Southwest Airlines remains the lone hold out of the majors. So let me start by saying that I love Southwest if for no other reason I don't have to swipe my credit card to get them to take my bag and I know that I won't be dealing with 38 yahoos who didn't check their bag and are going to try to squeeze it between by femur and the 4 inches of leg room provided in 23 B all for the sake of saving $25.
So Southwest makes me happy because swiping a credit card just to get on the plane you already paid to ride is a behavior I'll never overcome. #NeverForget.
Here's another huge plus for Southwest, if you do want to fork over a marginal fee, you can get into the first 3 rows on the plane. And while there are no free drinks and no extra leg room, you still get that feel of being in better then economy class. I like this because like most pampered Americans, I feel like I have a right to be treated better then everyone around me AND not pay for that!
Here's the downside to Southwest if you are like me (rarely paying for that upgrade) and don't think about checking in online at exactly 24 hours before my scheduled departure. You end up with a boarding pass in the back of the line. Get that dreaded "C" and you know you are going to have to pick and choose who is going to hate you for not passing them over and selecting that other middle seat. It pays to be fat and ugly with an "A"boarding pass. The only people who'll "want" that middle seat next to you are the people who are left with no choice.
Anyway, I got a high "B" for this flight to Baltimore. We'll be less then an hour in the air, so while I know I'm probably settling for a middle seat, it won't be for an unconscionable amount of time. Now the question is, who is the unlucky sucker who lost their precious space because I picked their row?
As a Southwest Airlines vet, I now have a good guesstimate of whether I can steal a back of the plane window or aisle before scanning my boarding pass so my game plan turns to surveying the first 5 rows for anyone dumb enough to pass over an easy exit for a roll of the dice in the back. After plesantries with the welcoming flight attendants (which I assume is mandatory at Southwest based on their kitschy nonchalant announcement Schtick) I'm in full on game mode. Within 20 seconds I have spotted my row, my victims. And now I must in the most pleasant and apologetic tone, explain that there are no more Windows or aisles and I am forced to make a middle seat selection and today, my friend, is not your lucky day. "If it wasn't me, it'd be someone else," I'd tell them with the look of, hey, I'm pretty thin, pleasant and clearly have acceptable hygiene. Don't complain.
The first reaction tells you everything you need to know about your neighbors. Complete eye aversion as they let you get settled is a sign of dissapintment and complete dislike for you and everything you stand for. Some give you the "I understand, come on in, this is a safe place, but it won't be where we talk about life." And then there is Mara, the woman I selected to give up her middle seat freedom. She was welcoming, almost to the point of wiping down my seat so I'd feel like this would be as close to a spa experience as possible. Jackpot.
Mara is a friendly people person. I didn't know this when I picked her row, but was happy to know my instincts about which row to pick were spot on.
I gave Mara the whole, "I hate being the bad guy" spiel in dissapointing her into that feint belief that she'd get lucky and have that row for her and the silent person staring out the windows in seat A. Mara didn't care, seemed happy to have company and started chatting. She works in the medical industry. I don't pay close enough attention to people so I couldn't tell you if it was a device or pills she was hawking or if she was working on teaching a new procedure to help with some awful ailment. I think it was the latter, regardless, it sounded like she was doing good in the world about something I'd care to think about as little as possible. So I'm good at faking that I'm not a shithead. Whatever.
Mara and I hit it off in the way that plane mates hit it off. A feigned interest in where each other is heading and what they are doing there, what are families are like and whatever else a broadcaster and medical specialist can possibly talk about for 15 minutes. That's when the drink cart made it's way to us.
That's when Mara turned to me and offered her Southwest free drink coupon. Another point in the pro column for this airline. They give away drinks the way I used to give away the bar when I tended it on our special fraternity night at the Georgetown spot that literally didn't care how old you were to get in.
I accepted gracefully and asked which beers they had. Pretty standard selections: Miller Lite, Heineken, something else like that and, shockingly, Fat Tire.
I have a special place in my heart for this beer. It might be the first beer I encountered where I realized that not all beer has to taste like... (I'm not going to say it because I appreciate the Millers and Anheiser Busch's of the world too much but you know what I mean).
Sam Adams may have enlightened the casual drinker to what Craft beer can be. Fat Tire was the one that I happened on during my travels out west (when you could only get it west of the Mississippi River) where my eyes and taste buds were opened. This was eons ago. So I have a nostalgic feel about it, like it was my first beer girlfriend. My long distance relationship with a beer I could never have with me 24/7.
Things have clearly changed for Fat Tire becoming one of the selections on a major airline beverage cart.
Having been on a beer journey with the craft explosion, I wondered for a moment before taking that first Southwest sip whether I'd still appreciate or like it as much as I used to. I hadn't had a Fat Tire in years. You can find it on the east coast readily now but based on the amount of craft options, going for new, younger varieties has more appeal. So it has been a while since me and one of my first loves had a real moment. This was our time. In Row 3 B, next to Mara on our way to Baltimore, discussing medical maladies and the merits of having a dog versus having a child (Mara's dilemma)
Was it as good as I remembered? Frankly, no. But that seems to fall in line with any relationship with anything. That old long distance girlfriend probably won't have that same appeal 20 years later. Neither does the McRib or Mardi Gras.
But it's still wonderful. I appreciate the goal of setting an American standard in Belgian style brewing. It's deep orange color is close to the shade of the Texas Longhorns logo. It's aftertaste is sweet. The amber ale is very smooth. There is an orange tinge to it, but like a version where the fruit isn't exactly ripe yet.
But there ultimately is not a lot of distinction to it, but that has more to do with the amount of competition it has then it's sheer quality.
Fat Tire was a game changer in my beer drinking experience. A right of passage from the days of drinking Mickeys Big Mouth and the garden variety big brands. Here's hoping it's remembered for a legacy is helped set whether you are drinking it in the Rocky Mountains or flying over them in 3B next to your carefully chosen flying companion. #NeverForget
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