A thin curtain separates business and first class from the cheap seats, but they're worlds apart, writes
CONOR POPE
ARE THERE three more beautiful words in the English language than, "You've been upgraded"? Of course not, what a stupid question. Business and first class may be separated from the cheap seats by a thin curtain but they're worlds apart in terms of comfort, entertainment . . . and smugness.
But can you enter this magical, privileged world on the cheap? The answer, sadly, is almost certainly not. The sky-high prices attached to these golden tickets place them beyond most of us - a first-class return fare from Dublin to Barbados on British Airways is €4,017, Dubai costs €4,290 and LA will set you back an eye-watering €6,183.
The same airline does run attractive executive-seat sales. Earlier this year it had business-class fares to Las Vegas for €1,649, Capetown cost €1,749 and Hong Kong tickets were €1,699 - but by far the best way to travel long haul is the free upgrade, the holy grail of anyone with an economy ticket.
By turning left instead of right when you board, you leave the cramped seats, bad food, grumpy flight attendants and wailing babies behind and enter a champagne-filled world of serenity where real food can be eaten with real cutlery and seats magically turn into beds at the push of a button.
The allure of the better classes explain why people go to ridiculous lengths and sacrifice much of their dignity to impress check-in staff on the off-chance they'll hear those three most beautiful words whispered into their ears.
Some dress in uncomfortably inappropriate business suits (a waste of time in an era of online check-ins), just-married couples flaunt their love hoping to appeal to airline staff's romantic side (that rarely works as airlines only give upgrades to solo-flyers) and the healthy feign illness in search of a sympathy upgrade, with sometimes mortifying consequences.
One reader, James Dowling, was heading to Hong Kong from London and hobbled up to the check-in desk on crutches, agony etched across his face. "Any chance of an upgrade?" he said through gritted teeth. Stony-faced staff refused point blank and informed him that, given his crippled state, he'd have no chance of making it to the gate on time. He'd no choice but to stage a biblical-like recovery, dump the crutches and run for it - to add insult to (faked) injury, he missed his flight.
But there are other ways to ensure you're in the running for an upgrade. Marrying - or becoming the long-term partner of - an airline staff member helps and people who suddenly become seriously ill also tend to get moved to first class. Mind you, having a heart attack or going into anaphylactic shock does mean you're unlikely to enjoy many of the benefits that the exalted status offers.
The truth is that, in the 21st century, all the ruses we think might help us get upgraded are useless. According to one Aer Lingus source, the days of the discretionary upgrade disappeared when the airline scrapped its business class on short-haul flights in 2002. Prior to that, costs were not such a big deal, so upgrades were frequently dispensed.
Today, it's all about loyalty. Passengers have become airline sluts, willing to go with the cheapest carrier, so the first thing staff look for when a flight is overbooked and upgrades are unavoidable are frequent fliers. The Elite of Aer Lingus's club get first dibs, followed by Prestige people and then Gold members.
The next criteria is the amount a passenger has paid. If you book an inflexible ticket early, then you can expect to be passed over in favour of the passenger who has booked later at a higher cost and paid a premium to have a flexible ticket.
A BA insider revealed that while airlines claim not to upgrade "they still overbook flights, so sometimes they have no choice". He said that while it used to be said that "if you checked in late you'd have a better chance of getting the upgrade, that isn't really the case now with the growth of online check-in".
Mind you, there is something worse than not getting that upgrade, as one Irish doctor returning from a year working in Australia found out. The doctor was approached by staff not long into her flight and asked if she would mind terribly swapping her business-class seat with a passenger in economy who was somewhat creeped out by the thought of sitting beside a fellow passenger who'd passed away.
The crew presumed - rightly as it turned out - that she'd be better able than other passengers to sit beside a dead man, so she shared an uncomfortable space with him for more than 20 hours and was offered nothing more by way of compensation than an extra meal that happened to be going spare.