August 1st, 15:34 | lilephyte takes Manhattan (just like a muppet!)

So, having never in my life flown business class, and being unlikely ever to do so again (unless Air Canada bollockses up another flight by overselling it, and needs to coax me onto a later flight by bumping me up a class again), I feel the need to share my experience. (Because hey! "Executive Class" people!) What was it like? Let's check out my airport experience...

15h26. Arrive at Terminal 2.
15h38. Find kiosk and start negotiating with it for my boarding pass.
15h52. Walk through (no checked baggage for me!) and line up for US security check.
16h06. Shortest wait in line ever. Friendly security guy waves me through after smirking when my answer to his "And what do you do?" was "...uh...hardware support?".
16h18. Settle into chair in waiting area. Flight scheduled to leave at 17h15.
17h10. Pre-boarding for flight 720 commences. I am invited to get my ass on the plane "at my leisure". No being called by row number for me!
17h32. Sit down in an enormous aisle seat in the second row, and stare at the back of the chair in front of me. The business class seats appear to be upholstered in the world's ugliest fabric (which is, however, a soothing shade of teal). Break open The Power of Focus. That's right folks, I've decided I'm going to read that goddamned book.
17h46. Plane gets its ass moving down the runway.
17h58. Flight attendant #1 asks me if I want pizza or a kind of latke-with-toppings-thing. I go with the latke, which is served in a ceramic dish, with actual cutlery wrapped in a cloth napkin (plastic knife though). I'm quietly wondering if someone's going to come by and give me the cheque at some point.
18h08. Flight attendent #2 grabs my plate and hands me a vodka coke. In a glass.
18h10. The book is getting a lot more interesting, for some reason.
19h34. Plane lands at LaGuardia. (Is that pronounced "la-garrr-dia" or "la-gwar-dia"? I always go with the first one.)
19h52. I crawl into one of the wall of yellow cabs waiting (yay for no checked baggage!) and proceed to have a fairly interesting conversation with the cabbie about our respective cities, and the language hostility (or lack thereof) of the Quebecois. (Apparently they have quite a reputation down south.)
20h13. I emerge, bedazzled, at the foot of the Hilton.

So that was that. As my travel experiences in general go, and specifically my flights to the US, it was dreamlike in its goodness. Never have I had such an easy time with the security/customs/etc. I didn't even have to power on my laptop as proof of my non-terroristic status. I'm telling y'all, checked bags are for chumps. Carryon rules.

Anyway, so once I got myself a map of Manhattan, and unpacked my clothes (because apparently when I'm homesick, there's nothing like hanging corporate whore clothes in a closet to ease my pangs), what did I proceed to do in my swanky room? Did I flop on the bed and watch tv on the retardedly big tv? Did I brew up a cup of coffee and call my fake-aunt in Queens? Oh, no, not this girl. I called home, left a message with my folks saying I'm not dead, then I proceeded to iron my shawl (lilac, rayon) while rocking out to California Love (the alarm clock radio has an uplink for mp3 players). Again, with the susie-housemaking habits. Seriously. Who gets to New York and on her first (and possibly only) night with no corporate duties stays in and does her ironing?? Clearly I don't know how to party.

(Sidenote: see? Despite my recent insanity, there weren't just country tunes on my mp3 player -- there's hope for me after all!)

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