Class Distinction - Symmetry Magazine

Travelling comfortably on a flight where economy class doesn’t exist may sound heavenly but the experience, according to Adam McCulloch, is somewhat disconcerting.

Welcome aboard! A flock of new airlines has emerged with planes solely devoted to business class or better. These services offer a rarified atmosphere unpolluted by the resigned sigh of coach-class passengers. Recently I was fortunate enough to fly from New York to London on such an airline, Silverjet. Their corporate promise was that the experience would be far more ‘Silverlised’. They said nothing about the uncharitable way I’d come to regard my fellow man.

At first, the prospect of flying on an airline devoid of cattle class filled me with an unhealthy amount of (somewhat guilty) pleasure. In a cabin populated exclusively by the well to-do, would anyone apologise for requesting a second helping of caviar? I thought not and succumbed to the anticipatory glee.

I arrived at Newark International Airport to find it as quiet as an out-of-hours shopping mall. The Silverjet check-in lounge was easy to spot – it was staffed by two stylish model/maitre d’ types. In the past, if running late for a flight, I had occasionally presented my economy ticket at the business-class counter, only to watch their warily expectant faces wilt into a mask of disdain. Today, however, the sunny dispositions before me didn’t waver. Why would they -– all of their customers were business class, after all. Beyond the door I could hear the convivial conversations of my fellow travellers – also known as the Chosen People – as they lightly clinked (free) champagne and ate jewel-sized canapés from silver trays. It had the expectant atmosphere of a birthday party. 

 
There comes a time, regardless of whether you’re in first, business or economy class, when you need to put laptop, shoes and dignity aside and pass through the security checkpoint. In the Silverjet lounge that moment was delayed until everyone had enjoyed another drink. With just minutes to go before the plane was scheduled to leave, one of the models/maitre d’ sorts stood up and lured us all from the room using her beauty alone. Like a progressive dinner party, we passed through security, impervious to their surly scrutiny, and boarded our plane.
Sitting in my enormous seat I agreed that it was very ‘Silvilised’ indeed. Even the lame corporate pun was starting to sound witty.

It was about then that my smile started to fade. There was something missing. I looked around and checked off the hot towel, endless champagne and charming hosts. The problem was this: no matter how smug and comfortable I felt, I knew that not one of the people filing past me was headed to the narrow, poorly-padded, human battery farm called economy. It simply didn’t exist and, by default, neither did the class distinction. How could I show that I’d made it in life if everyone else had made it too? With that realisation, my champagne no longer tasted French and my travelling companions, who previously had seemed rather glamorous, appeared distinctly proletariat (not to mention lumpen).

I had the uncomfortable feeling that everyone onboard was really, really comfortable and it kind of annoyed me. I longed for someone doomed to nine hours of misery in economy to see me luxuriating in splendor. By the time we left terra firma I knew for certain that I had come morally adrift. My wealth delusion and contempt for my fellow man didn’t subside until I drew the short straw at the cab rank. In the flimsy backwards-facing fold-down seat of a London cab I was a commoner, but at least I knew where I stood.

Words by Adam McCulloch. Originally published in Symmetry Magazine. The format has been altered to suit Tumblr.