Many of you have had a similar experience: you are flying coach to Europe and you are spending about ten hours hanging in the sky. The flight traverses the night, and you are fighting with your seat to find that one comfortable position where you might be able to sleep. This is, of course, a futile undertaking. There are no comfortable seats or positions in coach during a ten-hour flight. This is a torture to be endured, not enjoyed. I find that putting the seat back the little bit you can is an illusion that only adds to the pain. It’s like a cold glass of water seen in the hallucinations of someone walking miles in the blazing sun–a mirage. The airlines would like everyone in coach to think that those seats are comfortable, but they would be wrong. I usually make it about six hours into the flight–way past the point of no-return–before I start getting grouchy and annoyed and irked with the way my butt and back feel. It could be worse. It could involve water-boarding. Oh, wait, they do serve some “food” in coach, but the airlines have a very broad idea of what constitutes food. The few people who get to ride in first class and business are riding in relative comfort. They have enough space to turn around, nobody has leaned back their chair into their face and their legs are not in danger of ceasing to function. I think the best part of riding up front is the space: they have space to continue being people. Back in coach the worst thing is not the uncomfortable seats, it’s the total lack of space to even stretch decently a time or two without punching out the person sitting next to you, who, by the way, is only trying to do exactly the same thing and maintain a little dignity. And no I don’t want to hear the toilet flush one more time. And you lose stuff: Ipod, phone, water bottle, snacks, blanket, pillow, computer. Or worse, all of these items tend to pile up in your seat pocket or your seat. Then, where are you supposed to sit? And sleeping sitting up is not sleeping at all. If you can’t put your feet up, it’s not sleeping. You might call it fitful dozing, a troubled sleep that only gives the illusion of rest, but does not give rest. So there you hang at 37,000 feet, traveling at just under the speed of sound, heading back to the old country, yawning and wondering when the next time you can put up your feet might be.