First class

The first classers on my relatively short flight last week likely paid six times as much as I did so that they could get a banana and a bowl of Corn Flakes. To me, that’s just not worth it.

Now, if first class seating meant I got to wipe my butt with two-ply toilet paper, I’d be all for it.

Impressive, but how thick is the toilet paper? Thanks to Richard Moross on Flickr.

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Heading home

This morning (at four fricking 30) on the way to the Denver International Airport Nicole and I were chuckling at some friends’ past misfortunes.

One had once missed a flight by mixing up 12 a.m. and 12 p.m.; another almost went to the airport two evenings in a row by confusing 12 a.m. on Wednesday with 12 a.m. on Thursday.

Both are easily made mistakes a.m. and p.m., noon and midnight. I’ve gotten them confused on other occasions, though none so catastrophic as to miss a flight.

Nicole and I got to the airport together at 5:15 but were taking different flights, so we parted ways and I went over to American Airlines to check in and print my boarding pass.

Departure: 6:10 a.m.
Boarding time: 5:40 a.m.

What?! Now it was 5:22 a.m.

Turns out I’d confused 6 a.m. with 7 a.m., which seems like it would far more difficult to do than to mix up 12 a.m. and 12 p.m.

Guess that’s what I get for rolling my eyes at others’ debacles. Damn karma.

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