"Crawl, worm." -- Mistress Natalie
Anyone who believes that America is a class-less society probably hasn't flown lately. "Premier Status Traveler", "Red Carpet Club Member", "First Class Guest", and now "Clear Pass Secured" distinguish the privileged customers who are able to pay for good customer service from the poor schmucks like myself who naively expect decent -- at least humanely-adequate! -- customer service for the hundreds of dollars that are required to travel by air. I'm disturbed by the trend I see today at airports, where business opportunities thrive as a direct result of pitifully-poor customer service standards!! To avoid being treated worse than cattle, one must pay!
Imagine the airline approach to customer service at your neighborhood grocery store…
As you approach the store, those with Premier status are escorted by a white-gloved garcon to a low-lit, plush-carpeted seating area where they are immediately handed a cocktail and a catalog. As they sip their Dom Perignon, leisurely selecting groceries from a "privileged" selection of items available only to them, an attendant fluffs their pillow and offers a selection of fine cheeses and fruit. Check-out? Simply snap your fingers and you're on your way.
Meanwhile, those with "other than Premier" status are shuffled into a long waiting line just to enter the store. 45 minutes later, a bored, disgruntled store employee sternly waives you into a security line. 45 more minutes pass by, during which time you're asked to show your identification at least 3 times to validate that you are, in fact, you. After a demeaning episode wherein you remove your shoes, belt, jewelry, jacket, purse, and wallet, and then lay all your belongings on a conveyor so they can be oggled by a "homeland security expert", you are finally granted access to the store. Being one of the lucky few chosen for additional security screening, you are frisked and the belongings of your purse scrutinized by a (for all I know) minimum-wage-receiving pervert.
Once inside the store, you jostle and push through a mob of people desperately grabbing for their 1/2 plastic cup of free coke. The store used to offer free bags of pretzels; these days, however, this 4-teeny-pretzel luxury costs you $5.00. You're squeezed; you're uncomfortable; your selections are minimal. The guy beside you smells, burps, and won't stop talking to you. The check-out line wraps around the back-side of the store. You finally make it through check-out, carrying no more than 49 pounds of baggage (otherwise, you're charged $100), whereupon you're stopped by a security guard who informs you that the $150 bottle of whiskey that you purchased IN THE STORE is not allowed to continue on your journey with you because it is over 3 ounces. The security guard gives you the option of returning to the "enter the store" line or (as he licks his lips) handing the bottle over to him so that you can exit the building.
The people behind you are sweating, sighing, and cursing the day your mother gave birth because god-forbid they just want to exit this hell-hole and you're blocking the way. As you attempt to state your case, he harshly and loudly calls for additional back-up security. You throw the bottle at him and swear you're never coming to this store again. Which you don't; however, you soon realize that EVERY store delivers the same experience and you have NO OPTION...
...except to pay for Premier status, Red Carpet Club membership, Clear-Pass status, and First Class tickets. Happy flying our friendly skies!