So tonight I flew First Class for the first time… very swanky, at least on United. I thought I’d just give y’all the rundown on what a bunch of Frequent Flyer miles buys you (because you’d be nuts to spend the $200 they want to charge you at the gate).
First of all, you board first, and you have first pick of the first class luggage bins overhead, which were cunningly designed to hold at least one carry-on each for the people sitting under them. None of the economy-class travelers may use your bins. While the peasants are being carted to the back of the plane in rickety passenger-drawn wains, the flight attendant comes by, addresses you by name, and asks if you’d like a drink while you wait for the man to come by with the bulldozer to squeeze the last few people into the back. I had water, because I was still a little unsure of the alcohol protocol (I had my suspicions, and I was right, but we’ll get to that). My seat was massive and luxurious, as you’d expect. Because the seat in front of me required binoculars to see clearly, my tray was in my right (padded) armrest. My left (also nicely padded) armrest contained a slide-out cupholder, my own AirFone™, and a blinky-light marked “incoming call.” So it’s true, as Neal Stephenson asserted in Cryptonomicon, you can get incoming calls. But how do you know what your phone number is in-flight? Mysteries abound. The plane taxied and took off uneventfully.
During the ascent, the nice lady comes around again and asks what you’d like for dinner. The description of the meal is roughly on-par with how you have the specials described to you at a European-style restaurant. I ordered the herb-crusted halibut with lemon-pepper rice, asparagus, carrots, and a sourdough roll, with the California garden salad and raspberry/balsamic vinaigrette dressing. (I passed on the blackened chicken with gnocchi and a cream sauce.) I had just
finished my water when she asked if she could bring me “something to drink while we prepare your meal”. People up front had ordered alcohol and no money changed hands, so I knew it was an open bar. I ordered a whiskey and cranberry, and boy did I get it.
To keep from relaying my amazement on this point over and over again, everything other than that first glass of water was served in glass tumblers or on ceramic dinnerware, and almost everything was served from the galley up front (and not from a metal cart, thirsty for the elbow-blood of the commoners). The stewardess poured a whiskey on the rocks into a glass tumbler which, at some point in its long life, had contained cranberry juice. She held the side of the glass to her forehead and imagined a bottle of Ocean Spray, and the whiskey turned
almost imperceptibly pink. I took a sip to kill any germs that had ever thought of coming near my mouth.
I finished my drink in fits and starts while reading Stephenson’s The Confusion until dinnertime. I was only interrupted once, when they brought a
small teacup with heated mixed nuts in it, and placed one on my armrest and one on my neighbor’s. The teacup was just big enough to hold a golf ball and had no handle, but it was warm to the touch. When I finished my mixed nuts, they offered snack mix in a bag, but I was so spoiled from the teacup, I did not deign to soil my palette with it. Besides, the people in the back looked so hungry…
The flight attendant brought a grey linen napkin, two feet by one foot (give or take) and asked me to open my tray for dinner. I followed everyone else’s lead (I had taken seat 5B, an aisle, so I could look around and ensure I wasn’t revealing my common lineage by drinking from the fingerbowl). Dinner came on a large tray; the main course was on a regular dinner-size plate and the salad was in a separate salad bowl. The hostess brought out another napkin (white), this one for my lap – so amend my previous assumption. The grey one was a “tablecloth”. There was an empty wine glass on my tray, too! Silverware included a plastic knife (to stop them terra-ists!) a metal spoon, and two metal forks. I stood them side by side, but they were identical, so the inclusion of a “salad” fork was just cosmetic.
Still, a nice touch. The flight attendant offered to freshen my drink, but I had them leave it in the fuel tanks and took another water instead. The attendant who’d brought my dinner offered to pour me some wine, which I declined. I thought it was interesting that both courses offered called for a white, but they still had red and white on-hand. I did not get a glimpse of the bottle, so I don’t know
the vintage, but I can only assume it was passable (but not noteworthy) wine. They actually made a bit of a deal out of showing the first guy the bottle for his approval before they opened it. Keanu moment for me: “Whoa.”
The halibut was delicious. The roll was half-stale. The rice was dry. The salad was crisp and fresh and the dressing was lovely. The asparagus and carrots were tasty and tender. As I got about halfway through my dinner, the hostess refilled my water.
I finished dinner and ate my after-dinner mints. Coffee was offered, so I had a cup of decaf (served on a saucer w/ napkin). As I’m finishing up my coffee, I notice a cart trundling back toward me. I figured it was for the people in the back, a late dinner service or something. No, it was the dessert cart. A large cereal-size bowl, with two generous scoops of ice cream – one vanilla, one strawberry – and one of those fancy cylindrical crackers with the chocolate swirlies baked in. When the cart arrived at my seat, the flight attendant scooped freshly-heated hot fudge over the
ice cream, and then fired a small mountain range of Redi-Whip brand whipped topping onto it. The coffee and ice cream were served together.
Now, it’s about a 3.5-hour flight to Denver from BWI, but my dinner (all 4 courses!) was finished well before the start of the movie (“The Terminal” with Tom Hanks – watch it for the scene about the goat, otherwise forgettable). I’d already seen it, so I dove back into my Stephenson.
We landed after one or two more drink refills (water again), and were allowed to leave more or less first. Overall, the experience was well worth using my electronic upgrades, but I wouldn’t pay $200 for it. Two things I missed: the first, not my fault, was that they didn’t have hot towels. I was shocked when I realized that. Secondly, all my fault, was that I didn’t go to the first-class-only bathroom to see if it was somehow more decadent (blindfolded virgins handing you perfumed, monogrammed silk hankies to wipe with?). So I guess I have to try it on the way back from LA some time.
