First Class Virgin

I finally lost my virginity, and it was great.

It was spacious, everyone was well groomed, they appeared clean. It was amazing, after having gone through the experience, I am satisfied knowing I didn’t catch anything and I experienced everything I think most people feel during their first time: apprehension, pride, confusion, and even some disappointment.

I had my first flight in first class.

I got on the plane and didn’t expect much. I thought I was going to be in the area where you have a little extra room, but then I saw the seat, my seat, the reality struck me. I was flying first class. The first thing I noticed was the size of the chairs. These were big, the padding didn’t look like a college mattress, and there was so much space between each person. This was one of the few times a couple of inches brought so much joy to my life. I was happy.

I took my bag and placed it under the seat in front of me. I freaked out for a second because it wouldn’t stop. Normally, when you push the bag, there’s a natural stop where the bag hits the bar under the seat in front of you, and when you get there you think, “well there it is”, and move on, leaving half your bag still exposed. Not this time. This time it just kept going. It continued to move further and further under the seat. I was so worried I was going to nudge the guys feet in front of me that I kept looking around the seat to see when he would say something. At this point I just thought my bag was going to disappear completely, and for a moment, I think I had a glimpse of divorce because I started thinking about what was in the bag and saying “oh, I don’t need that” or “maybe I should pull that out”. The bag eventually stopped and I snapped back to reality, forcing myself to stop mentally decorating my bachelor pad.

Honestly, I’d like to believe that I’d be confident, almost defiantly brave, in the face of divorce, but I know I’d probably be such a bitch. Especially in the beginning. I’d probably find the saddest looking apartment complex in the world. One with absolutely no color at all. Everything is just white and shades of gray, with the exception of the water stains on the ceilings and the permanent blood stains around the toilet that have been there so long it’s brown like all the other stains, so no one really knows the difference, except for me, the author, of this imaginary scenario. I so badly want to warn my sad divorced imaginary self.

The rest of the apartment would look like it was made for recently divorced men. Where there should be an oven with a stove top, I would just buy a little toaster oven big enough for a pizza yet small enough to be depressing. On the bright side, I’d save a ton of money. In times of crisis I think it’s important to stay grounded and practical. The fridge is probably the one place I would splurge a bit. Something with a water dispenser so I can get decent tasting water to stay hydrated when crying every night. I would also need to make sure it has enough room to store all my Digornos pizzas, because delivery every night would be ridiculously expensive… and you know… it’s not delivery. I also want to make sure it can care for my beloved Ben & Jerry’s: the name of the collection of my hopes and dreams respectively. I want to be clear: I would not allow ice cream to make it to the freezer. I’d just start eating it immediately and in the off chance I didn’t finish the whole gallon tub I would let it melt and eat it warm the next night. I would convince myself it is some sort of sick punishment, purely self-imposed, because I deserve it. I would really like a kitchen with a view, something I can look out when my eyes aren’t swollen and crusted over. I can take a sip of warm ice cream imagining my life after I put the pieces back together and watch the bodies of the other tenants plummet to the pavement as they scream the names of their former lovers.

The living room will have nothing in it except a TV tray and the main furniture installment would be a plastic outdoor furniture set. The TV would sit on a plastic bin that still has unpacked clothes in it because I’m probably rotating between 3, maybe 4, different outfits. It’s not a requirement, but I would like a good size balcony. I think it would be nice to have a treadmill in an outside space. I’d never use it but it would just take too much space in the unfurnished living room, and I would want to make sure there is enough space for a yo-yo collection. Why yo-yo’s? Well, I would need something in my life that comes back.

Finally, the bedroom. The place where the magic would happen. The place that would help me get my groove back. No. I would probably have a closet, but I wouldn’t use it. I would buy a makeshift standing rack that I would place across from my twin bed so I can keep the closet open for the memorial shrine I would inevitably build for the death of my ability to feel.

What a life I’d live.

Back in reality, I decided maybe once we took off, I’d might want to work on some things. Naturally, I looked for the tray table. My first instinct was to look at the back of the seat in front of me. It wasn’t there. I was confused. I must have sat for about five minutes trying to figure out what the trick was and even after I was convinced it wasn’t there, I started doing things that don’t even make sense. I looked up thinking it might drop from the ceiling. I was baffled. I had no idea where it was. Every time I flew I knew exactly where that table was whenever I needed it for whatever reason. I didn’t even need to think about it, but here I was in this unfamiliar place without one of the few thing I thought was a constant that I could rely on. Something that frequently brought me comfort was no where to be found. For a moment, it brought me back to my sad apartment.

I wasn’t there long though because all these thoughts started flying through my head: maybe rich people don’t need work surfaces; maybe they’re so successful that they don’t need to work on planes; maybe the flight attendants just feed them and hold their drinks for them. In this tray-less new world, anything was possible. I wasn’t completely convinced so I started my search again. At last I found it. It was on of those fancy ones that fold in on itself and tuck away into the arm of the seat. I pulled it out just to look at it but then I had a thought that made me pause, “what if this is a trap. What if this is the trap that they set to identify the imposters among the first class.” I immediately put it back and glanced around hoping nobody saw me. I think I was ok.

Although I remained slightly paranoid about the consequences of finding the tray table, I did feel comfort know it was there. Enough so that I could settle into my new reality and take a look around and take it all in. I looked around at the people of first class and the first thing I noticed: rules did not apply to these people. They were doing all sorts of things I could never get away with in economy. All sorts of heresy: the guy across from me was reclining his chair while were getting ready to take off, the lady diagonal from me was on FaceTime, but she was older and was holding the phone to her ear despite the video running, the imposter two rows ahead of me had his tray out writing on a notebook. There is no way this would fly in economy. Sin exists in economy. And these people were committing all of them. Yet no one said anything to them. The one time I thought a flight attendant was going to do something, he instead turned to me and asked if he could take my jacket for me. I was not accustomed to such courtesy on a plane, and naturally I thought it was a scam. I refused his offer. Eventually, I came to regret this because the climate in first class is much different from economy. Or so it seemed.

The only thing that separated the two classes was a curtain. Not a wall or anything solid, just a curtain. A curtain that wasn’t even closed. I was confused during the flight that I found myself trying to figure out how an airplane could have such a system that controls the climate of a relatively small area of the plane without it being a closed space. I even turned around because I was the last seat in first class (I had made it, but just barely) and reached out a hand to see if maybe there was a glass barrier I was seeing. At this point, one would that I’d have learned to live with these types of thoughts and the actions I inevitably take, but after I reached out, I did the ,” did anyone see that” check.

It was crazy. This anarchist new world was so intriguing and terrifying. I think you can get away with murder in first class if you wanted to, but only against other people in first class. And when I say “in first class” that means physically in first class. Obviously, the people seated up there would be fair game, but protect your own… right? If you could lure someone from economy to pass the magical climate barrier, then boom. New player. At one point a guy from economy came up to use the bathroom and immediately, I was very curious. I personally didn’t care, but I was waiting from someone to do something or make some sort of face. I don’t know how these things work up here. I imagined myself scaring him by pretending to take his leg out or something, and he would fall and be terrified and look up to see everyone giving me a sinister smile of approval, but one I would like because at that moment, I would finally become a “first class person”. Then they’d eat him alive. Literally.

The airplane was just starting to take off. Everything before this was only a sequence of 10-15 minutes. The flight attendants started making their announcements and safety briefings, and I heard them mention that they would not be doing food and drink service on the flight due to COVID-19 and what not. I personally did not care. I’m not a huge fan of plane food, and the water they serve on planes is laced with diuretic medication. No matter how small the quantity of water, I always need to pee 10 minutes after. I was good.

Random thought: do you think people in first class shit during the flight or is that just an economy thing?

Another 10 minutes passed and I felt it. As lawless as first class was, I had a strong feeling that what I needed to do was not going to be okay. I needed to cough. Normally no one cares, but with COVID everywhere, it really makes a person wonder.

I fought it. I felt the tickling in my throat that always starts the process. I did everything I could to keep it from happening. I started clearing my throat, I tried swallowing a couple times, I even started rubbing the outside of my throat with my hands like some how this would fix it. None of this was working. The itching just kept getting stronger. I started looking at the people around me and imaging their disgusted faces if I were to cough. I didn’t look at the lady diagonally behind me though because… its economy… and I am sure the magic barrier is COVID proof. It had to be. I was getting desperate and began thinking about my options and I thought: water. I need water. That will help. Of course, as soon as I thought of this I remembered that they weren’t offering those services. My firs thought: “I’m in first class dammit”. My second and slightly more rational thought: maybe I could hold my water bottle and the flight attendant could pour some water into it. Zero contact, should be ok right? But as I imagine this scenario in my brain, I realize how ridiculous that would look. Have this guy stand with a bottle that he pulled specially for me while we are in midair and pour water into my personal bottle. I would look like an entitled jerk. There is no way they would do something like that. Even THAT seems to much for first class. Besides, even if he did we’d probably hit turbulence and the water would spill on the flight attendance plants and shoes and the other first classians would laugh at his plight and then they’d eat him alive. Literally.

I don’t know why, but I’m convinced people who fly first class are cannibals. Maybe it’s a rich people thing. I’m not sure.

Needless to say I didn’t get any water.

I fought the tickling in my throat down and it was the worst twenty minutes of my life. I held it off so long the inside of my ear started itching and I started jamming my fingers in there to try to help and kept doing that stupid thing where you use your tongue to rub the top part in the back of your mouth and make that face that looks a dog with a bee allergy. But I did it.

I was finally in a place where I felt comfortable and settled in. I got my bearings, I knew where the traps were, I knew what was expected of me from the cannibals in an economist tried to use our bathroom, I felt more relaxed knowing I could rely on the magic climate barrier to keep me comfortable, and most importantly I didn’t need to cough. Life was good. I was looking around with my new sense of belonging and pride at the thought that “these were my people”. I turned to look at that tray using imposter two rows ahead to him the “I know what your really are” look. When I see the flight attendant pouring water into his personal water bottle.

“Son of a bitch”