Flyin' high

We're back in Switzerland. I have things to say about the trip, including an update on the status of my back, but today, Northwest Airlines has inspired me to include a description of what it's like to fly World Business Class. That's right, on our way back, Northwest Airlines gave me a free upgrade to business class as a way of thanking me for spending so much of my company's money on flying Northwest last year. This will be a rather long and self-indulgent post, much like your average State of the Union address, so if you don't want to suffer a through a lengthy description of my blissful experience, you should stop reading now.

World Business Class, which is used for overseas flights, is light-years above domestic first class. It all starts when you go to check in for your flight. You get to bypass the long check-in line and go to a special, much shorter line. If you're checking bags, they're marked with a special "priority" tag so that your bags come off the plane ahead of everyone else's. In addition, limits on the number of bags and the weight of the bags are higher than for the commoners. You're also exempt from those bothersome fees for checking bags.

Once you've breezed through that painless experience, you then go to the security line, but you don't have to wait in line with the rest of the flying public. No, you get to go to a special line for privileged people. (There are good arguments to be made that going through airport security should be an egalitarian experience and that all should suffer equally, and on most days, I have sympathy for those arguments; however, when it comes right down to it, I'm more than happy to skip that part of the flying experience and take advantage of my special status. I will say, though, that even the privileged ones have to take their shoes off to go through security, a requirement that I find most unpleasant.) So, you jump right up to the head of the line and zip through security in a matter of seconds.

After you've made it through security, you wouldn't expect to go wait with everyone else at the overcrowded gate, would you? No way. You get to go wait in a special lounge for privileged people. In that lounge, you have nice, comfortable chairs, or you can go sit at an individual workstation if you need to spend some quality time with your laptop. There's wireless access if you need it. There are free food and drinks (including free booze, which, of course, doesn't do me a bit of good, darn it). Even the restrooms are nicer than your average airport restroom.

When it comes time to board your plane, a pleasant voice in the lounge announces that it's time for you to get yourself to the gate. Of course, you're allowed to get on before everyone else if you're there when boarding begins. There's really no hurry, though, because even if you find a long line of people waiting to board, you get to skip directly to the head of the line and get on the plane whenever you want. (I've only exercised that option a couple of times in cases of dire need, because it just seems so in-your-face to go to the "elite" line and cut right in front of someone who's been standing there waiting for fifteen minutes. This proves that I haven't yet completely been seduced by the dark side of the Force, although I think I'm getting close.)

Once you get on the plane, you're seated in the special World Business Class section, and here's where the fun really begins. There's an incredible amount of legroom. The website seatguru.com, which is a vital resource for someone who flies as much as I now do, tells me that the rows on an Airbus 330, which is the plane I usually fly, are 60 inches apart versus 31 to 33 inches in coach. There are two seats, then an aisle, then two seats, then an aisle, then two seats, a 2-2-2 configuration. In coach the configuration is 2-4-2. You have all the legroom you need unless you're over seven feet tall. Waiting for you on your seat are a blanket, a pillow, and a set of headphones. Shortly after you sit down, an attendant comes up to you, calls you "Mr. Wood" (assuming you're male and your last name is Wood), takes your coat, asks you what you'd like for your pre-flight drink, hands you your dinner menu, and hands you what I'll call a "long flight survival kit," which contains: a comb, a toothbrush, toothpaste, ear plugs, an eye shade, lip balm, a pen, and socks that you can put over your own socks so that when you take your shoes off and walk around you don't have to dirty your own socks.

Things proceed pretty normally as you wait for the plane to take off and for the first 30 or so minutes of your flight, but another round of fun soon begins. You've already made your choice between veal, chicken, and salmon (or something like that), and you now start receiving your five-course meal. You first receive a hot towel so you can wash your hands and refresh yourself. You then receive a cup of nuts and some other small appetizer. You're asked a couple of times if you'd like more of that. Then you receive your choice of bread. After you've eaten more bread than you should, you receive your choice of salad. By this time, if you've failed to exercise sufficient self-restraint, you're already full, but there's more to come. You've still got to deal with an entree. (The food is good, but let's face it, there's only so much you can do to make food taste good when it's all crammed into an airplane. No complaints here, though.) When your entree is cleared off and your stomach is protruding into the seat that is 60 inches in front of you, they then bring dessert. The other day, it was a choice between cheese, fruit, and ice cream. My choice, of course, was "all of the above," and that's fine with them. You can even have more of "all of the above" if you're so inclined, but come on, you've got to draw a line somewhere. After dinner is all cleared away, you receive a bottle of water to carry you through the next few hours.

Then it's time to work, sleep, or watch movies. (Stop snickering. I actually do work on those flights sometimes. It's my best chance to catch up on e-mail.) If you need to work, you've got an electrical outlet so your laptop doesn't run out of juice. You also have a movable reading lamp that you can position wherever you need it. If you want to watch movies, you've got an individual screen that folds out, and you've got your choice of about 25 different movies to watch. (The movie part is actually the same in coach on those A330s, which is what saved us when we flew with the kids.) Sleeping is a good option. Granted, it's not like being at home in bed, but it's as good as it can be when you're crammed into a room with 298 other people seven miles above the ground. The seats go back to an angle of 176 degrees, which is pretty darned close to being flat. There's an option for an automatic lumbar massage for your back. This part is where the eye shade and ear plugs come in handy, because there are still some lights and airplane beeps and people moving around and whatnot. I'm not a great sleeper, but I usually manage to doze for a couple of hours, which is good enough for me. During this time, there are snacks available in the galley, like cookies, apples, and that sort of thing.

After you've worked, slept, or watched movies for four or five hours, there's more food, at which point I almost always think to myself, "But I'm still full from dinner!" Nevertheless, I feel that it's important for me to maximize the value of the ticket to the company, so I dutifully eat whatever they put in front of me. As the plane starts to descend, the attendant brings your coat back to you and wishes you a good stay. After the plane lands, there's one last bonus, and I'll admit that this one is just galling to those who sit in coach: the flight attendants zealously hold the coach passengers on the plane until the business class passengers have had a chance to disembark. I'm compassionate enough not to look directly at the coach passengers while chanting "neener neener"; no, I just look straight ahead and try to pretend they aren't there. I figure it's the least I can do to try to preserve their self-worth.

And then, after you get out of the jetway into the terminal, you're just like everyone else, and you're fighting your way through crowded hallways, luggage carousels, and parking ramps, and no one gives a darn about how much your ticket cost. But it was fun while it lasted.