The rich are different from you and me. But, wait, I am rich, too

My air travel to India last year was via Frankfurt, where I had to get a new boarding pass for my onward flight to Chennai.  It was more than two hours to boarding time and the gate was rather empty.  I approached the counter, which was staffed by two young women.  I kidded with them that perhaps it was my lucky day and that they would give me a free upgrade from coach to the first class. 

One of them replied, "from where I am, even a regular economy ticket feels like first class."

Her reply was a powerful reminder that being materially rich is, well, relative.  I felt rather stupid for joking with her about the first class upgrade.  In any case, she directed me to return to the counter after a few minutes because they had just about gotten there to the gate.

I wandered around, and about a half an hour later returned to the gate to find quite a few passengers already lined up at the counter. 

I waited my turn, and presented my passport ... and no jokes this time.

With the stereotypical German efficiency, she handed me my boarding pass and in a formal tone said "welcome to the business class."

How much ever I think that I am a lowly paid university professor, the reality is that even within the United States, and definitely among the nearly seven billion on the planet, I am not one of the hoi polloi.  I belong to a privileged group. I ought to be humbly thankful about it, and the Lufthansa employee reminded me that I have a lot to thank for.

Yesterday, too, was another learning opportunity on this very subject.  On my drive back from Seattle, I stopped to fill gas.  It was also a break for me from the couple of hours of driving in the rain.  (Here in Oregon, only the gas station attendant can legally pump gas.) 

I handed my credit card over to the young woman and when she returned it after starting the pump, I engaged in the casual chit-chat that we often do. 

"How you doin' with the rain and the wind?" I asked her. 

"I have one more hour to go, and I can't wait because even my socks are all wet already" she replied. 

These are not warm rains--it was just about 47 degrees. To be outside in the rain in wet socks at that temperature, versus me in the warmth and comfort of my car ... I reached into my bag, took out a chocolate bar, and gave her that while adding "hey, I hope this will warm you up."

"Thanks so much" she said.  Her facial response itself made it a worthwhile gas station stop.

The larger picture on unemployment and income inequality in the US is not looking good at all.