It is cruel to apply for a seat upgrade using somebody else's email address.
The delight of "You've got mail!" announcing breathtakingly that you've been upgraded from 28-C, which is so far back that it's not even on the plane, to 2-B where the cashews are warmed and the flight attendants fart rainbows, and the seats are so wide that you can't wait to get home so you can stuff yourself with chocolate just to fit in more snugly, only serves to intensify the whiplash of the realization that the Golden Ticket email is for
Oh, the fall heralded by a cartoon trombone, whaaa Whaaa WHAAA!!
Then YOUR official boarding pass arrives announcing that you've been moved from a balmy 28-C, conveniently located 9 millimeters from the blue ice generating toilets to 59-K; not even on the plane. No, you're placed in a little pod and towed behind the plane by a rope. Well, at least I've got a pod.
On the bright side, I've only got 2,455,300 more miles to fly to qualify for Plastic Elite status. With that I'm guaranteed a toilet seat! Every time!
(posted from my iPad)