Hot Josh and the Airport Boarding Group Injustice
My boarding pass said Group 6.
I stared at it.
Six.
There were only eight groups.
This wasn’t boarding.
This was a caste system.
I approached the gate agent.
“Excuse me.”
“How can I help you?”
“I believe there’s been an administrative error.”
She immediately looked concerned.
Good.
I handed her my boarding pass.
She examined it.
“Everything looks fine.”
I pointed.
“Group 6.”
“Yes.”
“So you see it.”
She smiled.
“That’s your boarding group.”
“Why?”
“It depends on your fare, frequent-flyer status, credit card, seat assignment…”
I stopped her.
“None of those categories include personality.”
“No.”
“Interesting.”
She handed the boarding pass back.
I returned to my seat.
This required observation.
Soon the announcement began.
“We’d like to invite our preboarding passengers…”
People stood.
Reasonable.
Then came active-duty military.
Also reasonable.
Then families traveling with small children.
Still reasonable.
Then:
“Group 1 may now board.”
A crowd formed.
I studied them.
Nothing visibly distinguished these people from me.
No crowns.
No medals.
One guy was wearing Crocs.
This was allegedly Group 1 material.
Group 2 boarded.
Then Group 3.
Every time another group entered the jet bridge, I looked at my boarding pass.
Six.
By Group 4, I began wondering if there would still be an airplane when my turn arrived.
Group 5 was called.
I stood.
Not to board.
Strategically.
I moved closer to the line.
The gate agent noticed.
“We’re boarding Group 5 right now.”
“I know.”
“You’re Group 6.”
“I also know that.”
She smiled.
“Then we’ll call you next.”
“I’m positioning.”
“For what?”
“Opportunity.”
She laughed.
Finally:
“We now welcome Group 6.”
I moved instantly.
First person in Group 6.
Victory.
I scanned my boarding pass.
The machine beeped.
Green.
Accepted.
I walked down the jet bridge with the confidence of someone who had successfully overcome a completely manufactured adversity.
Then I entered the airplane.
And discovered something horrifying.
People from Groups 1 through 5 were already there.
Everywhere.
Opening overhead bins.
Rearranging bags.
Standing in the aisle.
Taking seventeen minutes to remove a jacket.
I reached my row.
My seat was 14A.
Window.
Occupied.
A man was sitting in it.
I stopped.
“That’s my seat.”
He looked at his boarding pass.
“Oh, sorry. I’m 14B. I prefer the window. Do you mind?”
I looked at him.
Then at the window.
Then at my boarding pass.
Then back at him.
“I do.”
He moved.
Immediately.
Finally.
A system that worked.
I sat down.
Two minutes later, the Group 8 passengers boarded.
One woman walked past me toward the back of the plane.
She looked completely relaxed.
No frustration.
No concern.
No apparent shame about being Group 8.
I almost admired her.
Then the flight attendant announced that boarding was complete.
I looked around.
Everyone had made it.
Group 1.
Group 4.
Group 6.
Even Group 8.
We were all sitting on the exact same airplane.
It departed at the exact same time for all of us.
I had spent twenty-five minutes emotionally contesting a number that ultimately changed absolutely nothing.
Except one thing.
The overhead bins.
The Group 8 woman tried to put her suitcase above her seat.
Full.
She had to check it.
I looked at the bag safely above me.
There it was.
Vindication.
Small.
Petty.
Beautiful.
The lesson?
Airlines say boarding groups create an orderly process.
Hot Josh says any system that assigns him the number six deserves immediate review.
Because equality is important.
But apparently overhead-bin space is first come, first served.
