Confessions of a Seat Upgrade Ninja

written by jaron summers (c) 2025

Still Married to a Flight Attendant After 43 Years—Yes, Really ….

Permit me to share the secrets of turning your cattle-class experience into a champagne-sipping dream without joining a loyalty program or knowing someone at the Pentagon. Ready?

Step One: Chocolate Bribery.
Before you even buckle your seatbelt, whip out a small box of See’s Chocolates.

Not for yourself—this is not about you (yet). Hand it to the first flight attendant you see and say, “These are for you and the crew. Thanks for keeping us all safe.”

Watch their eyes light up like you’ve just handed over the keys to a new Tesla.

This isn’t a bribe—it’s strategic kindness. And if there’s any talk about “moving someone to first class”, guess who just became a contender? (Hint: It’s the one with the chocolates and the clean shoes.)

Step Two: Dress Like You’re Not Hiding From the Law.
This means no torn jeans, no Crocs, and nothing with a slogan like “I Paused My Game to Be Here.” Airlines may not say it, but dressing like you own a belt gives off “deserves a better seat” energy.

Step Three: Weaponized Humor.
When I board a United flight, I always say, “My first wife was a United flight attendant.” Cue the eye roll. They think: Here we go, another guy who married an FA, got flown around the world, and then divorced her after she put him through business school.

Then I add, “And I’m still married to her—43 years.”

Suddenly, I’m no longer a villain. I’m a legend. They laugh. I laugh. My wife pretends to laugh. Next thing you know, we’re sipping Pinot in Row 1.

Step Four: Tactical Disability.
Bring a foldable cane. Doesn’t matter if you need it—it’s performance art.

Combine it with good manners and a smile, and boom: you’re “pre-board eligible” and sitting somewhere with more legroom than your living room.

Step Five: Anniversary Magic.
Say it’s your anniversary. Doesn’t matter if it’s true. You’ve probably had at least one in the past year.

FAs get sentimental. “Happy Anniversary,” they’ll say, handing you a bottle of wine like you’re headed straight to Paris for a second honeymoon. Which you are. Sort of. Mentally.

Step Six: Become One of Them.
During the safety briefing, don’t stare off into the existential void like everyone else. Pay attention. Smile. Nod.

When the FA finishes and heads to her jumpseat, my wife and I cross our arms. Why? Because they cross their arms.

Flight attendants do this in case of a crash, to keep their arms from flailing and snapping off like Barbie limbs in turbulence. We do it to say, “We see you. We are you. Just retired.”

This freaks them out in the best way possible.

Step Seven: Frozen Water is Legal.
Want to bring your own water on board? Freeze it solid in a transparent container.

TSA can’t touch you. You are now the smug bearer of pure mountain water while everyone else gets Dasani in a cup the size of a hamster bowl.

Step Eight: Dealing With Cops Like You’re on “CHiPs.”
Let’s say you’re in a rental car and get pulled over. Relax.

Wave to the officer like he’s your cousin at a family reunion. Pull over safely.

Leave space behind you—remember, the walk from the cruiser to your window is when cops are most at risk.

Then, the pièce de résistance:
Roll down your window.
Put your keys on the roof.
Place both hands on the wheel like you’re posing for a brochure titled “Law-Abiding Citizen of the Year.”

The cop will be so disarmed he’ll assume you’re a retired detective with a Medal of Valor and a barbecue grill named “Justice.”
I’ve never gotten a ticket. I’ve gotten respect.

Final Thoughts:
Travel isn’t about where you go—it’s also about how you go.

With a box of chocolates, a foldable cane, and the charm of a man who’s been flying coach like it’s a private jet for decades, you too can make air travel not just bearable—but comically wonderful.

And if that fails? Just marry a flight attendant.

Still works like a charm.