Upgraded To First Class

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Air hostesses. Online pic.

Business class on the plane? No. Let’s call it first class because airlines have no proof that passengers are travelling on business. Maybe the destination is gigabyte fun masked as business, at the company’s expense. Worse still, the business might be political, travelling to overthrow an unsuspecting government.

I once had a taste of flying first class. To tell the truth, I was upgraded from economy. I don’t know how that works but I can’t describe my joy. I was going back home after a disastrous business trip in Birmingham, U.K.  The air stewardess showed me a seat at the front of the plane.  I did a double take on the ticket and yes indeed, the seat number was in first class.

I put my carry-on  luggage in the overhead bin and organised myself.  I was fastening the seat belt when glasses of champagne and orange juice materialized before me. The juice was definitely freshly squeezed because of the pulp. I’m a great pulp fan. I took a sip and looked at the economy neighbours trooping past first class to take their seats behind the blue curtain.

I finally uncovered the behind the iron curtain, no, blue curtain secrets.  The menu. The stewardess brought a menu so that I could order dinner.  Sorry, no chicken or fish question in this side of town.  Linen.  Crisp white napkins, just like mama’s.  Hiding inside the napkins was gleaming cutlery, just like mama’s. 

I also enjoyed the real estate.  There were only three of us in the row, not long semi-detached houses like Coronation Street, the British television series. Leg room.  My legs could not believe it. They were not forced to behave. They had room to breathe.

Most of all, airlines don’t paste UPGRADED PASSENGER stickers on your forehead.  I could get used to this pampering in the clouds.

By:  Nonqaba waka Msimang.

 

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