“….but, but Griselda, I almost needed medical assistance.” I lamented weakly. “I can’t go through it again.”
“I’m sorry Mr Hancock but the alternatives are just too expensive” Griselda responded with, what I am certain was, an element of glee in her voice.
It had all started so well, the nice lady at the First Class check in counter had called me forward from the business class line and, despite one or two issues in understanding an APEC card, sorted me out and printed my boarding passes. She had rather kindly highlighted the number 5 in the boarding section and explained that Singapore Airlines boards by groups now.
“Groups?” I questioned. “…..but surely as a Virgin Platinum I am not subjected to this sort of thing?”
“Well you could show your platinum card to the gate staff.” She helpfully suggested in a manner that did not fill me with confidence.
The Singapore Lounge/Dungeon had two sections, First Class and Business Class. I optimistically headed for First Class but was dispatched to the Business Class section by the chappie at the door.
To describe the lighting as glaring would be a little like describing the sun as a bit bright on a cloudless day on the equator. I suppose there had to be some compensation for the overall dinginess and lack of windows to the outside world.
Fortunately, the mini burgers and sausage rolls were rather tasty, if you hadn’t eaten for a day, had your tastebuds assaulted by airline food for 24 hours and were suffering from extreme jet lag.
Griselda had warned me that I was not flying with a oneworld airline and that there might be a chance that gate staff might not know who I was. I suspect that she was secretly sniggering at this understatement.
The boarding process was quite strict, First Class, Business Class and something called Star Alliance Gold. Undeterred I marched forward waving my Virgin Australia Platinum Card and surprisingly I wasn’t challenged. There was no beep at the gate and I had no idea who Griselda should address a letter too but figured it would do no harm to copy Richard Branson in, he seems to be involved in everything.
I duly showed my boarding pass to the rather lovely lady at the aircraft door and waited for her to show me to my seat. This was all rather awkward and ended after a minute or so with her gesturing and pointing in the general direction of where I needed to be going. (Another letter me thinks.)
After the walk of shame through some rather plush, large, seats I reached a section filled with hundreds of seats, and breathed a sigh of relief as I realised the row numbers did not correspond to the number on my boarding pass.
My relief was short lived as I found myself entering another part of the plane with hundreds of seats and this time the number on my boarding pass did correspond to one of the rows. I had seen something like this before. It reminded me of the Club Europe set up that British Airways has. I could never quite figure out why the extra middle seat was there though. It would have been much easier to do away with the middle seat and make the seats either side of it wider.
As I squeezed into my aisle seat I looked at my new surroundings, to my horror people were actually beginning to sit down in the middle seats? It was beyond my understanding. I called one of the stewardesses over.
“Why are those people sitting in the middle seats?” I asked, pointing at the rows behind me.
“They are sitting in the seats that match their boarding passes” She responded with a facial expression that hinted she thought I might be a bit odd.
“Hmmmmm” I sort of half grunted whilst looking at the seat, currently empty, next to me.
The full horror dawned on me as a lady placed her handbag on the seat next to me whilst she looked for space to put her carry-on case. I was in economy for a long haul flight on an airline where nobody knew who I was. No amount of Concorde Room Card waving was going to help me through this living hell. I was at completely the wrong end of an aeroplane trapped with hundreds of economy passenger types. Worst of all I was sober. The three glasses of shiraz I consumed in the rather brightly lit lounge had not any impact at all.
I did wonder whether my condition qualified as a medical emergency and contemplated getting Griselda to send a rescue party but before I could even call her we were heading off down the runway.
The hot towels and proper menu did not really make up for my predicament. (Although the hot towels were a considerable step up from those offered by British Airways and Qantas in First Class.) Griselda had promised me that Singapore Airlines served a dry martini in economy, but the drinks menu suggested otherwise and the stewardess confirmed that it was no longer offered. If I could find someone to work for less than minimum wage, I had resolved to sack Griselda. The lack of a dry martini was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Seven and a half hours of back numbing, cramped agony later we landed at Singapore’s Changi Airport. I was in a state of shock as I headed to the Singapore Airlines GoldenKris Lounge, having suffered the ignominy of being turned away from the SilverKris Lounge. A queue of a dozen or more people were lined up outside of a very crowded lounge and after a brief check of stride I headed off to the Dnata Lounge further down the corridor where my Priority Pass card served me well.
I called Griselda to see if my travel insurance would cover me for an emergency airlift but Griselda was under the impression that my suffering would not merit an airlift. (I could only wonder at what sort of extreme condition would if having to fly for seven and a half hours in economy was not considered an emergency.)
After two rounds of toast, a cup of tea, and a gin and tonic I attempted to steel myself for the next horror that awaited me. Apparently I was in boarding group six for the Singapore to Shanghai leg. I saw this as something to be ignored and trampled over a family of five in order to get the overhead locker space I required.
The situation was the same as my previous flight, although I was a little further forward than previously. The walk of shame through business class prompted further deterioration in my already delicate health and the big bloke approaching the seat next to me caused me to black out completely. It was my worst nightmare; I came to find myself staring at business class in front of me. :shock:
I declined “breakfast” and clutched my pack of Dettol hand sanitising wipes tightly as this particular interminable flight from Hell strengthened my resolve to seek a new secretary.
Fortunately, my APEC card allowed me a brief moment of respite and I ensured the bulk of passengers traveling in business class saw me wave it at the official and move to the head of the “special lane”. Even when at death’s door there is satisfaction in a lovely little DYKWIA moment like that.
The Hilton Hongqiao had no such problem recognising who I was and immediately upgraded my twin room to a two-bedroom Executive Suite. Without this I am certain my condition would have been fatal. I managed to sleep solidly in the king sized bed for a good eight hours before trying to watch all four of the TV’s spread about my rather large suite.
My near death experience had provided a few learning opportunities, not least for Griselda, or her replacement. Firstly, economy travel was not something that should be inflicted upon me in the future. Secondly I would need to contact all of the major airlines and show them where they are going wrong with the whole economy effort. It is not difficult. The answer is simple, on for example a Boeing 777, there should only be six seats across instead of the current nine. There would be far fewer complaints. Once again I wondered why something as simple as this had not been thought of before.
I had three days before my health would be tested again with my reverse journey, which Griselda could not change to a more appropriate class of travel, would begin. The mere thought made me tremble and I wondered if I would survive this time.