Virgin America: The Tale of 1D (Part 3)
I think it’s fair to say that Virgin America’s First class is equivalent to Virgin Atlantic’s Premium Economy. Their First has its own floor, own bar, a desk, a bed and, like, french manicures by actual French citizens. PE is pretty much the same as this, but less booze rituals. As soon as you sit down, mimosa. 13 glasses of wine with dinner. Glass of Bailey’s after dinner. Two, if you steal your mom’s.
Forgot to mention that my not-initially-friendly neighbor turned overly nice during take off and offered a celebratory cheers, followed by tips on what items to include in my photos, and a, “I can take pictures of you,” which sounded slightly after-school special, so I turned into a mute.
Why do they keep letting the peasants use the first class bathroom? God!
Speaking of the bathroom, guess who’s back in there?
The guy sitting across the way from me is currently trying to dismantle the bulkhead. He lost his glasses case down there or something, and he can’t get it out. Now he’s using a pair of tongs from the flight attendant to get it out. …And now I’m privied to the site of his annoying wife’s ass, who was recruited to help because she has small hands, and even smaller undergarments, apparently.
Our foxy captain is using the bathroom, and now there’s turbulence. He needs to pee faster. Ah! Not the foxy captain. It is the other guy. Co-captain? Less-important guy flying the plane? Whatever.
Bathroom “occuiped” sign is on again. …And landing makes four! Geez, that dude’s got either a Method soap fetish or a very large prostate he should get checked out.
Let’s see how baggage claim goes.
