Alaska Airlines from Hector International Airport to Oakland

Once upon a time, in the land of the midnight sun - no, not the poetic one that's often mentioned in dramatic tales, but the rather literal one that is the great state of Alaska (fact here: liable to bathe you in sunlight for 24 solid hours in peak summer) - there was an airline. This airline, under the bravely unimaginative moniker of "Alaska Airlines," was determined to stage a grand performance of aviation from Hector International Airport to Oakland, complete with direct flights and intermittent on-stage humor.

It was a chilly morning, just right for a one-way flight from North Dakota to Oakland. Practical punters made the most of the impressive roster of cheap flights, while our more affluent frequent flyers reluctantly parted with their pennies for the enticing lure of Alaska Airlines' delectable first-class offerings. Bouncing forward with a can-do attitude, the anticipatory air buzzed with murmurs of expectations of the flight duration and an eagerness to partake of in-flight services more catered towards entertainment than sustenance.

In this ceaseless spin of commerce, the concept of a "layover" had achieved mythical status. Because in this grand epic of Alaska Airlines, the "non-stop" was the compelling hero while layovers and connecting flights were reduced to mere footnotes in the annals of airfare. Flights to Oakland didn't take a breather. They marched on, relentless and roguish with an unyielding quest to arrive. Hardly a Benjamin Button affair, but who cares for a reverse chronology in a storyline that's decidedly linear, right?

Now, let's not forget the covetable "mileage program," the airline's euphemistic attempt at capitalism flirting with communism, a belly dance where everyone, from the reluctant economy class passenger to the routine business class traveler, hopes to grab the attractive flight deals. And hence, regardless of the best time to book or the inevitability of last-minute flights, everyone had the opportunity to feel like an entitled oil baron — even if only momentarily.

The flight schedule, punctuality personified, often evoked wistful sighs from Swiss watchmakers. Never a red-eye flight awkwardly christened as such in euphemistic denial, each departure was a ceremonious event, perfectly tuned to the natural human body clock – and like a well-trained performing seal, it always earned a balanced dosage of applause and appreciation.

The baggage allowance was an amusing mandate, showcasing a tango between necessary practicality and blatant absurdity. One was allowed enough to pack, perchance, a small-breed reindeer from Alaska – in case travelers suddenly harbored ambitions of transforming into an amateur, ethnically diverse Santa Claus.

And let us not forget the enigma that is their flight cancellation policy. Encrypted in an ancient, long-lost language possibly known as Legalese, it's a labyrinth only specialists might be able to decipher. Its inherent proclivity to induce migraines is rivaled only by the instructions for assembling flat-packed Swedish furniture.

So, dear reader and potential air-affectionado, if you have ever entertained the notion that air travel is nothing but a dull, lifeless journey, I hope this rather enlightening City Airport to Oakland Chronicle via Alaska Airlines has been awakening. Embark on this adventure, this dramatic rendition of transportation – from economy class woes to the riveting landing fade-out, and you might just agree that even a humble flight can make for an epic saga.