Luckily for me, I screwed up the first flight of my holiday and ended up with no choice but to pay for a business class ticket to Hong Kong in order to save face, and my marriage, because I'm not convinced anyone would want to be married to such a bozo who can't even book her flights correctly in order to arrive on time for a mini break.
Here's how this all happened:
Thursday:
Even amidst the mania of the end of term, I found myself smugly able to print off and highlight my itineraries for the five flights I will be taking this holiday. What a clever little traveller I am, I thought to myself, whilst downloading historical notes for the walking tour I have planned and collating a list of all my hotels, their addresses and contact numbers, and printing my colour coded schedule. Such an experienced adventurer. I even had a plastic magic wallet to keep all my paper work in and blog addresses for cafes and roof top bars.
Friday:
I packed. I tidied the house for my guests. I did aaaaall my laundry. So organised!
Saturday:
Leisurely drive to the airport. Thoughts of coffee and a bit of work in the lounge. I was doing so well that I even got there an hour and a half before my plane was due to take off. Unheard of for me!
Imagine my pit-of-the-stomach acceptance, therefore, when I heard the words, 'Are you sure you're flying with Vietnam Airlines today?' The personification of my memories of Barcelona, a French gap year, Borneo and the Tiger Airways booking system that glitches when opened in Safari stood a little way off and began to laugh behind their hands and point at me. I didn't even argue with the check in lady. With a deep sigh, I checked my colour coded flight confirmation. Of course, it said 'Sunday' where it should have said 'Saturday'. With my nicest smile, I asked the lady if there was any way of getting me on this flight, which was already overbooked, as Hong Kong sidled up to all those other guys and said something about this being so like me. 'True, true,' replied Darwin, knowingly, and introduced himself as 'that dick that hates Emma's passport'.
Thankfully, two nice ladies at the information and ticketing desk, an explanation about why my debit card has a different name to my passport, and a healthy £200 later, I was able to chirpily inform Frenchie that of course we were meeting as planned, and that guess what?! I'd been upgraded to business! Now, how long have I been waiting for a stroke of luck like that?
So, considering myself very fortunate to be on a flight, whether in the hold, cockpit, business or economy, or even strapped to one of the wings in a sparkly leotard with feathers in my hair, I settled into a social and resource analysis of business class, and here is what I have discovered:
1. Business class is more about feeling like you are worth more than all the proletariat sitting behind you: you get to the plane on a bus where you can sit down, the workers have to stand; your food is preceded with a menu and accompanied by a garish tablecloth, whereas the first you know of food in economy is when you are unexpectedly asked, 'chicken or fish, madam?' and then you get flustered and say 'fish' when what you really meant was 'chicken, please. I hate fish. Ugh.' and then you drop sauce on the only pair of trousers (light coloured) that you brought with you on the trip, and they were supposed to be your trousers for looking smart in posh restaurants. The staff are kinder, and speak in quieter voices in business class, and they don't tell you off when your phone rings during the safety briefing although you have clearly been told three times to turn it off or... I was about to make an inappropriate Malaysia Airlines joke. Too soon, right?
Look! You even get your own salt and pepper pots!
2. You do get more leg room in business class and four seat settings. I don't know what a lumbar is, and nothing seems to happen when I press this lever, but I still appreciate it being there. The seats are also like those deluxe cinema seats - big enough to fit both you and the small Cambodian child you are smuggling out of the country. This is definitely how Brangelina must have done it.
Oh, and there's a little place to put all your flight entertainment so that you don't 'do a Borneo' and leave important things like, I don't know, internationally recognised documents confirming your identity and right to travel, in seat pockets. All those haters, by the way, are still in the airport cafe drinking luke warm coffee. Who's laughing now, hey guys? Emma, and her fluke luck managed to beat you all!
3. I forgot how pretty clouds were. The serenity of business class has enabled me to reconnect with the beauty of simple things. Look how pretty they are:
4. There was no champagne, Internet connection or flat beds. There was white wine at 11:30am and 5 out of the total 13 guests were women, three of whom were not simply wives of businessmen travelling business class, but human beings in their own right, probably with air miles. This made me feel better about the state of the world. Have another photo of the sky:
So, here is me in business class, feeling the quiet hysteria of unanticipated poverty and slightly outraged on behalf of the ordinary person. Those people in the back are probably ten times the person I am, no matter what their flight ticket says! (What I really mean by this is 'there are ten times as many people in the back - commoners - than there are up here, with the people who have the same ticket as me. Suckers!)
Haha! Business class!When I eventually got to HK, I walked past this sign yelling 'nothing, other than the fact that I'm an idiot!'
And got hauled away by security for taking photos at an airport. I put on the 'smile like you are innocent' face and cooperated really politely and spoke in a quiet voice and they didn't even make me delete the photo. Yessssssssssss!
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