Working for the airline gives me the ability to, for nominal service charge, jump on any plane, anywhere at any time, so long as there are unsold seats when it leaves. This allows me to radically change my itinerary plans at a moments’ notice in a way normal travellers (ie: the ones who pay my salary) cannot. This is both a blessing and curse. I scan my computer for empty seats and we try to arrange our plans around. If the plane fills up, we find another route. Until yesterday, our plan was to fly to London and grab a bus from the airport to Carlisle, where we’d be picked up by K.’s grandparents. (If I was really feeling wacky we could go to Paris, Copenhagen, Frankfurt, or Dublin, and connect from there on a partner airline pass type thingy)
Then Kiefer Sutherland’s Cousin suggested I try the Toronto-Glasgow flight. I had rejected this out of hand weeks ago as it was already jam-packed but if it was open, it would be ideal as it is mere hours away from K’s grandparents. I checked. It was open. I changed our plans and K and I made plans for bus travel from Glasgow to Langholm.
Then I checked again this morning. Not so open anymore. Trying to get on would be taking a risk. Suddenly Plan A, the second best plan, is looking good again. The final decision about which way we are flying will be made tomorrow morning.
A year ago K and I went on our first date (Gay Pride parade, pizza, and beer). On our first anniversary, we’ll be dashing through airports like an episode of “The Amazing Race.” That’s what you get for dating airline folk, babe.
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