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Me? First Class?

Katherine Dobbs, RVT, CVPM, PHR

My work requires that I travel quite a bit, which usually involves at least two, if not three, flights on a plane to get to my destination. That’s the price I pay for living in the small community of Appleton, Wis.

Actually, I don’t mind it much. I wait patiently for the amateur travelers to work their way through security, I empathize with the families carrying along small children, and I even take delays and cancellations in stride; there really isn’t any point in getting upset or frustrated. One time as I waited with the masses to board a flight, the traditional boarding call was made for first-class passengers and people needing special help. As I stood watching from my spot, a lady beside me grumbled, “None of those people look special.”

Well, I have now flown often enough on Delta to be a Silver Elite member, which typically means I can get on a bit early to make sure there’s a spot for my carry-on luggage. But today, surprisingly, I was greeted by the person checking my boarding pass with the news that I had been given an upgrade to first class! Wow! The passenger behind me remarked, “That’s a nice surprise,” to which I responded, “Yeah, never has happened to me. I’m not sure how to act in first class!” to which she replied, “Don’t embarrass us!” You see, I’m still a commoner who happened to luck out.

So it makes me ponder: Does an accumulation of SkyMiles make me, in fact, special? How many VetMiles have you put in during your career, and do you feel that the accumulation of that experience, those hard-earned miles, makes you special? Of course it does!

Now, there may not be a card that arrives in the mail or a particular number assigned to your rewards, but you are special nonetheless. It becomes a matter of self-perspective, does it not? As I sit here drinking out of a real glass, with the thin, little curtain dividing me from those in the back of the plane, I’m trying to get used to the idea that I may indeed be special. My contribution to this airline, at least, has been recognized.

Oftentimes we don’t feel that our contribution to the practice have been rightly recognized, but by whom? The boss? The owner? The manager? Our colleagues? How about ourselves? We’ve reached a point in our profession where we are no longer financially rewarded just for surviving another year in the practice. But does this mean we shouldn’t feel special for our seniority? I don’t think so.

In fact, I like a practice to recognize this longevity with a simple gesture such as awarding lapel pins for years of service, such as one year, five years, 10 years. And it’s not just so our clients or colleagues will notice and pay us maybe a tad bit more respect; it has more to do with how we feel when we pin that number on our scrub top and reflect on how many years we’ve devoted our lives to this important work.

After all, special starts with the reflection in the mirror.

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Me? First Class?

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