After spending a lovely day with friends in Chicago, marred only by a dinner served by a waitress who clearly had vertigo, I made my way to O’Hare [shoutout to FK for the luxury transport] and prepared myself for the emotional trauma that would surely come from a) traveling via an airline on which I had no elite status, and b) departing for an international flight from ORD for the first time. Somehow, I would persevere.
My experience in the airport was highlighted by the fact that two separate TSA workers asked me where I got the t-shirt I was wearing, as it is probably a bit too inside of a joke for most people to enjoy. The ID-checking guy said he wouldn’t let me through until I told him I where I could get one (online, is all I could come up with), and the body scanner girl laughed out loud. Good people, Chicago TSA.
The boarding process, as expected, was a disaster; I almost got in an altercation with some mean-looking designer-wearing lady who stomped to the front of the line and blocked the entrance to the jetway. I informed her that she needed to move to let the person in a wheelchair board before her, and she snapped “I’m not blocking anything!” then scanned her boarding pass and walked towards the plane turning back to chirp at me a bit more. Naturally, she wasn’t in Business and wasn’t supposed to be boarding anyway. I did get a small sense of satisfaction, though, when deplaning in Rome – as the attendants were blocking the passengers in Economy from getting off before Business, she stood at the very front of the line, no doubt having knocked over an octogenarian with a walker to get there. As I walked past her on my way out the plane, I gave her the biggest smile and fake excited “Hi!!” I could muster at the time. She was not amused.