Business class was always a distant dream, but whenever I was at an airport it turned into an old crotchety man in the back of my head telling me that if I’d worked a little harder, been a little richer, rolled with a different, more opulent crowd, I too could be indulging in whatever the hell went on in business class (exuberant parties, and an infinite fountain of champagne, I presumed).
That, or a situation where someone mistook L. Tuck for some other, richer, more sophisticated L. Tuck who deserved to fly business class but missed their flight. But alas, I could dream.
I was flying from Toronto to Melbourne, and if you’ve flown out of Australia, ever, you know how awful it is, heck even Melbourne to Perth is rough.
But it was after a long 15 hours and still another 5 hour flight sweaty hell hole that took the form of an airplane
– 10cm by 10cm sit-down prison next to Betty and Phil from Rhode Island telling me about how their son just moved to Connecticut for work (because I said I’d moved to Toronto from Australia; so you know, same thing.)
Not to mention a 8-hour stop over. So I had to find somewhere to relax, that wasn’t 2 seats over from Bill talking to his wife, or involved sitting near 4 other people attempting to charge their phones or anywhere near those terrible airport gate seats that dig into you for no reason.
I needed something luxurious. But I’d settle for a shower at the very least.
This is when… the universe said “Hi Lena, how about a little taste of this luxury you will never get to experience legitimately in your life again?”
And I said “sign me UP”
So I came off the flight being the walking definition of the phrase I have now coined – swink (mixture of sweat and stink) – and as I roamed around the San Francisco airport in my half-dazed smelly state I kept seeing the sign for Airport Lounges.
I think 2 years ago I watched a Youtube video about a guy who snuck into an airport lounge, and I guess my half-asleep, swinky state gave me some sort of bravado and I thought, I really have nothing to lose.
Because, what’s the worst that could happen?
Get kicked out?
Or, as my anxiety hypothosised: I’ll get kicked out and then taken for questioning or something about why I did what I did then miss my connecting flight then be stuck in the states and have to sleep in the airport for god-knows-how-long then end up like Tom Hanks in that movie where he lives in an airport.
Do it for the story right?
This is going to be totally fine.
I saw the elevator to the lounges & realised this was it, it was do or die:
My anxiety was right there with me now:
There’s no way I can walk into an elevator and turn it around like I’d ~accidentally~ walked into a secured business class airport lounge.
Oh god, Lena, you’re going to have to live in an airport. This is it. What about that laptop case you’ve had since 2012? You know you’re not going to be able to scam yourself in right?
But this was it.
There was no turning back. Let’s get that (delicious and free champagne filled) bread.
My heart beating like crazy, knowing I am way too poor, I adjusted my trackpants at my last attempt to make myself look some type of way. Then I felt it, the hole in my 100 peso trackpants from Mexico with a breezy hole on the bum pocket, and everything else from Value Village (Canadian Savers). I was sweating even more. I had no plan, but I strutted on into the elevator, along with 4 other businessmen and their tiny businessman suitcases making a dash for the elevator too.
I sure as hell had to be committed to this now.
The businessmen who were definitely meant to be there looked questionably at this 20-something year old. I just stared at the elevator door acting like I catch $7k business class flights all the time, in my lucrative business that I definitely own and my $5 trackpants with the hole in the butt. But you wouldn’t understand the life of a solo entrepreneur.
I ever-so kindly let them exit before me (a ploy obviously to see where they went) I followed them, I was sweating, I could feel the breeze in my track pants hole more so than ever, me and my outfit sponsored by Value Village walked straight through the reception desk, about 5 people lining up, so potentially too pre-occupied to see this basic bitch walk in, I didn’t hesitate.
Hesitation is for the WEAK. I am a business mogul. Also I was just blindly following these businessmen. Until I saw them go to line up – I knew that was the wrong move – so I just
Kept
Walking
Hoping, praying, panicking. To my advantage the line was at least 3 people long per desk attendant, so I just kept walking, so I bee-lined straight for the couches, trying to walk as far as possible from the desk to somewhere hidden.
I think I did it?
Did I do it?
Oh my god I did it.
I’m in.
Me and my holey trackpants had entered the business territory.
I’d done the unthinkable! The impossible! I’d gone where no economy pleb has gone before! I was living the dream! I’d made it to the uncharted waters of whatever-the-hell goes on in business class!
Here’s an acceptance speech I prepared earlier: *I’d like to thank me for believing in me, and me, and also me, and the 4 men who were in the elevator who acted as my decoy*
I was waiting for someone to grab the back of my jumper, or tap my shoulder telling me I hadn’t signed in, but it didn’t happen. I think I actually MADE IT?!
I wanted to victory dance but this was SO not the time, nor the place.
I immediately found a secluded seat, dumped my backpack and sat back and admired my handywork – and the luxury that was around me. Phone chargers as far as the eye could see, big read couches that you could actually get comfortable on. None of this pleb fake-comfort stuff back in economy. Oh no, we were truly living.
That’s when I stood up and I saw it… the buffet and bar.
I thought this was merely a legend – surely all of this wouldn’t be free? Well, ‘inclusive’.
I did that awkward quick run over there that you do when you’re crossing a street (as if all the food was going to disappear in a second) to see if the legends were true. I first went to fill up my drink bottle to gauge the vibe. I asked one of the staff to fill up my drink bottle and she’s like ‘we have bottled water here, or cold water here – pointing to a tap (so I thought) and so I filled it up from the tap and she asked me why I filled it up with tap water when there’s filtered?
Dammit.
Me and my poor ass would get my cover blown with this type of foolery.
“I just prefer tap” I said, like a damn fool.
So I wandered around the food sipping my tap (ugh, TAP) water watching other people come and go, load their plates up and leave. That’s when I knew. It was FREE (Inclusive for people who pay for business class)
I went to put my drink bottle down – needing both hands for this operation.
I stocked up on Edamame, biscuits, chips, some weird rice salad, fitting pretty much all that I could on one plate without being obvious (it was definitely obvious)
The whole time I was certain someone would walk up to me and say ‘uh mam, sorry, but we can see how poor you are, could you please leave right away without making a fuss?’
But until that point I would relish in all the free things, using the toilet when I didn’t even need to go just to make sure I wouldn’t have to go in the gross ‘economy’ toilets. To think, I ACTUALLY used economy. This was my new life, no turning back now, baby.
Sat in front of my computer looking as ~business~ as possible while shoving my face with snacks. Until a man walks up to me – this is it I thought, my cover’s blown. He approaches me slowly and asks
Hello m’am, would you like some drinks from the bar?
First of all, M’am?!, Secondly,
yes.
OH my god. Is this heaven?
Me, a professional, now asks ‘what wine selection do you have’
And while he lists the wine all I think is how great this is and how great I am.
‘Well, I’m celebrating, so I’d love a glass of sparkling’
Then he comes back…
…WITH THE SPARKLING WINE!
So I raised my pinky, took 20 selfies, and cheers-ed to me and my cunning expertise and how easily I slotted into my new found role as Lena, CEO of Fake Fancy Inc.
I sat there sipping my sparkling wine, pretending I had copious amounts of ‘business’ to attend to on my laptop, when in reality I was caps-lock messaging my friends “I JUST SNUCK INTO BUSINESS CLASS!!!! WHAT THE HELL EVERYTHING IS FREE [complementary for people who pay for business class] OH MY GOD THIS IS AMAZING!!”
I’d truly made it, I really did that. Came up here all on my own, screw these fake friends, I was really living, started from the bottom now we here, haters are my motivators. No one can stop me.
As the time drew nearer to my flight departure and the free sparkling wine had certainly hit me. Leaving me in a hazy daze of bravado and anxiety. Because as glorious as everything was, I was in a constant state of fear that I would be asked for my boarding pass at any point.
My rein of glory was coming to an end – Wait, how do I leave? What if they ask for my boarding pass on the way out? Is that a thing? Do they do that?
I frantically messaged my friends about leaving, would they spring me as I left saying they never scanned my boarding pass?
As I used the bathroom about 10 times as I was getting ready to leave (mainly to abuse my privileges) my friend told me to just run out and yell ‘I’M LATE FOR MY FLIGHT’ if they say anything.
So I did, arms flailing and all.
I think I did a pretty good job of this ‘fake panic’ to be honest.
High on my own confidence (and free wine) I wandered back in a dream state to the main (pleb) lounge, having had a taste of the good life, seeing all the economy basics paying for their wines like fools, FOOLS. At least I had this buzz for a little while, to remind me of the good times.
I looked down at my thrift store outfit and around at the 100 people waiting for their flight, and like Cinderella as she transformed back into her servant self I suddenly felt, so… economy. I was back where I belonged, and the dream was over.
Except that I stole 2 apples.