Yesterday, my family and I flew to Hawaii. On the first flight, my mom, dad, and brother got upgraded to first class. Guess who had to sit alone in coach? And why, one might ask, was I the one who didn't get upgraded. Why, because I am coming home early so as to not miss any school. I guess the universe has a twisted sense of humor where having to leave Hawaii and come back to cold, miserable Utah for school isn't enough, so it decided to spite me with coach.
So there I sat, wallowing in self pity, convinced that there was no justice in the world and never would be. I was staring out the window, trying to work up some tears just to show the universe how ugly it was. Then, I noticed a pilot suit walking around on the wet ground below the plane. It was a stark contrast to the orange reflector vests and beanies everyone else seemed to be wearing.
Then, another suit came out of the plane, down the stairs, and onto the ground. I watched as the two pilots worked with the men on the ground to unload baggage. I watched them push huge carts, lift heavy bags, and carry strollers and car seats up the stairs to the waiting "gate check" passengers.
Now, I realize this is another heart warming story sweet enough to make you vomit, but here's the thing: it's not. It's not because it's mine. I watched it happen. I saw two pilots working to unload their passengers' luggage in their full uniforms. It's unexpected. I find it comfortable to know that people are willing to get their hands dirty to help someone else. Even if they're making six figures a year.