In all the years I’ve been flying since Air Canada introduced its “we decided there needs to be even more classism when flying” zoned boarding system, I’ve universally been assigned to Zone 6, the “you’re a complete a total loser and mean nothing to us” zone.
But today, miracle of miracles, I was assigned Zone 2 for my flight to Montreal.
Solidarity with the lesser zones should have dictated that I artificially delay my boarding. But power corrupts, and we so quickly forget whence we came. So I boarded with the other Zone 2ers. It was luxurious.
I am, slowly, en route to Ottawa for a celebration of the life of Laurie Kingston, a friend who died in January. It’s an odd way to spend a midwinter break—my friend Gordon is on the same plane, in the way to Mexico, which seems more sensible—but one I’m looking forward to for reasons I can’t completely explain.
Before Ottawa, though, I will spend the night in the company of my young Lower Canadian nephews (and their parents) in Montreal. Then train to Ottawa where I’ll spend Friday night and Saturday. Finally back to Montreal for Saturday night, and home Sunday.
Now, off to enjoy the onboard pleasures of boarding Zone 2.