Ah, nothing like a bit of class-based irony to spice up your layover at JFK Airport. As one stumbles across a sign outside a restaurant that reads, “Seating for Upper-Crust Customers Only,” and suddenly, your economy-class ticket felt heavier in your hand. The phrase “upper crust” conjures images of Victorian England, where powdered wigs, monocles, and tea-drinking aristocrats ruled over anyone who dared eat a sandwich with their hands. But this is an airport, not Downton Abbey. The only castles here are duty-free shops, and the closest thing to nobility is someone with TSA PreCheck.
The real kicker? It’s not even a fancy restaurant. It’s a glorified sandwich shop with plastic chairs and laminated menus. You expect “upper crust” to come with linen tablecloths and someone addressing you as m’lady, but instead, you get a $17 pre-made turkey wrap and a seat by the window facing the baggage carts. The name suggests exclusivity, but in reality, it’s just another clever marketing ploy to make tired travelers feel special while forking over half their travel budget for a mediocre meal. At least in England, class distinction comes with tea and biscuits—here, you just get crumbs and credit card debt.
