“You’ll need Diamond status for Premium Wi-Fi,” Vincenzo said.
The internet has a caste system now. Regular Wi-Fi still existed, of course. It had just been demoted into something slow enough to encourage aspiration.
I never know what my status is. That’s what travel has become: continually managing tiers, memberships, and qualifications.
It’s not “Where are you going?” It’s “Who are you now?” And underneath that question is a smaller, more embarrassing one: will anyone be nice to me today, and how much will I have to pay for it?
In less than twelve hours my status changed five times.
At security I was TSA PreCheck.
At boarding I became Group 27.
In NY I was Business Class.
In one part of the Delta lounge I was temporarily important, but not important enough for the other part.
On my first flight, I tried to lift my carry-on to the surprisingly available overhead bin, the male flight attendant said, “Sorry, FAA regulations state we’re not allowed to help passengers with their luggage.” And yet, I saw the female flight attendant putting passenger items up and away in business as I squeezed through on my way to back to steerage. Whatever the regulation was, it seemed more flexible up front.
On my connecting flight to Rome – I had business class upgrade. My status was elevated to Temporary Elite. The boarding pass provided access to the Delta lounge, a place governed by rules, qualifications, and invisible hierarchies.
A man in front of me was not allowed in because his connecting flight did not qualify. The hostess then directed him to another paid lounge, for the low-tier fliers, and she did all of this without breaking a very warm and pleasant smile. After scanning my boarding pass, I was greeted eagerly- by name, and checked in on later to see how I was doing.
I started upstairs because the view looked nice, but a smiling employee intercepted me before I’d climbed three steps.
“I’m sorry, upstairs is a different lounge.”
A lounge…inside the lounge. King Platinum Frankincense and Myrrh Tier? Apparently even exclusivity had become overcrowded. Whatever they’re buying, it isn’t a better chair. The chairs are identical. They’re buying separation. That’s the product.
Instead of thinking about cathedrals, I found myself on my third cappuccino and second tour of the buffet trying to calculate what version of myself I currently was.
Elite at security.
Ordinary on the plane.
Welcome in one lounge.
Rejected from another.
Premium enough for breakfast.
Not premium enough for fast Wi-Fi.
Abdana from Haiti appeared every few minutes to collect evidence of all that calculation: abandoned cappuccino cups, empty champagne flutes, dessert plates, napkins. Every interaction began with the same friendly smile, regardless of who was on the other side of it-guests, staff, airline personnel, maintenance. He collected the dishes, wished people a good day, and disappeared again into the kitchen.
Boarding is never pleasant.
Long before anyone is called, people begin drifting toward the stanchions hoping to improve their place in line. Group 1 has its own lane, but even there people squeeze forward, inch by inch, protecting a position they already possess. One woman in Group 1 watched the pre-boarders with growing irritation.
“There’s nothing wrong with him,” she whispered. “He’s not even in a wheelchair.”
Apparently she’d promoted herself to Assistant Director of Eligibility.
Across from the boarding scrum, one woman never got up. She kept reading. She seemed to trust the plane would wait. For one irrational second I wanted to hand her my boarding pass. She seemed more qualified for pleasure than the rest of us.
“May I help you with your bag?”
Ah.
Status.
Melanie appeared with a hot towel.
“Champagne?”
Status.
My name.
Eye contact.
Menus.
Flexibility.
Nothing about me had changed except a letter and a number on a boarding pass.
Then Rome immigration erased all of it.
Non-EU. Long line. No shortcuts. The woman furious about pre-boarding was suddenly furious about waiting with everyone else. Status, like luggage, gets checked at unexpected moments.
Over the previous twenty-four hours, nearly every interaction had begun with a classification.
Wi Fi.
Diamond status.
Lounge eligibility.
Boarding group.
Passport.
I thought about Abdana. After proving what I qualified for to one system after another, it was oddly disorienting to meet someone who seemed genuinely interested only in whether I was having a good day.
But the system had already done its work. Somewhere between the Premium Wi-Fi and the hot towel. I was already doing the math. Which credit card. Which annual fee. Which transfer partner. Will I have to become a Points Guy disciple to manage all the complexity, and how do I spend $4,000 in thirty days? 80,000 points…
I tell myself I don’t care about status while quietly trying to optimize my way into it.
