Bring Back the Curtain
by Christina Eichelkraut
(Jan. 26, 2006)

We all know that due to 9/11, air travel have become a lot more, well, tedious, all in the name in of safety. Fair enough. I don’t really mind taking off my shoes and subjecting myself to what might as well be a cavity search just to walk through a metal detector; personally, I find it comforting to know that if I can’t blow up the plane, neither can anyone else. In fact, I don’t even mind TSA digging through my luggage to search for bombs and biochemical weapons (although, given how ripe my laundry is by the end of a semester, it’s a wonder my suitcase hasn’t been declared a biochemical weapon).

But there is one new safety measure that I feel does not make travelers any safer, and in fact is just an in-flight disturbance waiting to happen. This is the removal of the curtain that used to separate the first class passengers and the “economy" passengers.

This is not a good idea.

In fact, for the four to six passengers directly behind the first class cabin, it’s really cruel and unusual punishment exacted without cause.

There I sat, finally settled in, a little cramped but comfortable enough by plane standards. And there in front of me were the First Class passengers, settled far more comfortably in chairs that were about the size and cushioning of a La-Z-Boy recliner. As I deftly maneuvered into a position that would allow me to bend my knees a whole inch more, I told myself, “Well, they did pay a lot more money after all, and I’m not a class warrior.”

Then the First Class stewardess came around and started taking orders for food. And I mean real food. It was a morning flight, and they were given a choice between omelets, fruit salads, or breakfast croissants. And would they care for a beverage? They could choose between different kinds of coffee, or a mimosa if they wanted. Once again, I told myself that after all, they did pay for this kind of service. But it was getting slightly more difficult to ignore the fact that those of us who were not in first class got hungry too.

Later on, they all folded out tables that were large enough to accommodate their laptops and portfolios (probably full of Very Important Accounts and Client Information) and whatever else they needed.

I reminded myself yet again that they paid more money and proceeded to fold out my own table, about the size of paper plate with square edges added on.

The First Class stewardess then began distributing little mini linen tablecloths, clearly cut for the sole purpose of the First Class table.

My blatant gawking was interrupted by my stewardess, who handed me a single paper napkin with the airline logo printed on it.

Then the food for the First Class passengers’ came, on real dishes with real silverware wrapped up in a linen napkin. I tried to console myself by reminding myself that no matter what the food was served on or how snazzy the tablecloth was, in the end they were all still eating Plane Food. Ah yes, Plane Food: as much of an equalizer among men as death and taxes. No amount of money can change the inescapable fact that the oxygen molecules on an airplane have the mystical ability to suck all taste out of food.

But the thing was, the First Class food all looked and smelled really good. I wondered if there wasn’t a little person trained at one of the finest cooking schools in France tucked away in one of the compartments in the galley, whose sole job it was to pop out and create culinary masterpieces for the First Class passengers, then unobtrusively disappear back into his cupboard.

My thoughts were interrupted by my steward, who offered me a biscotti and a cup of coffee. My biscotto was really a two-inch, rock hard cookie wrapped in a plastic wrapper. According to the wrapper, it was made by a company that had the audacity (or perhaps just the courage) to call itself AirGourmet. As per my usual custom when flying, I tried not to think about where the coffee came from. The only problem was now I knew that in the mystical cabin of First Class, I could have had a choice of coffees to choose from.

This is my point: Normally, I wouldn’t have minded my little paper cup of coffee, my little napkin, and my psuedo-biscotti. After all, I really do enjoy flying. But it was far more difficult to enjoy my flight while being forced to watch the First Class passengers positively luxuriate. Now, I’m sure that all the First Class people worked very hard to get to the point where they could afford to fly first class (or, at the very least, they’re good enough at embezzling corporate funds and/or abusing their expense accounts to do so). And I think it’s fine that they are getting the quality service that they paid for. Good for them.

But there is no reason that I, or my fellow economy peons, should be forced to see them get that service. It’s cruel, really. And in an age of postal workers going, well, postal, one can’t help but wonder if it isn’t also a riot waiting to happen. I mean, I’m a hard core capitalist, and the whole experience was enough to make me reconsider the merits of socialism.

And so on behalf of every economy passenger, particularly those who have to sit in that first row, I beseech the TSA to bring back the curtain. It’s really just better for everyone involved. The First Class passengers don’t get rudely stared at by people like me, and people like me don’t know what we’re missing out on. And doesn’t that just seem safer?

THE EXCHANGE
"Yahoo, we're back."

Bring Back the Curtain by Christina Eichelkraut (Jan. 26, 2006)

Bring Back the Curtain
by Christina Eichelkraut
(Jan. 26, 2006)