Passenger Seat

If there’s one good thing about long-haul flights, it’s that they serve up – in small but constant portions – utterly delicious displays of human nature.

One in particular is that of the first-time business traveller (FBT).

Now this is a fascinating subject because there is no combination more delightful than that of ego, talent, and nerves at 30,000 feet in the air. And there are only three requisites common to this type of traveller, which need to be applicable before you can observe its fascinating pattern of behaviour. The FBT must be:

1. travelling for work, specifically

2. in business class

3. with the boss.

You first start noticing him at the beginning of the flight. He is overly courteous to what is usually a slightly older boss, helping to store his bags in the overhead compartment and letting him through to his seat with the muted grandiose of a doorman at the Ritz.

A flight attendant soon comes by with the obligatory “Champagne or orange juice?” offer. The first-timer always goes for the OJ. Vitamin C trumps the bubbly in the same vein of logic where firm handshakes nebulously equate first good impressions.

The next few minutes are now crucial to your observations, because that’s when the magazine trolley comes by. You can spot a first-timer by his slight delay in selection while he quickly contemplates the professional merits of choosing GQ over The Economist. (He never ends up with the men’s magazine). On a really good day, you’ll get to see him pulling the Harvard Business Review off the trolley with a strange sort of smile, not unlike a first time father holding up his kid’s nappy.

Take off. There is a lapse in activity throughout the plane until they’re up and cruising at a nice altitude. Flight attendants burst back to life, and the captain announces the usual details of route, speed and outside temperature.

Now comes the pièce de résistance of the first-time business traveller: Mealtime. Frequent flyers usually regard this flourish of cold silver and linen with a general nod to its existence. The first-timer, however, is often the most eager of diners. From the careful way he swirls his wine to the thoughtful selection of fish (kingclip) over chicken (that’s poulet to you, commoner), you half-expect him to pull out an eye glass to inspect the dessert menu. Why, this meal is splendid. And this here is cheesecake; and apple crumble!

He is chatty without being loud, polite but not dull. He engages his boss in animated conversation throughout the meal, nodding interestedly and furrowing his brow at all the appropriate moments.

When the last crumbs are cleared and the trays are stowed back into place, the boss usually settles in for a some reading, or more commonly, a nap. At about the same time, the FBT heeds an internal cue to pull out a stack of papers from his hand luggage. Cabin lights have been dimmed by now, but he keeps the reading light on so he can go over his points for tomorrow’s presentation, or absorb the peformance numbers of their Hong Kong office. More brow-furrowing ensues.

(Sit back and appreciate the moment, because in about an hour or so, the show ends and your unwitting star makes that transition from first-timer to ordinary passenger).

Minutes tick by, with the air in business class settling into one of dignified humdrumnity. Most people are sleeping by now, or are otherwise silently enveloped by the neon glow of their TV screens. Watch your first-timer carefully. Watch as he ruffles the pages of his notes a few more times, and watch as he occasionally glances over to the next seat to see if his boss is really asleep. Now you know the best part is near.

He quietly puts his papers away. The first-time business traveller now presses the silent alert for the flight attendant to come over, and when she does, he whispers “whiskey and coke” to her in the darkness. While she’s fixing it, he tosses his suede moccasins aside (near where his copy of The Economist now sits), and for the first time on the flight, tests the recliner functions of his business class seat. He pulls out the TV remote, and channel surfs.

“Your drink, sir”.

You know you’ve seen his last moments as a first-timer, because he now takes the drink from her and leans far back into his seat. All you hear thereafter are the silent guffaws as he watches a rerun of Dude Where’s My Car, and the ice clinking in his empty glass.

Just like that, you’ve witnessed one of the most enjoyable repertoires of human behaviour in long-haul travel.

And how do I know all this?

Because I’ve been on too many planes. And because – in the not too distant past – I was once that first-time business traveller, bumbling my way through the moneyed aisles of the upper deck.

(Newsweek and pink guava juice, nearly knocked it over too).

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