How much will we pay for that upgrade?

The late, great Tom Petty made cogent and prescient observations about life in his song lyrics. One of my favorites, from the title track of 2002’s The Last DJ, notes that “all the boys upstairs want to see / How much you’ll pay for what you used to get free.”

He wasn’t wrong. In the years since the song’s release, we’ve seen “the boys upstairs”—corporate fat cats, government entities—find new and inventive ways to wring more filthy lucre from customers, often with our enthusiastic approval. Streaming services now charge us to watch our favorite shows and sports, and to listen to our favorite music.

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Yes, it’s still possible to enjoy broadcast TV (with a digital antenna that costs a little extra, of course) and listen to the radio. But embedded in many of these free platforms are offers to upgrade, to pay a little—or a lot—more to get something a little—or a lot—better. Maybe fewer commercials. Your favorite songs on demand. Entire seasons of more shows than you would ever have time to watch, even if you dedicated the rest of your life to nothing but.

Part of the consumer appeal, I’m convinced, is not so much the convenience, but rather a way to separate ourselves from the herd, to say “I’m special.” The unwashed masses may have to content themselves with broadcast radio and incessant ads for private-injury lawyers, but the rest of us use Apple Music or Sirius XM.

The thought of how capitalism works to divide us was brought home to me twice in the last week. My wife and I were on vacation, and the airline randomly upgraded us to first class. I’m not a trendy asshole, to quote another rock song (“Smash” by the Offspring), so I’ve never flown first class before.

Our first class experience was exactly that. An experience.

The seats were much larger. I had room to stretch my legs. The flight attendants distributed—wait for it!—warm towels. My wife was so impressed that she woke me up. We giggled when the attendant came back to retrieve the used towel with silver tongs. Then came snacks and drinks. Maybe it was me, but the attendants seemed to smile more.

(By contrast, the algorithmic gods did not favor us with another upgrade on the flight home. Instead, we were stuffed three to a row, instructed curtly when to raise and lower our tray tables, and seldom favored with eye contact, let alone smiles.)

The next opportunity to view the divisive side of corporate America came when we visited a theme park, paying what I, Scrooge McDuck, considered a scandalous price. However, for twice that amount, I could have skipped the lines at each attraction, basically walking onto the rides and leaving the hoi polloi to swelter in the heat and humidity.

I didn’t anticipate how resentful this would make me until I watched so many people using this option, waltzing past my wife and me and hundreds of others on ride after ride. Even though a logical part of my brain told me that A) I could have made a different ticket choice, and B) their decision to outspend me wasn’t personal, my irritation rose with the thermometer. (It was sweltering.)

And it didn’t stop there. For another upcharge, visitors could purchase a non-private VIP tour. For guests who dropped a few thousand dollars (prices varied), the private VIP tour removed even more riffraff.

So often, corporate and governmental forces find ways to monetize events that were once shared experiences. Flying on a plane and waiting in line for roller coasters are just two low-stakes examples. Where entitlement gets more serious—and dangerous—is when it actively makes us feel we deserve special treatment that others don’t.

Want your kids to have a private education? Great! But don’t advocate for vouchers that take money from public schools.

Have wonderful health insurance? Good for you! But don’t support government initiatives to rob others of the right to healthcare.

Fortunate enough to own a car? Excellent. Then don’t bitch about the cost of subsidizing public transportation.

I’m not blaming corporations’ attempts to maximize profits for all of society’s inequalities. And I’m not blaming people who are willing to pony up a little more for extra service, either. First-class tickets and sanctioned line-jumping didn’t create the disparities we see today.

But they are symptomatic of a culture that doesn’t value universal, communal experiences the way it once did.

It’s something to think about the next time you question the need for public institutions like libraries and clinics that serve everybody regardless of ability to pay (and rely on all of society to support via taxes), or when you equate “more money” or “upgrade” with a right to better, faster, and kinder service.

If more events were one-price-fits-all, without the artificial distinctions, maybe more of us would realize that “we’re all in this together,” to quote another song lyric, this one not written by Tom Petty.