Indeed, for the price of a trans-Pacific first class ticket, you could stay in a hotel room designed to look like a first class cabin, hire a comely young lady to bring you (and only you) all the cranberry juice you could drink in 16 hours, eat the best meal in town, get to pick your own movie, and have your doctor prescribe you something so that you spend the next actual plane flight unconscious.
Of all the fantasies I've ever heard which involve a hotel room, a comely young lady, fifteen thousand dollars and all-you-can-drink cranberry juice, that's the dullest, I'm sorry.
