Business Class Clown

A Peasant's Guide to Getting Upgraded

By Dave Fox

I was upgraded to business class last week.

Again.

Forgive my gloating, but it was the fourth time in my last five trans-Atlantic flights that I have been invited to sit for free in a sprawling seat with an extendible foot rest, a personal video player, and complimentary in-flight socks.

A year ago, sipping mimosas at the front of the plane before takeoff was a mere fantasy. Just once in my life, I wanted to cross the Atlantic in style. Since last July, it's happened so many times, I dread the day when they make me sit back with the peasants again.

Don't get me wrong. I'm actually a peasant myself. I'm a measley tour guide for a budget travel company. I wear crumpled shirts that smell musty after weeks of living out of a backpack. I don't deserve to sip fine wines with Microsoft executives. But my air travel standard has been raised. I've grown accustomed to fancy skin lotions in the lavatory. I've come to like the concept of sleeping in flight without having to do contortionist meditation exercises.

I know what you're thinking: "Me, me, me! I want to be upgraded to business class too! How do I do it?"

Well I'm sorry but you can't. You are not as sexy as me.

I hate to sound arrogant, but having spent hours trying to figure out why they keep upgrading me, I have come up with only one possibility: The airline industry has finally realized men who are 5-feet-3-and-a-half-inches tall with thinning hair and weird glasses are incredibly sexy. We deserve special privileges.

"Do Not Disturb" stickers: One of the many amenities one receives in business class for an extra $4,434.

The reason normal people don't fly business class is the price. I checked the SAS website for round trip fares from Seattle to Copenhagen. In coach you'll pay $1,168.93. The business class fare on the same flight is $5,602.93. (The 93 cents is a tax to cover missing facial towels, which people like me steal from business class lavatories.)

If you are part of the corporate elite, you know the towels I'm talking about. For the rest of you, who are routinely packed in like refugees who are expected to be grateful for 3.6 inches of leg room and chicken that's been frozen since the Iran-Contra hearings, here's what SAS business class offers for that extra $4,434:

A personal video player with 20 films to choose from. They have something for everyone. On one flight, I chose a movie from the "arthouse" category. "Arthouse" is business class lingo for "movies too goofy to show in mainstream American theaters." I watched a melodrama from India. The best part was the subtitles. ("You don't say word. I mean don't speak in between us." … "Come out Ghanshayam otherwise I'll ruin your office!")

Indian melodramas are bad movies to watch on airplanes because every 20 minutes or so, the actors break into hideous dance routines involving lots of polyester and butt-wiggling. The executives behind you, who are watching real men like Tom Cruise blow up small island nations, wonder what your problem is.

Elaborate meals. After takeoff, they serve little dishes of olives and capers, followed by a fresh green salad. For the main course, instead of choosing between two kinds of rubberized meat, you get to choose between three kinds of rubberized meat or a vegetarian option. Rubberized meat in business class tastes better because they lay out mini tablecloths on your tray and serve the food on fine china. For dessert they roll out a cart with chocolate cake and fresh fruit and crème caramel. Unlike in coach, the business class flight attendants are not allowed to roll their eyes if you ask for decaf.

Really good booze. Single malt scotches. Wine bottles with real corks. Copious amounts.

Goody bags. Little blue pouches with toothbrushes and Colgate so you can purge your breath of free booze before you meet that important client at your destination. Eye patches and ear plugs so you can sleep. Neutrogena skin cream for that silky-smooth business class feeling. And yes, special in-flight socks.

I like the socks. After several weeks of tour guiding with limited laundry possibilities, my feet feel fresh again in business class socks. And the people around me, who have paid thousands of dollars extra to not have to sit near people like me, usually get over the stench from my shoes by the time the main course is served.

On top of all of this, there are four different lotions to choose from in the bathrooms, a bottle of mineral water in every seat, winged headrests to reduce neck cramps… and leg room.

I actually don't like the leg room. Being five-feet-three-and-a-half-inches tall, which I have not always been, I got picked on a lot as a child. I got picked on by tall people. So as an adult, I get a thrill out of watching tall people scrunch into coach class seats. It's as entertaining as an Indian melodrama, with equally frantic butt-wiggling.

Now, let's add up the value of all of this.

Personal video player: You could rent a video at home for less than four bucks, or go to a theater for twice that. On the other hand, a low-end portable DVD player will run you around $600 – not that they let you keep the player at the end of the flight. A one-day rental fee for a portable DVD player and a movie? I think 30 dollars is fair.

Meals: I don't like olives, but they're worth something. The green salad is nice. On my four international business class flights, one of my main courses was exquisite. Two were rubbery and one was cold. Chocolate cake with strawberries and cream is worth a lot to me. The service was always excellent; when the flight attendant spilled wine on my shirt, she pointed out it was non-staining white wine. The location, of course, comes at a premium. I know of no other restaurant that affords such a stunning view of northern Greenland. All things considered, I'm going to be generous here and suggest 75 dollars for the dinner, plus another 25 for the pre-arrival quiche. That's 100 bucks, not including drinks.

Drinks: Well, you have to get your money's worth somehow. Hypothetically speaking, a sturdy drinker could consume a mimosa ($5), a couple of glasses of good scotch ($10 per glass), a bottle of good wine ($50), and let's toss in a cognac with dessert ($10). I'm suggesting swanky restaurant prices here, again considering the location. Drink total: $85. (Ka-ching!)

Goody bag: A dollar for the toothbrush, 89 cents for the trial-size Colgate, another 89 for the Neutrogena, three bucks for the face mask, 50 cents for the earplugs, $4.95 for the one-size-fits-all socks (in fashionable navy), a nickel for the "Do not disturb" sticker, and $1.79 for the vinyl pouch it all comes in. Goody bag total: $13.07. (Because this is international air space, there is no sales tax.)

Other expenses: You could buy your own bottle of fancy skin lotion for six dollars. The towels are covered by the stolen towel tax. I'll toss in 25 dollars for a 15-minute neck massage, which seems a fair comparison to the head rest. Then there's the leg room issue. Okay, I admit I like the leg rest. And it's tough to put a price on comfort, but I figure you can get a bed in a very nice hotel for around $200. This brings this category to a total of $231.

So here's what we have:
Video player: $30
Meals: $100
Drinks: $85
Goody bag: $13.07
Miscellaneous: $231
Grand Total: $459.07

Compare that to the $4,434 mark-up the airline charges, and there is only one logical conclusion: You have not consumed nearly enough single malt scotch.

But rather than give yourself alcohol poisoning, consider this poor person's alternative: Sit in coach and bring your own swanky liquor and a bottle of good wine. Don't forget some high-quality glassware to pour them into. Buy one of those roasted chickens in the insulated bags at the grocery store (it will still be at least as warm as the coldest of my four meals when you eat it in flight), some yuppie organic gourmet lettuce, a slice of cheesecake, and don't forget the olives. Pick up some toothpaste and lotion. Shell out a thousand bucks if you like for a portable DVD player. It's yours to keep after the flight. You're still saving money over the price of a business class upgrade.

"But that's ridiculous," you say. "It's too much to carry."

I've got that figured out too. For an additional $1,168.93, you can bring a friend along. Treat them to a plane ticket on the condition that they act as your in-flight sherpa. They'll cut your chicken, pour your scotch, and soak your towels in a thermos of lemon-scented hot water. Many people would do that for a free flight to Europe, and you are still saving money over the cost of a business class ticket.

(I cannot afford an in-flight sherpa myself. Please don't ask.)

How did I really get upgraded so many times? The first time, I gave up my seat on an overbooked flight. The second time, I was compensated for bad service. The third and fourth times, it really was my sexiness – or perhaps the fact that I flew a lot last year.

But my luck will run out soon, I know, and I will be demoted to the back of the plane. I will look back longingly on my past life of luxury. And I will be thankful for my short legs.