It's a little-known fact among scholars, but did you know that you can tell how important someone is based upon the number of items they attempt to squeeze into the overhead compartment of an airplane?

Go ahead and laugh all you want, but the astute observer in me took over on a recent flight during Easter, and based upon the data, I'm not that important.

After all, I was merely toting a plastic Dora the Explorer backpack and a mesh beach bag. My wife, on the other hand, had our overnight bag (leather) and my son's book bag, which was made of denim. As everyone knows, denim beats plastic all the time.

Additionally, neither of us actually attempted to put anything in the overhead compartment, a space only slightly larger than the glove compartment in my minivan. This was clearly a sign that we were mere peasants on the food chain.

The woman across from me, however, was apparently much more important than anyone else on the plane.

Our helpful gate attendants were very adamant that no passenger should have more than two overhead items. But Mrs. Rockefeller (I can only assume she was a Rockefeller based upon her sombrero of a hat and sunglasses that were about the size of two bowling balls) had coerced one of the other passengers to bring along two more of her bags so that she had a total of four carry-on items.

This did not include the purse she was carrying, which could have had its own ticket.

With the energy of someone whose life bared little resemblance to reality, Mrs. Rockefeller attempted to place her first bag in the overhead compartment.

This bag probably contained golf clubs, a Jacuzzi tub, a photo copier and breath mints, as it was about the size of a two-man tent.

You can do the physics and recognize that someone her size was not going to get her two-man tent into the glove compartment cleverly disguised as an overhead storage. Naturally, her butler, I mean, the helpful passenger, was lassoed into hurling the bag into the compartment, much like a shot putter, but using two hands.

At this point, I was expecting her to give him a break, or at least a tip; neither happened.

Instead, Mrs. Rockefeller handed the butler the next bag she was lugging and pointed to an overhead two rows back. He said nothing but gave a look that said "one day us peasants will overthrow you blue bloods. Just you wait!"

Returning from squeezing bag number two between a guitar and a set of sneakers, butler found Mrs. Rockefeller sitting in her assigned seat.

"There are only two more. Thank you my dear," she said and allowed her swan-like hand to direct him toward the remaining two bags.

Butler did as instructed, and sweat began to form on his beaten brow.

"Traveling is so tiresome," she said to me.

No kidding? I thought packing two kids into a tiny steel tube for two hours with nothing to eat, drink or keep them entertained would be the highlight of my life. Apparently Mrs. Rockefeller was a mother, too.

The flight went without any events and we were ready to deplane. Naturally, without any overhead bags, we were ready to go so we hopped up into the aisle. Mrs. Rockefeller had a connecting flight in 15 minutes and her butler had mysteriously disappeared.

While I can't be certain, I can only guess that somehow, nobody really helped her with all four bags and she probably missed her connection. Imagine how easy things would have been if she had merely checked her bags like everyone else and enjoyed the flight?

Oh how the other half must live! Isn't it glorious?