Saturday, 12 September 2026
There are certain moments in life when you realise civilisation may have peaked some time ago and nobody bothered to issue a press release. Mine came at Warsaw Chopin Airport, Gate 3N, while boarding a LOT flight to London.
I had a Business Class ticket. This is an important detail because Business Class used to mean something. There was a vague suggestion that, having handed over considerably more money, you might be treated differently from someone who had sensibly kept theirs. Gate 3N had other ideas.
There was no elegant stroll down an airbridge. Instead, we were introduced to one of aviation’s great equalisers: the airport bus. Business Class, Economy Class, priority passengers, non-priority passengers, people with tiny backpacks and people apparently emigrating with the entire contents of a three-bedroom apartment. Everyone aboard. Within moments, we were packed together with the intimacy normally associated with the London Underground at 8:15 on a Monday morning.
This is apparently called priority boarding. Technically, I suppose it is. They scan your Business Class boarding pass before somebody else’s Economy boarding pass, thereby allowing you the privilege of reaching the bus first and securing several additional minutes standing inside it. Premium travel has never felt so exclusive.
I completely understand that airports have limited airbridges and aircraft sometimes need remote stands. Aircraft cannot all be parked conveniently beside the terminal like Bentleys outside Claridge’s. But surely there must be a point where “priority boarding” has to involve something more substantial than being prioritised into the same bus? Perhaps LOT could install a velvet rope down the middle. Business Class passengers could be crushed elegantly against the windows while Economy passengers are crushed towards the rear. At least there would be a visual distinction.
Eventually our mobile tin of humanity arrived at the aircraft, where Business and Economy passengers poured out together and fought their way towards the stairs. Welcome aboard.
Once inside, another miracle of modern aviation becomes apparent: the European Business Class cabin. Long-haul Business Class involves enormous seats, beds, storage compartments, entertainment screens and enough electronic buttons to operate a small hydroelectric dam. Short-haul European Business Class has developed a rather more economical solution: a curtain.
LOT operates aircraft where Business and Economy share essentially the same physical seating configuration, with the Business section created towards the front of the aircraft. One of the significant benefits is that the adjacent seat is kept free, which is genuinely pleasant. But there is something wonderfully British-comedy about paying substantially more money, walking onto an aircraft and discovering that the principal piece of engineering separating you from Economy is a piece of fabric attached to the ceiling.
Better still, the Business cabin can expand according to demand. The curtain moves. Yesterday, Row 4 may have been Economy. Today, congratulations, Row 4 has joined the financial elite. Nothing has happened to Row 4. Nobody installed a larger seat overnight. The legroom fairy did not visit Warsaw. A curtain simply travelled south.
This is possibly the greatest property transaction in aviation. No construction. No refurbishment. No planning permission. Just move the boundary and suddenly you’ve created more premium real estate. As someone involved in commercial property, I can only admire it. Imagine applying the same principle to offices. “Good news, gentlemen. We’ve doubled our Grade A office space.” “How?” “We moved the curtain.”
LOT describes its short-haul Business product in terms of comfort, privacy and additional space. The empty neighbouring seat certainly helps. Unfortunately, the seat directly in front remains occupied by another human being, and this becomes particularly important when that human being discovers the recline button.
There is a special moment when you are comfortably reading something and suddenly the seat in front begins advancing towards your face like a piece of agricultural machinery. Slowly. Relentlessly. I’m watching it approach thinking, surely that’s enough. It isn’t. Still coming. My knees retreat as far as nature allows. Still coming. My laptop changes postcode. Still coming. Eventually my dentures are practically eating the headrest.
I’m 198 cm tall, which admittedly means aircraft designers probably regard me as an unfortunate statistical anomaly. My knees don’t so much sit behind the seat in front as negotiate a temporary lease with it. But surely Business Class should provide sufficient personal territory that another passenger reclining doesn’t immediately trigger a border dispute.
The problem isn’t the passenger. If the seat reclines, people are perfectly entitled to recline it. The airline designed it that way. The real question is rather simpler: if Business Class uses essentially the same seat pitch as Economy on certain European aircraft, what exactly has become more spacious? Again, I suspect the answer may involve the curtain.
Before reaching this airborne paradise, however, there is Warsaw Airport’s Fast Track experience. Fast Track is one of those magnificent modern expressions containing two extremely reassuring words: “fast” and “track”. Neither word leaves much room for interpretation. Except airports have found some.
Over the past month I’ve encountered Fast Track operating with what might politely be described as an adventurous relationship with consistency. Sometimes it is open. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes you wander towards what should be the premium route and discover that the normal security line might actually represent the more ambitious career choice.
LOT specifically includes Fast Track among the benefits offered to eligible Business Class passengers at Warsaw, while the airport provides dedicated Fast Track facilities. Which makes a closed premium lane particularly interesting. You’ve bought the privilege. You’ve arrived to use the privilege. The privilege is having a day off.
Nearby, the ordinary security area can resemble the opening scene of a disaster film. A couple of Wizz Air departures, several tour operators and what appears to be the entire population of a medium-sized Polish town have simultaneously decided they desperately need seven days in the sunshine.
Suddenly a thousand holidaymakers are removing belts, extracting laptops, discussing liquids and discovering for the first time that 150ml is more than 100ml. Someone inevitably reaches the front and appears genuinely astonished to discover that airport security involves airport security. Meanwhile, I’m standing there with a Business Class ticket wondering whether joining the normal queue might actually be faster than Fast Track. At this point “Fast Track” becomes less a service and more an aspirational philosophy.
This is where modern aviation becomes fascinating. We now have priority check-in, priority security, priority boarding, priority baggage, priority seats and priority lanes. There are now so many priority passengers that I fear we are approaching the mathematical point where being ordinary becomes exclusive.
Perhaps airports should introduce Non-Priority Premium. Only twelve passengers allowed. No special queue. No lounge. No priority boarding. You simply walk through the airport while members of staff whisper, “Look. It’s one of the normal people.” I’d pay extra.
But here’s the strange part. The flight was full. Absolutely packed. And everyone seemed perfectly cheerful. People were chatting. Children were looking out of the windows. Couples were heading to London. Business travellers were tapping away at laptops. Nobody appeared to be organising a revolution near the emergency exit.
And there I was, wedged into my seat, looking around and thinking: am I the only person noticing this? Or have we simply become used to it?
Perhaps we’ve gradually accepted an extraordinary number of little inconveniences because each one, individually, isn’t quite irritating enough to start a rebellion. Priority boarding leads to the same bus. Fine. Business Class gets essentially the same physical seat. Fine. The curtain moves backwards. Fine. Fast Track isn’t particularly fast. Fine. The passenger ahead reclines until you’re examining their scalp at forensic distance. Fine. Would Sir care for another glass of wine? Oh, go on then.
Perhaps that’s the genius of modern aviation. Nobody needs to dramatically announce that standards are being reduced. You just remove tiny pieces of the experience gradually enough that passengers forget they were ever included, and then some of them eventually reappear with the word “Priority” attached to them.
And we pay for them.
This isn’t necessarily a legal scandal either. European passenger rules provide compensation when somebody who actually bought Business Class is formally downgraded to Economy. But remaining inside the designated Business cabin while receiving a seat remarkably similar to Economy doesn’t automatically make it a regulatory downgrade. You haven’t technically been downgraded because, if there is any doubt, just look behind you.
There’s the curtain.
The curtain has spoken. You are Business Class.
Which means modern European aviation may have achieved something quite remarkable. Business Class doesn’t necessarily require a different seat. Priority boarding doesn’t necessarily require a different bus. Fast Track doesn’t necessarily require you to be particularly fast. And additional comfort doesn’t necessarily prevent the passenger in front from reclining until their headrest is having a meaningful relationship with your teeth.
All it really requires is that we continue paying for it. And judging by my completely full LOT flight from Warsaw to London, we certainly are.
So next time I’m standing at Gate 3N with Business Class proudly glowing on my phone and I see the bus approaching, perhaps I shouldn’t complain. I should appreciate what I’ve paid for.
After all, I’ll probably be allowed onto the bus first.
And if I’m really quick, I might even get the premium position right beside the driver.
Now that’s Business Class.
Author: Mitzilinka (Turning grim reality into comic relief—without losing the truth)
