It was a pretty harried morning Saturday as Katr and I prepared to go to Toronto for a few days of workin'. As usual, I had left some vital chore, like packing, until the last minute. Katr, never the most relaxed traveler, was even more frumbly than usual due to some electronic mishaps and the dog - the dog knew something was up.
After his hilarious joke about storing our mail in the dishwasher was met with a lecture on what was or wasn't funny to stressed out creampuffs, my brother and his girlfriend wisely absented themselves and hung out on the balcony, where the sounds of creampuff bickering blended nicely with the calls of the seabirds buzzing our little outdoor cafe. The dog joined them. I didn't blame her.
Katr and I frumbled to the airport, grumbled through security and mumbled at each other in a surly manner as we waited at the gate. I had just finished my pre-boarding bathroom break ("What . . . is . . . wrong . . . with . . . this . . . TOILET PAPER??? GodDAMMIT!!") when I heard the gate agent call my name over the PA system. Great. What now?
I frumbled my way up to to the desk with my boarding pass. Dan at the desk was wearing a grave expression. I prepared myself to have to fight for my window seat. And then Dan said these magic words:
"Do you mind if I bump you up to Business Class?"
It may surprise you to learn that I don't spend a lot of time wanting to kiss dudes. But I nearly frenched this guy. The only thing that held me back was knowing that trying to tongue Dan the Air Canada employee would definitely give me away as a hick who'd never flown Business Class. And I am nothing if not sensitive about my hickishness.
"Sure," I answered nonchalantly, tossing my hair in so insouciant a manner that I nearly dislocated my neck, "that would be lovely."
"I see you're traveling with someone," he said, frowning at his list.
"Yes," I said, throwing caution to the wind, "can she come too?"
If Dan caught the whiff of hick desperation, he didn't show it.
"Sure," he said, "here you go. Have a nice trip."
I took the new boarding passes in my hands and felt a surge of power. I sauntered back over to a bewildered Katr, fanning myself with our new tickets.
"So," I said, when I got back to our seats, "how 'bout we fly . . . BUSINESS CLASS today?"
I swore I heard sweeping music in the background as Katr's eyes filled with tears. It was epic.
Business Class. It's everything the legends tell you. Spacious seating (so important to a creampuff). Quieter. No bad smells. Actual food plus free flowing booze for 5 hours. I hear some of the newer planes have personal entertainment systems and individual gumball dispensers; our plane was older and I didn't care. It was HEAVEN and I couldn't believe our luck. I kept humming "Somewhere in My Youth or Childhood, I Must Have Done Something Good" from the Sound of the Music, until one of the flight attendants gave me a look. While I had her attention, I waggled my empty wineglass at her.
I was careful not to betray my status as a first class virgin (worldly and sophisticated Katr has flown first class before) but I was clearly not alone. The dazzled eyes of some of our fellow Business Class passengers gave them away as first timers too. Also, how they kept asking the flight attendants how much the food cost and what the hot towel was for and how much IT cost. Ha ha. Plebes.
It was the first plane trip I've ever taken where I felt like I hadn't had to ENDURE the flight. I walked off the plane feeling fresh as a fucking DAISY. And I knew in that moment that I had been spoiled for "Economy Class" forever.
This conviction was reinforced by our hellish return trip, where we were jammed back in with the rest of the Great Unwashed on a plane so hot you could have grown rice. Stupid Sound of Music.
