A few years ago, when he was still based out of Singapore, my father had several work trips to the United States each year. They became so frequent that the Company decided it made more economic sense to ‘relocate’ us over there. The word ‘relocate’ makes it sound like I am a soft toy to be shifted from place to place at will (which, incidentally, is what happened to my soft toys). After our ‘relocation’, he started having quite a few work trips to Singapore. Apparently it all made sense to a Manager somewhere in Texas. A side effect from all this flying is frequent flyer miles and Status on a certain legacy carrier.
The thing about American airlines is their somewhat negative reputation on the Pacific route, as due to sex and age discrimination laws and union-fought seniority systems flight attendants are grandmotherly (we’ve all seen the pretty SQ girls meekly pouring a vintage for the alpha male, comfortably lounging in his ‘Class Beyond First’ suite gibberish and tucking into lobster, have we not?) so all the premium passengers figure that if they’re going to pay for a bigger seat they might as well pay for prettier attendants. Thus the fancy classes are wide open, allowing ample opportunity for mileage upgrades or (even better) operational upgrades which is when the airline figures rather than wasting a seat they should make a frequent flyer happy by surprising him (and his traveling companions) with an upgrade. SQ, Cathay et. al., unless they’re overbooked, don’t do this to protect their revenue. But nobody in their right mind will splurge for FC on legacies so there’s no revenue to protect but lots of FFs to make happy. Score.
The odds of me ever getting to fly fancy again in my lifetime are in the negatives, so while the memory’s still fresh I might as well write about it so when I’m 90 and in a nursing home I have something to brag about, with the details to go along. Mm.
The story begins on one lovely day when I was booked to fly from school, in California, to home, in Washington. I had been taking finals the week before and cleverly missed my flight. Completely my fault. This was problematic because (a) it was the week of Christmas and (b) a snowstorm had occurred in the Northeast Corridor and there were tens of thousands of people like me who were trying to get to the East Coast but unlike me had missed it due to weather gods acting up rather than personal stupidity. So I saunter into the airport at 2pm, get myself on the standby list for the 9:50pm redeye flight and kill eight hours by eating wonton noodles, reading the one copy of Time I had hurriedly grabbed on the way out and sampling literally every perfume in the Duty Free shop.To further illustrate how bad the situation was – I asked my frequent-flying Dad to call the ’special’ number the Welcome Kit instructed him to call and even if he paid cash for his own SFO-IAD ticket he would not get one. After lots of finger-crossing, confessions, I-will-be-a-good-girl-please-Santa etc. I am finally given a middle seat towards the back of the plane but who cares, I’d have stood the whole journey if they’d let me. I now appreciate the flexibility of Chinese train operators who invented the genius concept of 站票 for those extra passengers that need to be fitted in.
To add insult to injury, my checked bag (for which I duly paid $15) was the first one out on the carousel, a bright yellow STANDBY tag displayed for all to see. Just to complete my humiliation with the First Class passengers angrily staring at the owner of the bag which beat theirs (with their fancy PRIORITY tags) and the Economy passengers silently laughing at my stupidity in flying standby at such a time.
No worries. In a little more than 24 hours I was back in Dulles, my parents and lots of luggage in tow. The Airline had roped off the premium (most overused word in commercial aviation) and a lady came to guide us towards the Economy check-in areas. This is when the black piece of plastic works its magic and we are promptly let in and walked to the counter, where instead of a queue there is a carpet desperately in need of a good dry cleaning. We get a smiling agent, get all our checked baggage tagged in the lovely orange Priority tag (my turn now!), have our boarding passes put in a cute sleeve, are told the location of the Lounge and advised we can use the premium (see?) security line.
We are then escorted out of the roped-in area by the same lady who is now breaking out in smiles. Airport staff smiling? Something must be wrong with the world. Perhaps it is an ill omen, you know, last thrill before one…Ahem. We then walk past a pair of folks passing out free ‘Mileage Plus Visa’ transparent plastic zipper-bags with four <100ml empty bottles. Completely TSA-approved. I take one, my mother takes one, and we both prod for my Dad to make a U-turn and take one too. So now we have three sets of bag+bottles we will never use, but they were free.
To put it gently, Dulles has some of the most incompetent security agents on the planet. The TSA manages to screen out anyone with a hint of intelligence and common sense in their application process and it appears they have been very successful at this. To compound this, the area is full of people who enjoy complicated footwear, elaborate outfits with scarves, belts and jackets and still have not received the memo not to pack a gallon of shampoo in their carry-on. Every now and then an overeducated liberal hippie argues with the agent over some process or other, further crippling the process. In an ever-changing world, the consistent incompetence of Dulles TSA agents is oddly reassuring.
After security one walks to one of these buses, ahem, People Movers which bus one to one’s faraway terminal where the gate is actually located. This further reinforces the theme of Inefficiency that so permeates IAD.
On entering the Airline Lounge my parents are each given two drink chits good both in the bar and on domestic Economy where they charge for fancy drinks/alcohol and I get a wi-fi access card. Why they can’t just have a free bar and free wi-fi I don’t know I count it under the inefficiency theme. The Airline has several lounges in the terminal and I tried convincing my parents to make a Drink Chit Run (going to every Lounge and getting their four chits) but they immediately point out that the chits were all stamped with an expiry date way before my 21st birthday. Sigh. I argue that they charge for Honest Tea too and I like that and Hippocrates said you’re supposed to drink pomegranate juice. That one worked better.
For the next 20 hours I’m going to be in a tube of metal having, the Amex itinerary tells me, lunch, lunch and dinner (in that order), excluding lounge food, snacks, very sugared drinks and nuts but including generous amounts of ice cream, cake and chocolate. At least I’ll be having two salads (first L and D) and three fruit plates (L/L/D) so that box is checked.
After many cups of coffee (the beans-to-cup machine is way too fun) and enough food to make a cardiologist jump off the plane, our flight is paged and we begin the leisurely stroll in the wonderful knowledge that we will get to board first and are thus free to grab the overhead bin space. Sure enough, a loooooooooong line of Economy passengers have already formed, each person towing five pieces of carry-ons. We flash the plastic and get to board with the First Class folks, whizzing past all the Economy gate lice who have been in line since 9:30am. Gate agent takes a look at the card and starts to type on his computer. We are holding up the First Class line. I am holding up the First Class line. The businessman standing behind me in that power suit is probably fuming at the delay. The thought fills me with glee.
I am further filled with glee when the agent hands us new passes for a much fancier cabin and rips up our old ones, as though they never existed. We finally get to board. Too much overhead bin space available. I don’t even use half of it. I think of the bloodbath back in Coach and sink further into my seat. A FA offers to hang my UVA sweater (which I had removed in anticipation of the TSA stripshow) along with the suits. There are a million storage compartments in the seat. I can stretch my legs fully. My seat has enough adjustment buttons to please an ADHD child. The TV screen is bigger than that of my laptop. I can charge my iPod. I have pillows. There are lots of newspapers and nobody glares at me if I take two. The FA offers pre-departure drinks in a real glass. Everybody else has champagne and this being American soil I have water. FA addresses one by name. The captain comes around to shake hands and give his requisite speech about flight time etc. from the lectern-thing in the cabin (space used for something other than a seat!), but in person. I take the opportunity to ask about Channel 9 availability (UA’s legendary Channel 9 where one can hear the cockpit – uh, flight deck, to be more PC here – talking with ATC) and get a ‘yes’ and a ‘may the force be with you’. Much better than a pleasant flight. God, I understand why people do mileage runs now. Status and free upgrades are awesome. Meanwhile, I’m going to have another…water.
Our flight is delayed out of Dulles by more than an hour due to a lack of efficiency (what else?) in loading passengers’ luggage. I don’t mind one bit and get a third glass of water. Warmed nuts are served. Finally we push back from the gate for the longest taxi ever. At this point the whole cabin, overdosed on champagne (and water), could really do with a bathroom run. But this being a litigation-fearful American airline getting up at this point is like asking to be rudely admonished and escorted back to one’s seat. There are about 900 planes ahead of us in the line for takeoff.
Finally we get off the ground and before the Potomac has disappeared from view, some guy got up to use the bathroom. Guess he really couldn’t wait – and goodness the FAs didn’t say a word, guess they preferred him to be in the bathroom rather than take the matter into his own hands at the seat…You know. Once the seat belt sign was turned on the bathrooms saw constant foot traffic. I guess 2 bathrooms for 10 people is still not enough.
Lunch orders were taken as were drink orders. Everybody started picking out fancy drinks and I think if I ordered another water I would be in for a good etiquette lecture. So, my desperate attempt at poshness was a sparkling water mixed with apple juice, with ice, and if she could toss in a slice of lemon too…I know, I know.
At this point I feel it necessary to state that despite living in the States I don’t eat American portions for dinner. I skip on appetizers, salads and desserts which I will never finish and the main course promises leftovers for the next two days. But they’re serving me and I figured with all that cost-cutting the servings can’t be too large. Which isn’t true because what isn’t large to the American who designed the menu can, as mentioned above, feed me for two days. But the enthusiasm (!) of the FA (who was less than 100 years old) resulted in appetizer, bread, salad, soup, more bread, main course (very nice beef), ice cream with caramel, fudge and whipped cream (pile on the calories) and chocolates. I passed on the cheese. I can’t remember if there was fruit and I can’t locate the menu. All served on real china with linen and proper metal cutlery and fresh forks for each new course. And butter carved into funky shapes.
Immediately after the last dish was cleared it became bedtime as the lights were dimmed. Do they seriously expect us to sleep so soon after, as Bill Bryson would say, eating until food came out of one’s ears? I take a looong walk to recesses of the plane and back, where evidently looking too young (no money) and too underdressed (not posh), a FA points out that certain cabins were not open for tours. Ah, to be able to snicker and haughtily reply that “my seat is there”…
After catching up on my movies and nibbling through half the cart of late night snacks (everybody else was sleeping and I was bored) and sleeping (to get in the spirit of the cabin) it is time for yet more food. A swift descent into Narita, with the infamously quick braking, and getting off the plane first while the hoi polloi were crowding in their narrow aisles. Ahh.
