EVER SINCE MY CHILDHOOD, as a traveler on hundreds of flights, I have trudged past those happy souls in the first few rows of seats, ensconced in cushioned comfort, already sipping a drink and munching on some nuts. I’ve watched endless times as the attendants noisily closed the curtains, which meant I could only imagine the wonders and glories going on in the first-class cabin. My fantasies have been spurred ever onward by those television commercials featuring businessmen sleeping like sheikhs in amazing chairs-that-turn-into-beds, accompanied by joyous 18th-century choral music. And, of course, by the brilliant episode of “Seinfeld” in which Jerry and Elaine travel on the same plane from New York to Los Angeles. Jerry is in first class, where he sups and drinks to bacchanalian excess with a supermodel companion. Meanwhile, Elaine is trapped in coach between two fat people. Over the years, people have sought to deromanticize first class for me: “Listen, if you don’t drink, there’s really no point in going first class. All you really get there is a lot of free alcohol.” They told me that I had gone through everything wonderful there was to go through when I had traveled in business class–the extra leg room, the wider seats. These efforts were for naught. My eyes remained starry, my dreams fixed on the glories of that cabin behind the closed curtain. And when I found myself the recipient of a free first-class airplane ticket a few weeks ago, I can’t tell you how much I looked forward to my journey. Disillusion, thy name is “first class.” On a bright Tuesday morning at Kennedy Airport, I boarded the plane–before everybody else! And no sooner was I on the craft than I found myself sitting in the very first row! A flight attendant took my coat and referred to me by name. And there I sat in my very large seat, smug smile on my face, as others trudged past me to endure the agonies of coach. Alas, it was all downhill from there. First came the news that there would be no nuts in the special nut dishes that I had heard about for so long. I was, instead, handed the same chintzy bag of pretzels you get in any seat on any flight. “What happened to the nuts?” I asked. “Somebody on the plane has a peanut allergy,” the flight attendant said. One person with a peanut allergy means no nuts anywhere on the plane. Then they offered me champagne. I dislike champagne, but this was first class, after all. I accepted. And, to my grave disappointment, I was handed a plastic cup–the same fake champagne-glass plastic cup they use to serve ginger ale to kids at a birthday party. And on it went. Because of security precautions, all the silverware was plastic. The tablecloth used to cover the tray was nothing more than a cheap black napkin. The salad was wilted. The main course was lukewarm. Only dessert resembled the fantasy: Ice cream sundaes, with your choice of topping. (Just like on “Seinfeld”!) So what if there were unwanted icicles sticking out of the ice cream? You can’t beat a sundae, even a lousy one. And they left a plate of cookies out where we could just get up and take one whenever we wanted. But there was not a hint of elegance. That may have something to do with the economic woes of the airline I was riding on and of the airline industry in general. When you’re losing billions of dollars, elegance is the first thing to go. And given that very few business travelers these days are ponying up to pay full freight in first class, the airlines have little incentive to treat riders like kings when they’re just being bumped up because of their frequent-flyer miles. It was a fantasy of elegance, more than anything, that had fueled my dreams of first-class travel. Travel was once an enterprise requiring elegance. I am old enough to remember when people felt compelled to dress up before they could board an airplane. That seems absurd today, especially in light of the preposterously small amount of legroom and overhead space on newer aircraft. But memories of being forced as a small boy into a blazer and tie to enjoy the privilege of sitting still for many hours are part of my emotional baggage, and I’ve been carrying that baggage with me to this day. The airline lost my emotional baggage when it seated me in first class. Truth to tell, I’m glad to be rid of it. Now I won’t feel quite as bad when, in a few weeks, I’ll have to make my way to Chicago in a middle seat. –John Podhoretz
