It’s no secret that I dislike air travel. It’s just so ... well ... vexing. Yet, it does have its bright moments. In one case, it came at a most opportune moment relative to my black mood at the time — when we were returning home from a pilgrimage to our nation’s capitol during spring break last April.

First, let’s set the stage. Janis booked this trip far in advance, gleefully snagging a non-stop return flight.

But, as every card-carrying cynic knows, no good fortune comes without misfortune. Northwest Airlines cancelled the flight and stuffed us into another one. It meant a longer layover in that choicest of travel destinations — Detroit — and that Janis and I could not sit together. At least we still had the non-stop return flight. Or so we thought.

On our return, as we approached the ticket counter at National Airport in Washington, an agent was on the public address system asking for volunteers to wait for a later flight. It didn’t take a Rhodes scholar to quickly deduce our flight was overbooked and the attrition rate was too low to make up the difference. It appeared inevitable that we would be bumped. (It was no surprise to me to learn that the word travel is a derivative of travail.)

My mood soured instantly. I refused to even approach the counter. I was afraid I would strangle one of the hapless agents on the other side. Watching from a safe distance, I could see Janis arguing with an agent. It did not look good.

Janis returned to my outpost with that apprehensive look she gets when bearing bad news. I ratcheted into my attack mode. But her news wasn’t all bad. We were shoehorned into the flight, but we wouldn’t be sitting together — again. (As fellow cynic Rich Hazelton is quick to point out, every silver lining has a dark cloud.)

When we boarded the plane, Janis entered the overstuffed coach section, looking for the row on her ticket, then had to backtrack to find it. Wonderously, we had been upgraded to first class and we would be sitting together. The first words out of my mouth were “gin and tonic”.

That’s the great thing about first class — you’re served cocktails before the plane takes off. You also get a menu from which to choose your meal, you get a cloth napkin, the food is actually palatable, and the wine comes from a bottle with a cork in it — not to mention the wide-body seat and foot rest.

Then again, I believe everyone should be given first-class treatment for enduring the indignity one suffers when traveling on an infernal contraption that forces its occupants to become contortionists. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.

I vowed never to travel by air again unless it was in first class. However, one must occasionally deal with reality, mustn’t one? Barring a sudden change in my financial status, I’ll see you fellow contortionists in coach — where we can huddle together while doing penance and praying for an upgrade.