The class system is alive and well at the airport. When boarding you are informed that those who require special assistance may pre-board, while first class passengers are able to board at their leisure. Next business class passengers may board, followed by premium economy. And just when you think that it is finally time for the average Jo to heard on to the plane with the rest of the cattle, the PA announces that any Gold, Platinum or Oneworld Emerald customers may now board. Even the names of these frequent flier status’ are a further dig at the exclusivity and decadence of the few, who, having boarding half an hour ago, are now sipping scotch and eating cashew nuts.
And as if that vocal demeaning classification of status wasn’t enough to remind you of your place in society, your subsequent trudge down to the back of the plane will. You walk past comfy looking seats with fresh packed amenity bags and hostesses offering trays of Buck Fizz. With each step the plane seems to narrow and the seats seem to multiply. You notice the eyes of the other passengers furtively scanning the row numbers. 54F? No. Only at row 22, keep moving....
When you eventually find your seat, you cross your fingers that no one will sit next to you. For a few moments there is hope for that little extra bit of room. But just as you breathe a sigh a relief, a biggest looser contestant* comes waddling down the aisle and your heart sinks as you know they are headed right to you.
Honestly if your safety really is their priority as the airlines would like you to believe, they would not pack you in to your seat so tightly that in the ‘unlikely event’ of an emergency, you’ve got bugger-all chance of getting to the emergency exit anyway!
Despite my whinging I should say that flying at all is an utter privilege.I would like to make it clear that I will happily sacrifice these hours of discomfort for the chance to see my friend get married, to ski in Switzerland, and to drink grappa and espresso in Italy. To give some perspective, I know a school in Ghana that does an annual school excursion to the airport. In this context, my griping sounds absurd.
So now I will stop complaining and touch on some other parts of flying worth noting.
Now, to drink or not to drink? That is really a tough question. Alcohol is almost certainly needed to get through the trauma of a long haul flight. But alcohol dehydrates you and if you over indulge you will disembark the plane feeling nauseous and looking like a prisoner of war. Some people have the philosophy that you need to drink you money’s worth. These people have bloodymary’s with their breakfast and stock up on those ity-bity spirit bottles the size of lego men.
Fashion in the air. It seems to me that safety jacket technology hasn’t evolved much over the years. All the airlines seem to favour a yellow sleeveless number with a waist strap, a light and a mouth piece for attracting attention. Here’s hoping none of us will ever have to put one on.
On board aerobics. Now let’s do some exercises so we don’t get deep vein thrombosis. This is a serious malady but alas, the exercises are not so serious. They look like some kind of seated synchronised swimming routine.
As for that mile high club stuff... If anyone’s actually managed to have sex on a commercial flight, I take my hat off to you. The flexibility and speed that is required to achieve such a feat is not a skill possessed by just any man.
There is so much to write about this topic! I don’t even have time to cover the Bermuda triangle that is Heathrow, the politics of putting your seat back, the importance of befriending the flight assistance, or the horrible suction noise the toilet makes when you press flush. I hope you what you have read will make future flights more enjoyable.
Above all remember to travel with a book – there is nothing worse than getting to your seat only to find that some bastard has already done the Sudoku in your in-flight magazine.
*interchangeable with baby, young child or BO challenged person. All are ingredients for an equally uncomfortable flight.
Ah, so whining. You get on the plane, you get off the plane in a new city. End of story!
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