The Few Washed

If anything free came out of all the hours and distances of I covered flying around the world in the past year, it is two upgrade certificates which allow me to move a few rows closer to the captain’s seat.

So on this long trek across Canada and the Pacific, I lifted myself from the crowded and stinking confines of the ‘Great Unwashed’ to the ambiance-light and perfume filled cabin of the ‘Few Washed’.

Already at check-in and boarding, we were already separated into the (aerial) “Haves” and “Have nots” (a practice, mind you, also done at L**den University). A red carpet, and none of the queuing and waiting with whiny old ladies and crying children, leads to a special designated counter, cordoned off in a section of the terminal to prevent inter-(booking)class mingling. The luggage is granted the privilege of bearing special priority tags and given the right to swallow a few more pounds than the rest of the riff raff in Economy. Upon seeing my booking class, every single sentence seems to end with “…Mr. Chen”. “Would you like a window or aisle seat, Mr Chen?” “We have availability on an earlier flight. Would you like to be on that one, Mr. Chen?” “I have tagged your luggage all the way to Taipei, Mr. Chen.” “The boarding gate is A51, and you have time to enjoy our Maple Leaf Lounge, Mr. Chen”. I wondered whether my suitcases were on their way to a cushioned room with their elitist counterparts prior to being petted, handled with the utmost care, and gently lifted and placed on board the plane.

Security screening too is segregated for the aerial “Haves”, and signs directed me to a special line with fewer people and away from the looming dark shadow of the full body scanner. It appears the Few Washed seem to pose less of a security risk than the rest. Indeed, which attempt at bringing down a plane, either with tap water, a shoe or underwear, was by someone sitting up front? Looking to my side, I shook my head with pity when I saw the row upon row of frustrated passengers with their belts unbuckled and with their creams, gels, and tampons exposed for the screeners to sift through.

When boarding at the gate, the Few Washed get special mention, and are ushered through a special lane like VIPs. Everyone else had to impatiently make way, watch on, and wait for the ‘Chosen Ones’ to pass. I quickly walked through, ever conscious of the envious eyes that watched me jump in front of everyone and forever listening out for the person who may inadvertently just tell me to go stand at the back of the line to queue up like everyone else. I was lucky that despite my jeans and riff-rafty appearance nobody challenged me infiltrating the ranks of the high-flying elites.

I found my seat, and I did not have to walk far to find my bizarre-looking capsule next to the window (as requested). I settled in, and stretched my legs, and avoided looking in the eyes of the Great Unwashed as they shuffled by one by one. A few girls from a Canadian sports team played with the controlled of an empty seat behind me before dragging themselves into the ‘no-go’ zone. And I later found out a team mate of their sat alone a few seats away from me, while everyone else squeezed into the back of the plane. So much for team spirit.


The personal capsule is laid out at an awkward angel to the cabin wall, in a way that whenever I look up I can see what other people are doing (and vice versa). Even with my bag underneath a little footrest in front of me, I had plenty of room; not to mention the unused overhead compartment which can easily fit a grown child inside. Due to the lack of space in the back, a member of the Great Unwashed parted company with his hand luggage, which was offered space up in front. I am sure the hand luggage will be more rested and relaxed than the person.

At the back of my mind I was reminded of a friend who had pointed out that in Business Class I take up the same amount space as four other members of the Great Unwashed (…so much for AirWei’s CO2 reduction policy). I looked back, and saw the stinking masses crowded in their narrow 32” seats, sitting right next to total strangers who may well suffer from chronic symptoms of airborne flatulence… or who may very well be the next Mr. Park (luckily, the cabin crew walk around the dimmed cabin with a flashlight…). Occasionally, you do have the curious Unwashed poking their heads through the separator curtain. Sometimes you even see the stray Unwashed wander down the corridor and admiring the full lie-flat beds, 16” flat screens, with their mouth watering as they eye the baskets of fresh fruits and steaming dim sum in the galley.

The cabin attendant came around before take off and offered hot towels and a drink (one of many, many to come), and even asked if I wanted my coat checked. Even sitting in the back of the plane, crowded as it already is, I like to hug my coat throughout the flight, so I declined. Together with Yuri (the Space Monkey), I played around with the seven (no less!) buttons that controlled various aspects of my seat, until I got bored and began to browse through the safety manual. In fact, there are different instructions for the Few Washed, for the locations of the lifevest and shape of the seatbelt are all different from the back. I wondered to myself whether in the (as they always say “unlikely”) event of an emergency, the oxygen masks (with soft cushions to prevent and foam protector guards chafing the neck and ears, no doubt) will drop first for people up in front, and whether life rafts are also segregated by (booking)class.

Despite the hospitality, and nice presentation, the meal was actually a disappointment. Even though as soon as I was handed the plastic-coated menu I was undecided between whether to have the Thai Red Curry, or the Braised Black Cod, or the Grilled Alberta AAA Beef Tenderloin or the Kaiseki-style Japanese meal (with sake, salmon, chicken, egg roll and beef appertisers accompanied with pickles, steamed rice and noodles, followed by chicken with sesame sauce, spinach, bamboo shoots, red and yellow pepper… and let’s not forget, miso soup), they had me down for the Asian Vegetarian meal. It consisted of some salad with pieces of white things (that suspiciously tasted, felt and smelt like chicken…), a fruit salad, and rice with curry flavoured peas. The rice was actually kind of raw, but being used to the mass-microwaved food in the back, I did not complain. Unlike a couple behind me (most likely also members of the riff raff upgraded into the elite zone), who demanded many times that they wanted “bubblies” as soon as they got onboard. If I got hungry, I could always go down to request cheese platters, grapes, cereaels or instant noodles. At one point I got a piece of banana bread served on a plate which came together with a napkin, a knife and a fork (alas, no spoon…). Unwilling to betray my lowly class status, I opened the napkin, and when nobody was watching used my bare (but today being one of the Few Washed, washed) hands.

On my seat was an amenity kit, with a pair of very blue socks, toothbrush, body and face lotion, and an eye mask. The toilet is surprisingly wide and bright, and while answering nature’s call, you can even look outside to admire the massive GE90 engine or watch cotton clouds float by across the blue ocean. Again, these are the luxuries of space and scenery the Great Unwashed (back there, with their unsanitary and developing country conditions of one-toilet-per-fifty-passengers) can only imagine.

And to think these two different worlds, never in between shall meet, are just separated by a thin, gray curtain. They should have considered building a bulletproof wall. Bolted and locked, like the one to the cockpit.