Ruminations at the Departure Gate

I am cool. I can now be counted among those who sit at the departure gate “working” on their computers. At this time it’s a middle school girl and me.
No great problems so far - except for the 15 minutes of fear I felt waiting to see if they were going to toss all my toiletries. I’m sure the SAS website said 6 oz. was the limit, but the sign in line said 3 oz. I got away with it , anyway. (It sure takes a long time to put everything back on after you go through security - shoes, jackets, etc.) Post-script on toiletries: I didn’t make it through security the second time. The agent wouldn’t let me take three containers through that were over 3 oz. I pleaded with her to let me find smaller containers to transfer at least some of it, which she agreed to, but all I could find were some paper cups. At least I saved enough to get by until I can replace it.
The suit didn’t work this time - I didn’t get my upgrade to business class. I even offered up all my Mileage Plus points, but since United went bankrupt, they aren’t valued very highly. The agent asked me if I had any SAS points, which, of course, I don’t. At which time I asked myself the same question - I always fly SAS -why don’t I have any SAS points? Next thing on my list of things to do! If I wanted to buy an upgrade, I could have done that - $300 for economy extra (I wasn’t sure how much extra you get for $300) or $3000 for business class. It makes my previous upgrades seem even better than I had appreciated! I passed on the affordable upgrade - it’s business class or nothing for me!
I’m having a glass of Pinot Grigio while I wait to board - the best anywhere the middle-aged waitress assured me. There’s nothing sadder than a middle-aged waitress. But for the grace of God… However, her chin looks better than mine. Maybe she used her tips for a little surgery, y’think?
I got carded! The sign said, “We ID all guests.” They weren’t kidding! The dark-skinned (get my meaning?) waiter explained, “Because you look younger.” “Younger than what?” I asked. I wanted to say, “Younger than Methuselah?” but I didn’t think he’d get it. Wrong religion. We lift off in a half-hour. I’ll be landing in Copenhagen in 9 hours (I hope).
Going to Paris is a 20 hour trip. Hmmm, doesn’t seem that far away.

Someday: I’ll be able to afford a business class ticket.