Airlines and Business Class
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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