What's your Side hustle? Premium Economy is Infinitely better than Economy

Last week I boarded a British Airways flight from Lagos to London. It could not have come sooner. I was fed up with the struggle struggle, hustle hustle vibe that permeates the Lagos air so thoroughly. I do not believe that there is another place like it. Where else will you find a practising lawyer that spends her nights blogging and her weekends making custom wigs? Welcome to the concept of the side hustle. If you don't have one, you're a wastrel, a layabout, and a scoundrel. It is not unconventional for a nosy adult to ask, "What are you doing?" and when furnished with a very respectable answer, follow with "what else are you doing?" 

This flight was different from all the others I'd been on over the past 6 years. I sat in premium economy. Now, some idiots among you are probably thinking, "So you sat in premium economy, what's the big deal?" Shut Up!! I'm a writer, not a nabob. Money doesn't fall from the sky in plumes of brown neither does it spring from the ground like black gold. In my experience it must be drawn from Papa Afam with a chain saw and a score of daggers. So believe it or not, when I made my way to my seat on that BA flight I felt like a King. And while I wasn't treated like a King by the British Airways staff, I was definitely treated better than cattle feed. That's how they treat the unfortunate buggers in economy. They only tolerate you because you're necessary for their sustenance. I could not believe that I was provided with silver cutlery to eat. I didn't know that planes carried silver cutlery you see, I thought they only carried plastic cutlery. 

Papa Afam on the other hand was incredibly unhappy with the services in Premium Economy and I do not blame him. Papa Afam has flown British Airways exclusively for at least 23 years. I'm also fairly sure that he hasn't sat in a seat that wasn't a Business Class seat since 1993. You would think that the British Airways staff would be crawling over themselves to reward him for his consistent custom, but you would be wrong. Papa Afam found himself downgraded to Premium Economy. As you can expect, this made him extremely unhappy. He was so unhappy that he sat sullenly and refused to partake of any refreshments brought by the crew. I wouldn't have minded, if he hadn't been seated beside me. A dark miasma poured off him like plumes of smoke, drawing all happiness and delight from the atmosphere. His unhappiness was so profound that it gained body leaping qualities. I soon found myself just as unhappy as he. 

However, I learned an important lesson: The next time British Airways deems it fit to downgrade Papa Afam because of their rampant and unabashed incompetence, I will insist that they deplane me. I'm far too young to deal with anyone's stroppiness but mine.

Happy Days,

Afam Odi

As much as I complain about British Airways, you mustn't think that I'm ready to ditch them and fly away with the folks at Virgin Atlantic. The one time I flew with Virgin, I found myself irrevocably scarred. During the flight, a mother of a particularly loud baby saw it fit to change her baby's sodden nappy 4 feet away from me. The baby had done the biggest shit it'll probably ever do in its life. I don't even think that I've done a shit that big. So there I was, strapped in and staring at the baby's arse which was completely covered with shit. I took that as an omen.