Contrasting the experience of wealthy air travelers with that of regular passengers; the luxurious amenities of private aviation and the stark differences from commercial flight misery.

Let me tell you about the very rich who travel by air differently from you and me.

I know. That’s a paraphrase of a Scott Fitzgerald 1926 story.  The known story was told some one hundred years ago by The Great Gatsby.  Here is how  Ernest Hemingway allegedly responded,

“Yes, they have more money.”

Disclaimer: I’ve under my belt about 2,200 commercial flight boardings. So I got some experienc

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Commercial aviation is a cattle call designed by sadists to strip us of whatever shreds of human dignity we brought past the terminal sliding glass doors. You know the drill: the stale odor of defeat, shuffling shoeless on cold linoleum, arms raised in a glass cylinder while a stranger debates whether your belt buckle constitutes a tactical threat.

Forget all that.  

What’s in it for you as you keep reading?

There are different ways to travel. First avoid O’Hare.  My buddy Chuck and I took a hard left turn away from the misery industry of commercial airlines, and pulled up to Atlantic Aviation terminal on the backside of Midway airport.

The moment we cross the threshold, the harsh fluorescent reality of standard air travel simply ceases to exist. It’s an alternate dimension paved with deep-pile carpet, hushed voices, and floor-to-ceiling glass looking out over acres of polished tarmac.

Chuck stopped dead in his tracks, looked around the lounge like he was waiting for the house bouncer to toss us out into the street, and muttered:

 “Man, this place is strictly how the rich and famous fly.”

He wasn’t overstating.

Nothing we are used to.

No TSA goon demanding our liquids, no barking into megaphones, no invasive pat-downs that violating the Geneva Conventions. Instead, a guy in a blue jacket welcomes, smiles, takes my dude pouch with the reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts, and treats us like a visiting head of state.No line to stand in.  We are seated in leather armchairs, sip cold Frappuccino, and breathe air that smells like money and quiet privilege. We watch through the glass walls the scant commercial air traffic.

Ten minutes later, we were personally escorted out across the tarmac to a little four-seater, a fixed-wing bird. It’s considered safer than a chopper in my opinion.

No “boarding group six” PA announcement. No fighting over the overhead bin with a sweaty guy clutching a bag of greasy fast food.  Just a one step-ladder, four leather seats, (pilot& three passengers).  Chuck gets the back row to himself; supportive photos shooting.  And the low, throaty rumble of a prop winding up.

Before the rest of the herd at Midway had even cleared the metal detectors, we were banking hard over Lake Michigan, looking down at the steel and concrete spine of Chicago glowing in the noontime sun.

The pilot to my left pointed out the panorama.

Down there, millions were grinding it out in gridlock. Up here, we had the whole blue sky to ourselves.

The rich don’t just travel ritzier. They live in a different slipstream.

Actually the price is right. The jaunt isn’t that expensive.

 Once you catch a taste of it, the main terminal feels like pure purgatory.

If you have questions – ask me.  We are here to help.

www.mandylender.net  www.attractome.com  www.themasterattractor.com

Tags: #airtravel #atlanticaviation #chicago #aerialtour #scottfitzgerald #ernesthemingway