Seating Chart

 One several occasions I have, in this space, waxed rhapsodic about the days when getting tickets to see your favorite artists depended on just how much you were willing to sacrifice. How long would you stand in line? How long would you sleep in line? How long would you and your like-minded pals take shifts sleeping in line with your sleeping bag and a good book? Just to get seats that were not in the very back row?

Stories. I have stories about those long nights and early mornings and how righteous and triumphant I felt when I walked away from that ticket booth after enduring what can best be described as urban camping. Two things were at play here: The time I had to spend in line and my super power of compulsion. The words "rope drop" in conjunction with Disneyland give me goosebumps. Racing through the Magic Kingdom with a couple hundred other similarly afflicted individuals who got up before dawn just to mill around with the others of like mind. After years of being a responsible husband and parent, slavishly adopting the "no need to rush, it's not going anywhere," I was proud to have raised a son whose need to be up and at the task of bagging as many E-coupon rides as possible before lunch. 

As he grew still older, he got himself a job where he traveled up and down the west coast, and at times across the country. His airline of choice was Southwest. That's because his understanding of just how important being early really means being on time was shaped at an early age. Like his father, he sets alarms to remind him at the moment that he is free to check in twenty-four hours ahead of his flight. In our family, the A group is a badge of honor. The shame that comes with the periodically unavoidable B or even C group cannot be fully explained until you've felt it yourself. Yes, there was a period during which our little sprout allowed us the privilege of pre-boarding, but once he was too big to garner us this perc, we had to resort to the tricks we learned from Springsteen tickets and Space Mountain. It was a game that we were willing to play, and somehow it felt good to be at the front of the line because of the somewhat ridiculous sacrifice of time spent worrying about it ahead of time. 

Well, all good things come to an end. Southwest Airlines announced that their fifty year tradition of open seating was over. No more cattle calls. No more wild attempts to game the system, like showing up in a wheelchair and then walking off the flight without assistance once the destination has been reached. The consumer, the Southwest folks insist, has spoken. They want reserved seats. And if you want really special seats, you can just pay more. You want more? Pay for more. This is what the market will bear. An era has passed. 

I haven't been on a plane for more than a year, and it's been almost that long since I was at Disneyland. But here's another quirk of mine I can confess: When I buy reserved seats for a concert from the relative safety and comfort of my home computer, I still make a point of getting to the venue early the day of the show. I know I've got a saved seat, but I still relish the opportunity to be in it. For as long as I can.