me. By the time I’d get on the plane the overhead compartments would all be
full, and I’d have to check my carry on. Then I would be seated so far back in
the plane that they would run out of their crappy little bags of peanuts or
pretzels before they got to me. It was humiliating.
But now that I commute to Asia every two or three weeks all
that has changed; I’m back, Baby! With my last flight home from India I moved
from Premier Silver to Premier Gold. I’m leaving for Shanghai this Saturday,
and by the time I return there is a good chance I will be Platinum! And now I
see that it’s less about the preferential seating or the upgrades, and more
about feeling special. It’s embarrassing to admit how much I like that.
Yesterday, after I’d been home for about a week without
working, I had to drive down to Santa Clara to do some training for Yahoo. That
meant, once again, getting up at five in the morning, hitting the road by six,
driving for an hour and half, training all day without snacks or a catered
lunch (much less a butler), then driving home two hours in traffic. I’ve been
doing that for twenty years without giving it a second thought. I love my work,
and all that just came with the territory. But now I’ve seen a different
territory, one where I’m incredibly special. Driving through San Francisco
during rush hour – not so special.
In India the hotels were ten minutes from the training
sites. So I could sleep until 7:30. Then I would go downstairs, and someone one
would cook me a fabulous omelet to order while I feasted on home made banana
bread and sipped watermelon juice. When I was done eating an attractive young woman
would make sure that I had a wonderful breakfast experience. She would then
walk me to the door where my chauffeured limo would drive me to work. I would
then be picked up at five by someone whose joy in life seemed to be derived
from making sure that I had had a very excellent day.
No wonder the 1% feels so terrified of Occupy. For the first
time I can empathize with their plight. A lot of people have had it up to here
with their “specialness,” and want to end it once and for all. But once you’ve
developed a taste for it you’ll do almost anything to keep it going: even
sitting on planes for twenty plus hours, disrobing repeatedly for pointless
security lines, and schlepping endlessly through airports This Saturday I will
do it all again. I can’t wait!
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