The benchmark for reaching full-fledged old-man status usually involves yelling at neighborhood kids to get off the lawn.
What such a sentiment lacks in charity, it makes up with feeling at odds with the times. I mean, who has the energy to scream about a few blades of crushed grass when the world seems so genuinely a mess?
Besides, I recognize another dynamic of old-man grievance that surpasses disturbances in the yard. And this one carries an even more antiquated form in our locked-down age.
To wit: “I remember when people used to dress up to get on an airplane.”
(It would really reach a moldy status if I substituted the word “airplane” with “flying machine,” but I saw no need to push the example so far.)
True, the democratization of public aviation resulted in a degradation of in-flight standards, particularly regarding dress.
An earlier day, when only well-heeled sorts could afford an airline ticket, saw row after row of travelers in suits and dresses, and the whole cabin smelled of Brylcreem, Chanel and cigarettes.
You also got a steak dinner with real utensils back then, so I don’t want to hear airline nostalgists bellyache too loudly about the good old days and dress codes.
This scene took place on an episode of “30 Rock” when Matt Damon portrayed an airline pilot disturbed by the slovenliness of his passengers.
“Look at Sweat Pants Guy,” he said. “This is a $90 million aircraft, not a Tallahassee strip club.”
Then he sent a flight attendant to tell the fellow he had to check his carry-on bag.
The first time I flew, I remember having to dress up. The Ozark Air Lines flight went from St. Louis to Minneapolis. I understand the Ozark reference indicates this took place some years ago, probably 1970, but it proved a big deal to me at the time.
Ozark, eventually bought by TWA, which in turn merged with American, did not exactly operate a puddle-jumping operation. It flew to Miami. That said, it also flew to Peoria.
Discount airlines would become a reason for an increase in commercial boardings, and casual clothing of the masses emerged as commonplace in the nation’s airports.
It charms me that people leaving warm-weather resorts often will go directly from the beach to the terminal, barely a cover-up thrown over swimwear.
Leaving Aruba once, I became overwhelmed with loss in the customs line by the pervasive aroma of cocoa butter and nearly wept the entire flight home.
This idea of airline attire comes to me because of a statement made last week by President Trump, a story he told about a person on a flight that became awash with “thugs wearing these dark uniforms, black uniforms, with gear and this and that.”
The next day, the president reinforced the account. “What happened is the entire plane filled up with the looters, the anarchists, the rioters, people that obviously were looking for trouble,” he said.
And don’t forget the “this and that.”
Yikes! This sounds infinitely worse than a plane crowded with guys in cargo shorts, a hairy-leg festival, and the recirculated air infused with Banana Boat and Coppertone.
Yet I can’t help but thinking if I wanted to get someplace as an anarchist or looter, an all-black outfit might be the right fashion choice. It makes a statement, unambiguous and bold. It says, “You may be traveling for business or pleasure, but I’m going for the riot.”
Who says people no longer dress up to fly?
The Link LonkSeptember 06, 2020 at 06:00PM
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Dress code abandoned in the skies | Opinion | newspressnow.com - News-Press Now
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