At 30,000 feet, somewhere above the one world ...
In Coach, among the twisted bodies buckled in the oddest vertical sleeping positions, through the snores and bravery, I noticed that the horizontal rich in the upper class section of the plane no longer had a solid curtain that prevented the mob from witnessing them being handed out fancy foods to order. We were given turbulent tap water and wingless sandwiches as they swallowed the champagne strains d'leau and salads worthy of vaulted aviation. But privacy, they had lost.
The see-through curtain replaced the veiled exclusion after the terrorists took advantage of business class on 9/11. Walled off, the evil carried out their shattering mission. Half-way through this flight, the wait for the Coach toilet resembled a line in a shop in the old Soviet Union. I needed relief from the tyranny of the beer bursting bladder. I had nothing to lose but my urine, so I walked through the mesh curtain into a new world of space.
But I was ejected faster than an illegal immigrant in Arizona. A stewardess of immaculate conception detected that I was loose cattle and soon had me rounded up back to the line with the other cadres. My pee was just not good enough for the elitist pissoir.
I demand another beer! but safety regulations prevented a purchase so late in the flight. Through the see-through curtain, the white wine flowed and warm wet towels refreshed the betters.
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