Business Class isn't just for a better class of service. It's for a better class of people. Photo / Thinkstock
On Thursday I got the first Business Class upgrade of my life.
Seat 2A. Like, right up the front.
"It is what it is," said the woman at the desk.
No, I thought, as I strode down the boarding arm and nonchalantly turned left.
It is what it isn't, lady. 2A is what it isn't.
What it isn't, is common. Vile. Grubby and regular, like the seats and service for all the little people in the back of the plane.
I used to think Business Class was just for politicians and executives. I was uncomfortable with the way airlines used the word "Class", as if somehow the people at the top end of the bird aren't just wealthier than the plebs in economy, they're worthier as well.
But then 2A happened and I changed my mind. Finally, I was recognised as the trans-continental aristocracy I am.
It came to me, a truth so absolute it now defines my very existence: Business Class isn't just for a better class of service. It's for a better class of people.
I followed the lead of that Korean Air exec, who, enraged with the presentation of her in-flight macadamia nuts, ordered the plane turned around and the flight attendant kicked off. We had gone through four pursers by the time I left JFK.
You should've seen my pillow. It was as big as the pillows on my bed at home and it smelt like a blooming meadow. I could extend my feet and curl my toes in my 2A-issue flight socks. Of course, when they did the safety announcement I didn't bother removing my 2A headphones. Those puppies are noise cancelling you know (oh, sorry, you wouldn't) and, even though the captain asked, I didn't dignify the attendant with something as valuable as my attention.
I didn't have tarragon chicken or paprika beef. I had fish and wine and another choice for dessert. And as we soared above the Atlantic, I turned the dials on 2A's armrest and fully extended my lie-flat bed.
There was turbulence all the way. I didn't sleep a wink.
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