Flying in the Front

Australia Travelog #48
Somewhere over the South Pacific - Sun, 31 Dec 2023, ??pm

I've been enjoying my unexpected upgrade aboard our flight home from Sydney for a few hours now. This op-up, or operational upgrade, came as we'd been sitting in our seats for over an hour while the aircraft was still at the gate. Ultimately we left about 90 minutes late.

What's an operational upgrade? It's an upgrade the flight crew & local staff operating the flight choose to give to passengers without requiring any upgrade instrument to support it. What's an instrument? It's an upgrade paid for by the passenger, via cash or certificate, or it's a spot on a complimentary upgrade list managed carefully by corporate policies.

Okay, that sure reads like a lot of industry jargon. Here's what the upgrade looks like. 😅



We're in United's Polaris class. What is Polaris? Okay, I promise I won't make this jargon-y. 😂 Polaris is a name United made up for its premium class that's basically halfway between modern notions of First Class and Business Class on international flights. It more spacious that most airlines' international business, and it has lay-flat seats. But it's not as spacious as many airlines' international first class seating, and the service is still United Airlines— which means it's not the high standard of food, drink, and human service that many foreign airlines deliver. But hey, it's among the nicest seats I've ever flown in, and it's an op-up— I think it's the first one of those (though maybe the second) I've had in over 1.5 million miles of flying. In fact this is the even more elusive double op-up, as we bypassed Premium Economy to land in Polaris.



The food, drinks, and service may not measure up to the high standards of many Asian and Middle East airlines, but they're better than nearly anything I've had before on a US-flagged carrier. I perused the menu card as I sat down and familiarized myself with the seat. I've actually never seen a menu card fill both sides of a full size page before. Before takeoff a flight attendant asked which dinner I'd prefer. Even though I was still pretty full from free food and booze at the Singapore flight lounge I eagerly requested the beef brisket. And a glass a Champagne to keep the party going while I waited for takeoff. 🤣



Once in the air I experimented with the seat adjustments. The seat can recline all the way into a lay-flat position, with a leg rest rising to meet the foot compartment under the infotainment screen. I didn't actually feel like laying flat, especially before dinner, so I reclined the seat just a bit and raised the leg rest to put my feet up. Ahh, take that, sprained ankle! (Yes, I was hobbling through the oversized, overpriced shopping mall named Sydney International Airport earlier today. There is no back, only forward!)

Shit Rolls and Not-Shit Rolls

When dinner came, it was amusing. It was amusing how much better it was than the meal United served in coach on our flight out to Australia. I mean, the fact that there's tender meat and fresh steamed vegetables and not one but two salads— the traditional salad and a sort-of caprese salad with fresh buffalo mozzarella—doesn't surprise me. I fully expect the food in hybrid business/first Polaris to be better. But the roll is better, too. Way better. And that's what's amusing.

You see, this roll (on the upper-right of my table setting in the photo above) is soft and not ice-code and actually edible. That's all the opposite of the shit roll they served us in coach. And that's what's amusing— that United stocks two kinds of rolls, shit rolls and not-shit rolls.

How many pennies per passenger does United save by serving the shit rolls in coach instead of giving everyone a not-shit roll? How much more does it cost them to manage inventory of two kinds of rolls? Arguably they could save money by simplifying and serving only non-shit rolls. Though having non-shit rolls in all classes of service that might reduce the premium they can charge for Polaris. 🤣

The Sundae Cart

Once upon a time, part of the experience of flying in First Class was the cart of prime rib that would roll down the aisle. Passengers would tell glamorously attired flight attendants how they preferred their roast, and the FAs would obliging carve off a slice right there in the aisle.



There's no roast beef cart anymore— I think that disappeared before miniskirt uniforms and smoking sections did— but there is a sundae cart. Well, technically it's a dessert cart because it's got more than sundaes, but today I'm all about the sundae!



I got mine with both chocolate and caramel syrup and a dollop of whipped cream. 😳🍨🤤

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream?

Since finishing dinner I've been trying to settle down for the rest of the flight. It's a long one, over 13 hours. Not quite as long as the 15+ hours on the way to Australia; the jet stream helps a bit on the eastward flight home.

What time is it now? I don't know. I mean, my phone says it's about 8pm on the 31st. That's the time in Australia. And my laptop says it's about 1am on the 31st. That's the time at home. But what time is it, effectively, for me? That's what I don't know.

I was hoping to catch close to a full night's sleep on this flight, to help readjust to the time zone at home. My hopes for sleep went way up with the benefit of this upgrade. But right now I'm not feeling very sleepy, and that's even after having at least 8 glasses of wine today between the flight lounge and this upgraded flight. We'll see.

Bloggin' Right Along

If all you've done is glance at my blog over the last few weeks you could be forgiven for thinking I'm still enjoying my trip to Australia. Well, I am still enjoying it... but only vicariously through my own memories as I catch up on publishing blogs about it. Note the by-line dates in those journal entries. I came home over two weeks ago now!

With this morning's blog about a beautiful upgrade on the flight home I am now done with journaling about the trip. Well, done except for the retrospectives, anyway. I have at least two of those still in the backlog. 😅

While I was finishing the trip at the end of December I didn't expect it would take me more than full two weeks to catch up on blogging about it. I thought, maybe one week. Then three things happened:

1. First, as always, the blogs in my backlog increased in number as things I initially thought could fit in one journal entry instead became two or even three. I thought this story would span twenty-some blogs. Instead it's nearly 50— with a few more to come.


2. As I've worked through the trip backlog since the start of January I've made a conscious decision to post blogs on non-Australia topics, too. That's why you've seen year-end retrospectives and news/current events commentary. I figured if I didn't fit such things into my daily cadence they'd languish in the backlog too long and lose relevance and interest (mine, if not also yours).


3. Speaking of cadence, I decided early on that I'd maintain a pace of three blogs per day. Less than that, and I sensed it'd take most of the month to clear. More than that, I decided, would be too much— both for me to publish and for people following my blog to read.

As I've worked through this backlog I've wondered if I might break my own record for bloggiest month. Currently my record is 84, from Sep. '23. If I maintain that 3-a-day cadence for most of the month, I'll set a new high! Though I expect I'll slow down in another few days here as my backlog clears out.

The Dead Guy Next Door

I was all set to post a blog this evening about how I've spent a quiet three-day weekend around home. I may still post that blog tomorrow morning... but it will be changed to how I had a mostly quiet three-day weekend at home. The quietude was broken this evening when there came a knock at our door. It was about 5:30pm.

As I turned on the hall light and headed downstairs to the foyer I noticed through the windows in the door that it looked like a police officer was outside. I could see a navy blue uniform shirt and an insignia patch of some kind on her right shoulder. "Huh," I thought, "I wonder why the police are visiting?"

Police Action

As I opened the door I saw it was indeed a police officer. She was in a full tactical vest. As she addressed me I noticed that there were actually several police officers, similar attired, in the pipestem lane in front of our townhouse.

"We're conducting a wellness check on your neighbor," she explained, nodding her head in the direction of my reclusive neighbor, Stig. "When's the last time you've seen him?"

"Gosh," I stumbled, "It's been at least a week— no, at least two. No, wait, maybe longer."

The officer explained that they were preparing to break the door to gain entry and asked if I, or anyone I knew, had a key. I explained that Stig is very reclusive guy with few or no friends in the neighborhood. He makes no effort to talk to anybody and actively takes steps to avoid even brief social encounters such as chatting with people at the mailboxes or as he's entering or exiting his garage.

Ladder Time

The officers— who numbered 4 or 5, and had several police cars parked around our building— were discussing different ways of gaining access to Stig's house. I offered my ladder to help them peer through windows. The spryest of the officers— one who splits duty between police and fire departments so has lots of experience climbing ladders— used mine to peer in windows over the back patio. "Between the front door and the back windows I've gained a visual across almost the entire lower floors, and there's no sign of the subject," he told his colleagues where I could overhear.

Next I suggested they could climb to the kitchen balcony. The door there might be unlocked, I noted. My ladder wasn't tall enough for that climb, so I texted my other neighbor, Mark, who has a taller ladder. It's 16'. "That's a nice ladder," the ablest officer chuckled as we walked it out of Mark's garage.

We set up the ladder and, after some adjustment, the officer climbed right up it and over the balcony railing. The other officers watched in awe. I guess they haven't served rotations in the fire department yet.

Officer Big tried the balcony door. It was locked. But he shined his light through the balcony door and the bathroom window. "I see a body on the stairs," he said in so many words.

The Body

The police shifted modes. They were again discussing how to force entry into the house but now they needed permission from a supervisor. I'm not certain what's the difference in the rules of engagement. I gather if it looked like my neighbor might be alive and injured, they'd force their way in pronto to deliver aid. But their visual determination from the window was that he was already dead. Like, rigor mortis dead. ☠️

When permission came through they broke in through the garage. The door into the main house from the garage was slightly ajar. When they pushed on it there was the clanking of a lot of bottles and physical resistance. Apparently Stig had bags or boxes of bottles piled up against the door. That is both familiar— I still remember years ago when a cleaning crew removed dozens of heavy-duty trash bags of bottles from his house— and strange. Stig used that door to/from his garage daily. Why would he have it partially blocked? BTW, it's only a small coincidence that when those cleaners were carting bag after bag after bag out of his house years ago my first thought then was that he died. 😵

So, anyway, there was a dead guy in the condo next door. We don't know how long he's been there. The last time we saw him alive was Dec. 11. So for all we know he could have been there up to 5 weeks.

Later in the evening the coroner came to check the scene. An undertaker removed the body.

I don't have any info right now about how long the guy had been dead or who his next of kin are. Somebody called in the wellness check... though that could have been the guy's boss at work. Nobody here in the neighborhood knows anything about him except that he's unsociable and hates kids (he has an offensive term for children he apperntly thinks thought was hilarious). I'm not prying. I figure I'll check to see if there's a notice in the paper or talk to a police officer if there's any followup.