The Problem With Being Bourgeoisie

Here's the problem with being bourgeoisie - it causes you to become drunk on sips from the upper class goblet and then after you've been lulled into complacency, you miss your flight.

I recently invested some of my hard-earned (read: not hard-earned at all) aeroplan points for an Air Canada lounge membership. The membership gets you (and only you...no passes for loved ones or esteemed colleagues) into the Maple Leaf lounges in Canadian airports.

I used my membership for the first time last Friday when I flew to Thunder Bay from Waterloo out of Pearson in Toronto. It was an experience. Not a groundbreaking experience, but an experience none-the-less. I felt like I had snuck behind the first-class curtain and that if anyone found out I "bought" my membership with points instead of "earning" it with flights flown, they'd run me out of the place with martini glasses and disapproving glances (the upper-class version of pitchforks and torches).



I wasn't found out by the alcohol-brined travellers who were in the lounge with me, so with a new-found confidence in my ability to look like I belonged with people who make two to 100 times as much money as I do (anyone who makes more than that probably has their own jet), I was looking forward to my next stay in the lounge, which happened to be this past Monday.

On Monday I flew out west and I was looking forward to getting lots of use out of the lounge membership. I had a one hour stopover in Winnipeg and a two hour stopover in Vancouver while en route to Seattle. Or so I thought...

The lounge in Winnipeg couldn't have been more convenient. The gate I arrived at was right beside my departure gate. The lounge was right next to that. Sweet. I sat down - got myself a hazelnut hot chocolate and some nice rye toast and made myself comfortable. After about 40 mins I got up and left, went to my gate and found out that I had my times wrong...my flight didn't leave for another hour. Back I went to enjoy another 50 mins on the leather chairs, with the quiet murmur of people brokering deals or trying to convince their spoiled children to stay in school. Ahhhh...the high life.

The stopover in Vancouver was a different story. I got a little too comfy in the lounge.

Vancouver airport has a number of Maple Leaf lounges, so after stopping in at 3 of them before finding the one that was closest to my gate, I found my resting place. I made sure I gave myself about 10 minutes to wander to the gate from the lounge because the lady at the desk said it was "a bit of a walk". After listening to some dudes talk about work for a while (during which one of them kept on referring to one of their colleagues as a "moron" - I was tempted to pipe up and say "I can't listen to this anymore! Do you know who I am? I'm her DAUGHTER" and then stomp off before I could see whether his response was "whatever...that moron is only in her 20s" or turn bright red and apologize profusely), I decided it was time to saunter down to my gate.

As I approached the gate, I noticed that the gate area was unusually empty and the door to the gate was closed. Odd...I thought. I asked the gate attendant if the 10am to Seattle had boarded. She said "yes - it has boarded and it's gone. It's 1045. It left at 10". Wha???? "Are you Ms. Sayler?" she asked. I told her that yes, I was in fact she. The attendant proceeded to tell me again that it was 1045. I looked at my BlackBerry and it said 945. That's when I realized that I had adjusted my BB to the wrong time when I landed in Van. Craaaaaaap.

The attendant and I then had a conversation that went in 3 circles that I had to end before I leaped over the counter at her:

Me: Crap - I adjusted my device time to the wrong zone. It says 945

Her: But it's 1045

Me: I know, but I accidentally made a mistake when I was trying to change the time, so I thought it was 945

Her: But it's actually 1045 - you missed the flight

Me: I know, I just realized my mistake

Her: Because it's 1045 - 45 mins after the flight left

Me: yeah...(clench fists, grumble and walk away)

I was forced to return to the lounge with my head hung low so that the attendant didn't notice me and ask why I was back. I felt like if I told her the truth, it would start some sort of dream sequence-like contagious laughing fit that would end with me doing my best girl-run toward the closest women's washroom.

All I could do at that point was sit in a very plush recliner that doesn't even un-cline - kind of like a fainting couch - watching the plebs down below while eating freshly baked cookies for a whole 50 minutes until the next flight arrived. The injustice of it all.

I made it to Seattle in one piece. You can breathe a sigh of relief now.

Thank goodness I left my maple syrup at home...



But I remembered to bring my...cat muzzle?