Coolest. Plane. Ever.

I am flying.

I am sitting in the comfort of my fancy, black leather seat, laptop open, and writing this blog.

I arrived at the airport a few hours earlier for the second time in a month. I know, I know, I love this place. Besides, after such a long separation from travel we have a lot of catching up to do.

I walked into Terminal 3 of Los Angeles Airport to meet a scene quite unlike that of last month's. There were flowers in vases, fancy carpets, and cute pink mood lighting. Beyonce's Sweet Dreams was playing in the background. Everyone was young and attractive.

Was this a party? Did I make a wrong turn and end up in some swanky lounge?

My confused thoughts were interrupted by a soft and courteous voice. "Where are you traveling tonight?" he asked, then escorted us to exactly where we needed to be. I guess I didn't make a wrong turn after all–this was flight check-in for Virgin America.

I couldn't believe it.

Everything was perfect. There were no long lines, no broken kiosks, no people rolling luggage over my feet, no screaming babies; none of it.

Even the bag tags were cute. Just under my name, the tag had a line for 'Favorite Thing.' My favorite thing?! How special that the luggage tag and its affiliates want to get to know me!

I had barely enough time to write names on three luggage tags, and it was my turn to check in.  The attendant was friendly, pleasant, and efficient (yes, I might not believe it either if I didn't witness it first hand). This must be some sort of alternate universe; one where no one needs to curse. She handed me a neat little boarding card with just the important information on it, and small enough to fit right into my passport/pocket/other convenient location.

And the coolness didn't stop there. The headphones were pink, the flight crew was hip, and the captain proposed to his girlfriend. Yes–a full on proposal, ring, one knee, tears, kissing, clapping and all–right in the middle of his captain's welcome speech. It was beautiful.

This plane is amazing.

I can even shop from the slick screen in front of me! Seat-to-seat chat?! Wow, this would be perfect for sending a message to the cute guy/girl seated ten rows ahead, provided that you scoped out their EXACT seat number. It would not be nice to mistakenly send your flirtations to the old man snoring, mouth agape, in the seat next to them.

But there's really just not that much excitement in my life, so I sent a message to my mother. In the seat next to me. Sigh. Well, at least there is no annoying person near me making audible reactions to their reading. But that may just be because I am well acquainted with both of the passengers in my row, and there is no social etiquette preventing me from looking over and saying, "Shhh!"

This is how flying should always be.

And for those of you lucky enough to have flown Virgin before, please excuse my naiveté, it was only my first time. But seriously–Coolest. Plane. Ever.

A Flight at the End of the Tunnel

Aah, the airport. The bookends of all my greatest travel stories.

I am finally here, finally feeling the familiar rush of the traveling I have so missed.

The crowded, always too narrow walkways are strewn with people trying to figure out where to go. Inevitably, the charming, old couple who appears to have never traveled before, always gets in line right in front of me, asking for advice and wanting to know if they are in the right place. I oblige them with a smile, after all, this is all part of the experience.

I watch as lovers part and exchange tears. I shift politely as people roll their luggage over my feet, and I laugh pityingly as travelers hold up the line while they dig through their suitcases trying to remove and rearrange things so as not to be over the 50 lb weight limit.

None of this bothers me, because I am going to travel.

The line hasn't moved two inches in the last ten minutes, but I hardly notice. Evidently, the novelty of E-ticket check-in still doesn't have people moving any faster.

I finally reach my kiosk, and the nightmare begins. A change in reservation required a call to an agent. Okay, no problem. We speak, she updates some info, and I start over. Halfway through, the words 'CLOSED, Please use another kiosk' appear on my screen. What? There are no other kiosks, so I wait.

One by one, all the kiosks begin to display the same message, save one. Now we are all waiting for that one. My turn comes nearly twenty minutes later. I proceed, reach nearly to the end, pay the obnoxious $25 bag fee–then, CLOSED.

Again?!

No more rose colored glasses. The hands on my watch are ticking closer and closer to take-off time. The old couple in front of me has transformed from charming and cute to old and in the way. The baby screaming incessantly at the top of its lungs might literally make my ears bleed.

Did I really miss this?

Forty-five minutes later, boarding pass in hand (printed the old school way in 2 minutes by the highly unpleasant agent behind the desk) I have just enough time to get through security and to the gate. And of course, I end up behind Mr. and Mrs. I-don't-understand-shoes-off-coat-off-bag-in-tray-move-on. Sigh. Almost there.

I take my window seat next to a rather large, 35-ish man reading a hefty book titled: Girlhood in Vienna, an interesting book choice from my perspective. Every few seconds he lets out a chuckle or a 'hmm' in reaction to his reading. Girlhood must be riveting.

Thankfully this is a red-eye.

I settle in, close my eyes, and remember that for all the airport madness, this is the flight at the end of the tunnel.