Dialogue: Lifting the veil on business class

By SANDY BURGHAM

A friend is travelling back from Britain for Christmas and flying business class for the first time.

"I'm practising my business class swagger," he writes. "I wish I had a cabin simulator to practise how to use all the extras successfully without looking too amazed. At least I needn't grovel to the check-in cow and pretend to be rich."

Indeed, who hasn't tried the free upgrade line on the check-in counter staff? Surely they must have heard it all by now, "I have just had an operation on my leg, I suffer a bad back complaint, my veins, my veins." Or the direct, "Any chance of an upgrade?"

You can always tell the people who are rooting for an upgrade at the airport - he's in a three-piece suit with fob watch and she's dressed for the Melbourne Cup. They take a punt based on their lowly contact in the airline's middle management who reportedly has put in a good work for them. "Any word from a John Smith?" they ask hopefully. "Who? No sir, and business class is full anyway." They are forced to slink to economy class looking conspicuous in their regalia and face their peers.

So, what utopia lies beyond the thin veil that separates the classes? Last week, I had the pleasure of flying business class to and from Brisbane.

While I spend my life manipulating air points from various loyalty schemes to ensure upgrades if flying further afield, a trip to Australia usually doesn't warrant it. (Flying business to Wellington is just plain pretentious.) But this time, it was a business trip and my client had booked it too late to get me a cheap economy ticket. Hurrah, for a few extra bucks I was to fly business and without the kids.

At the quiet and civil private check-in, the customs officer treated me with the warmth of a long-lost friend. Sailing through the express lane at immigration, I made my way to the lounge where the staff must have had their instruction manual dogma drummed into them: be really nice to rich people. And on it went.

Trouble is once you get into the swing of business it's hard to go back, since the unofficial caste system fools you into believing you are indeed superior.

Sweeping up the staircase, leaving the untouchables in economy behind, how pleased they were to see me in the dizzy heights of business. People moved freely about the cabin drinking champagne.

Reading my book, I forgot to use the adjustable reading lamp beside me. Silly me. Lucky my manservant with a gentle, unassuming manner was there to switch it on for me. "Thank you," I said. "No, thank you," he replied. "Here, allow me to fan you while you read" (not really, but I am sure he would have if I'd asked).

Yes, I was the recently rediscovered Grand Duchess Anastasia. Last year when flying economy from Melbourne and looking every day of my eight months of pregnancy, I struck a snotty stewardess who refused to lift my cabin bag to the overhead locker, leaving me, embarrassed and struggling to sort it out myself. Indeed it was the one experience which almost had me sworn off using our national carrier.

Economy class syndrome is less about the inability to circle your feet around in comfort but more about feeling that somewhere, in the same aircraft, some pigs are more equal than others. (And many of them are there just on the merits of their credit card habits.)

I am sure that there are economic reasons why those in economy class can't be given a break. But I am sure they would forgo the tablecloths and the excessive pampering for more legroom and a feeling that one really mattered.

One international airline has introduced another class between economy and business - a poor man's business if you will. But this close-the-gaps approach serves only to make the swine in economy feel worse, by creating yet another social layer they are not part of.

Meanwhile my friend ponders his trip of a lifetime. "Wouldn't it be just too much if finally getting the seating I deserve, we have to make an emergency landing or some nutters try to hijack the plane. I'd have to scream out, 'You can't yet. I've not finished my champagne'."