Have you ever been allowed into the Qantas Club?
May 4th 2008 01:49
I seldom get to fly. But Thursday was one of those rare days where business took me to Melbourne. Where, by the way, it was raining. The cab driver assured me this was the first time in six months that they had rain. Uh huh, yip right.
Now because I am of the lower caste of air passengers who only has a Mud Class Frequent Flyer Card I was told – by the team of puffed up Qantas officials (hey is that a redundancy?) - as I trotted loyally alongside my Boss that I was not “allowed” in the Qantas lounge. My Boss trumped the puffed up officials by waving his Platinum Card in their faces. It was as if Moses had cast his rod on the water (an ugly image I know) and the Red Sea parted.
This magical card – and it does have a glow about it – held everyone awestruck. They all took a few steps backwards, averted their eyes, not wishing to look at the Great Card directly, pulled their hands together in humble supplication as if in prayer, and bade us entry.
Finally for me, entry into the hallowed portals of the Qantas Club (cue heavenly music). Finally I was to be part of the Club, to carry myself to my flight refreshed from the free beverages, and to flaunt that haughty irritation that Business Class customers display to anyone else who happens to be in the airport. “My golly, do they allow children on this flight?” “Can I get another hot towel please?” “Why is my Fin Review not crisply folded?” “No Moet?”
I am easily impressed. I delight in the luxuries that the rich take for granted and who pretend not be impressed lest they are accused (by the other rich folk, mind you) of being crass or nouveau. I am all for being so-called crass (and long to be nouveau) because I so seldom get to enjoy the privileges of the really well heeled. So I was all revved up to share in the secret delights of the Qantas Club. Well what a profound disappointment. My eager anticipation of entering Shangri-La was met with the same mediocrity, crappy coffee, a line to get a drink, a few dry snacks, another line for a cold meat cuts buffet, Sky News repeating over and over on the plasma, accompanied by a whole bunch of corporate drones looking busy but not really adding any value to society, and best of all nowhere to sit.
So I ended up at this special place apparently reserved for laptop users. As our flight was delayed (hey another redundancy) I had time to study these creatures close up. Here, as with Frequent Flyer Card holders, is a hierarchy. It is a delicate pecking order about who gets to sit closest to the wireless router. The order is determined as far as I could see by several factors: Certainly the smaller and sexier the laptop the higher up the order you could be expected to be positioned. Power dressed business women were also permitted to congregate closer to where the best reception was. Provided they were good looking. This went for the men too. Only the best haircuts, expensive wrist watches and Armani suits were at the top of the tree. The ugly people with bulky laptops and bad hair squabbled at the back for a few free megabytes of bandwidth.
I also noticed that no-one actually does any work. The impression is given of a flurry of activity, answering those life and death e-mails that couldn’t possibly wait 2 or 3 hours to be dealt with. But these people need to be watched more closely. Because, in the time available, all these people were doing was just switching on their laptops, waiting for them to boot up, letting everyone enjoy their screensaver picture of their last skiing trip or holiday home, and then switching them off again so that the bloody boot off process would finish just in time for them to join the special business-class-passengers-onl y-line to board the plane.
I love life’s small little justices, the business class folk get called first to their own little line to which they smugly proceed only to be swamped down the same passenger tube thingy 20 seconds later when the riff raff have been called.
So I now look forward to returning to the economy gate with my fellow Mud and Bronze Card holders enjoying a cup of bad coffee in a takeaway cup and yesterday’s Tele. And the whole experience got me enough Frequent Flyer points for a free walk from my couch to the toilet at home.
Now because I am of the lower caste of air passengers who only has a Mud Class Frequent Flyer Card I was told – by the team of puffed up Qantas officials (hey is that a redundancy?) - as I trotted loyally alongside my Boss that I was not “allowed” in the Qantas lounge. My Boss trumped the puffed up officials by waving his Platinum Card in their faces. It was as if Moses had cast his rod on the water (an ugly image I know) and the Red Sea parted.
This magical card – and it does have a glow about it – held everyone awestruck. They all took a few steps backwards, averted their eyes, not wishing to look at the Great Card directly, pulled their hands together in humble supplication as if in prayer, and bade us entry.
Finally for me, entry into the hallowed portals of the Qantas Club (cue heavenly music). Finally I was to be part of the Club, to carry myself to my flight refreshed from the free beverages, and to flaunt that haughty irritation that Business Class customers display to anyone else who happens to be in the airport. “My golly, do they allow children on this flight?” “Can I get another hot towel please?” “Why is my Fin Review not crisply folded?” “No Moet?”
I am easily impressed. I delight in the luxuries that the rich take for granted and who pretend not be impressed lest they are accused (by the other rich folk, mind you) of being crass or nouveau. I am all for being so-called crass (and long to be nouveau) because I so seldom get to enjoy the privileges of the really well heeled. So I was all revved up to share in the secret delights of the Qantas Club. Well what a profound disappointment. My eager anticipation of entering Shangri-La was met with the same mediocrity, crappy coffee, a line to get a drink, a few dry snacks, another line for a cold meat cuts buffet, Sky News repeating over and over on the plasma, accompanied by a whole bunch of corporate drones looking busy but not really adding any value to society, and best of all nowhere to sit.
So I ended up at this special place apparently reserved for laptop users. As our flight was delayed (hey another redundancy) I had time to study these creatures close up. Here, as with Frequent Flyer Card holders, is a hierarchy. It is a delicate pecking order about who gets to sit closest to the wireless router. The order is determined as far as I could see by several factors: Certainly the smaller and sexier the laptop the higher up the order you could be expected to be positioned. Power dressed business women were also permitted to congregate closer to where the best reception was. Provided they were good looking. This went for the men too. Only the best haircuts, expensive wrist watches and Armani suits were at the top of the tree. The ugly people with bulky laptops and bad hair squabbled at the back for a few free megabytes of bandwidth.
I also noticed that no-one actually does any work. The impression is given of a flurry of activity, answering those life and death e-mails that couldn’t possibly wait 2 or 3 hours to be dealt with. But these people need to be watched more closely. Because, in the time available, all these people were doing was just switching on their laptops, waiting for them to boot up, letting everyone enjoy their screensaver picture of their last skiing trip or holiday home, and then switching them off again so that the bloody boot off process would finish just in time for them to join the special business-class-passengers-onl y-line to board the plane.
I love life’s small little justices, the business class folk get called first to their own little line to which they smugly proceed only to be swamped down the same passenger tube thingy 20 seconds later when the riff raff have been called.
So I now look forward to returning to the economy gate with my fellow Mud and Bronze Card holders enjoying a cup of bad coffee in a takeaway cup and yesterday’s Tele. And the whole experience got me enough Frequent Flyer points for a free walk from my couch to the toilet at home.
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