It's not as if I was trying to be deceitful. That said, I didn't try to dissuade the impression either. I just figured I would let it play out, and it went my way, then so be it. If not, then that was fine as well. I wasn't trying to gain an unfair or illegal or immoral advantage over my fellow human beings, but if someone wanted to make an assumption on their own time, and if I was going to be the beneficiary, who was I to complain?
That was never the thought when I went to buy a new suitcase. As a person who travels more than some but less than others, I started with a consumer grade rolling bag that lasted for a year or three, then started to show its age. The handle wouldn't retract without a struggle, and the zippers required a Herculean effort to get them fully closed. I replaced it with an upgraded model, but this too got long in the tooth after repeated trips. When the rubber on the wheels finally popped off, the resulting plastic hub made it sound like I was herding a hive of angry bees down the concourse. The withering stares I got from the other passengers convinced me to go luggage shopping once again.
I perused the reviews, finding several models that promised long life and happy trails. But they all were more or less that same, not much different from what I had. Then I realized that the thing to do was to look not at the reviews but at the users. And who uses a bag more than any other? Why, pilots of course. I kept my eyes open on my next trip, saw the bags they were dragging around, and found them online. To be sure they were a bit more expensive than the usual, but were built to last and be easily repaired. The average long-haul pilot does about 460,000 miles a year: if it worked for them, my travel schedule would be a walk in the park.
It took a little adaptation on my part, as the pilots' bag was constructed differently than what I was used to, with an exterior frame, less interior space and more outside pockets. But in practice it was no different than a new refrigerator or dresser: once I figured out where to put stuff, it all fit. From a user perspective, it was like any other suitcase, perhaps a tad heavier. Put your put stuff into it, drag it behind you, and open it at the other end. My socks didn't notice the difference.
What I did notice was the deference the air crews gave it. When I put it in an overhead compartment, it never got shuffled around. When I gate checked it on small planes, it was usually one of the first ones off. If I was further back in the line and they threatened to check bags as they ran out of space, they always seemed to skip past me. Why? It was identified (or mistaken) as one of them.
And on this most recent trip it was not the bag, but its human handler that got the nod. As I rolled on, the stewardess looked at my bag, then grinned at me: "I suspect you're in my line of work." Not wanting to lie, I settled on a reply that was truthful but kept me in the game: "well, I do fly a bit." I proceeded down the aisle and settled into my exit row aisle seat, adding to the perception of a person with some inside pull. When she set up to do the safety briefing, I offered to hold her props and made it a point to pay attention (as I imagined a non-working crew member might do).
If she mistook me for one of her tribe, and wanted to share the secret handshake, I didn't dissuade her. No, I didn't get upgraded to First Class or score a special meal, but I did get extra snacks and she checked on me several times as she went by to see if I needed anything. I graciously accepted whatever small favors she was giving. But not to worry: if she had asked me to come to the cockpit and help out the pilot, I promise I would have come clean.
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford is traveling again for work. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
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