Southwest is officially the most ghetto airline people actually use. I mean, there’s probably “Budget Air” and “Penny Fliers”, but the only folks that fly those are dead somewhere in a Midwestern marsh.
But every once in a horrible while, we must all deign to fly Southwest, the airline that not only boards us like cattle, but doesn’t even assign seats. Flight attendants, the very people who are supposed to save us when we tumble towards the ocean, sport khaki shorts and polo shirts like we’re on some sort of corporate team building exercise. And instead of the usual, “Um, excuse me. They’re boarding first class. I get to cut you,” our only way to feel superior is, “Um, excuse me. They’re boarding Group B and I went online last night.”
Getting glamorous, celebrity treatment on Southwest Airlines is kinda like requesting your Mountain Dew in Waterford crystalWhen I fly regular airlines, the ones that actually scan my luggage for bombs and keep track of who’s on board, I try and dress like a paparazzi-hounded movie star, just in case I bump into one. I wear sunglasses and cashmere, carrying Evian and Vogue. When I fly Southwest, I try and dress like an escaped convict, because I’ll probably be sitting next to one. I wear sweatpants and Chapstick, carrying a Slim Jim and The Weekly World News.
So it comes as quite a shock to me that glamorous new mother and our First Lady, Jennifer Siebel Newsom flies Southwest like everyone els….Wait. I was about to say she flies like everyone else. But that would be ridiculous. According to Chronicle curmudgeons Matier & Ross, Jennifer recently had some khaki-shorted Southwest flunkie pre-board and save her a seat, so she could swoosh onto this discount airline without having to throw elbows for seats — the usual Lord of the Flies Southwest boarding strategy.
Getting glamorous, celebrity treatment on Southwest Airlines is kinda like requesting your Mountain Dew in Waterford crystal at Der Weinerschnitzel. It’s akin to having a personal shopper at Ross Dress for Less or trying to valet park at a pawn shop.
I won’t deny anyone an attempt at glamor, but someone had to call ahead to Southwest and request such special treatment. Someone chauffeuring her around had to say, “You want me to do what? I…I’m not sure that they do that. I mean…it’s Southwest.”
Anyway, good for her, getting back to work. I think it’s safe to assume that the entire time Jennifer was gallivanting around Los Angeles demanding a table by the window at In and Out Burger, Gavin was burping the baby at home all by himself.
Happy flying!
PS: To the (no doubt, talented) pilot of the Southwest flights I’ll be taking next month, please disregard the above.
