First Class Baby!

Through some anomaly, possibly some space-time rift, I am currently typing this in the first class carriage of a train. It was a shock, I’ve got to tell you. There I was, sulking on the platform because I had heavy bags and they hurt my hands, when the train pulled up. I checked my ticket. Coach A. First class.

That couldn’t be right, surely? I checked again and, sure enough, I was sitting on seat 17, coach A. First class probably only went up to seat 16, I reasoned. I’ll have to sit near those first-classers and watch as they get pampered. This was not the case either.

I checked my seat and above it a display told me that my seat was booked between Reading and Leeds. That was where I was traveling! You should have seen the smile stretch across my face.

I’ve got a comfy seat, about twice the size of my bum, with armrests about the same width as a seat in standard. I’ve got a desk and my own personal laptop plug. Also, free food!

Why has no-one ever explained this to me before?! A woman came plodding down the aisle with her trolley, which isn’t anything new I guess. I watched as the guy next to me asked for a diet coke and listened to the price to see if it was worth me getting one too. A price never came.

So I got myself some coke, for nothing, and later I was treated to a lunchbox consisting of a ham and cheese sandwich, pretzels, apple slices and a kitkat. I swear I’m in heaven right now. I don’t want the train journey to end.

The only downside, and there always has to be one, is that I’ve never felt more out-of-place in my life. I look around right now and all I see is business people, in shirts and smart trousers, looking over important documents with stern faces. I bet they’re all looking at me, with my Thundercats t-shirt and cat-who-got-the-cream smile on my face, and thinking “Bloody student”.

They’re probably used to traveling first class everywhere. I bet they get waited on hand and foot. They’ll have butlers and perfect blonde wives and fast sports cars and high-power jobs and children who go to Cambridge and fancy watches (I just checked, the guy next to me does!).

But you know what? I don’t envy them. Because for people like me, these kind of events are a bonus. I get to feel special and slightly more upper class than I usually do. For them, the monotony of first class travel has become old hat and they’re bound to become depressed and kill themselves. Either that, or their wives are cheating on them.

My wife isn’t cheating on me! Take that posh, elitist, upper-class, first-class, fancy-watch-wearing bastards!

:D

http://mickryan.deviantart.com/art/top-hat-42275030