British Air first class is a lovely experience, and quite idiosyncratic. For example, the Concord Club (and I used to fly the Concords) is lovely, but the food is pretty awful. (Burgers are only served well done. “We can do nothing about it, sir.”) The ambiance is quite nice, the employees are very helpful, and it takes the British, accustomed to centuries of royalty, to really know how to do first class.
The British Air monitors showed my flight 30 minutes late, but my flight tracker app showed it only five minutes late. “My goodness,” said a gate agent, “your phone is correct and our monitors are wrong!”
I have to admit to loving the flight attendants who hold up the business class passengers while first class deplanes. The Americans refuse to do that because of the threat of someone suing, I’d guess. (It was better when air clubs were available solely to good customers and not to anyone who had $400 in his pocket. I’m a closet elitist, but I’m coming out.)
Yes, I would have made a great Duke. At my wife’s boutique, I’m called The Prince, but I don’t like to boast.
I entered the Triple 7 to return to Boston, and the flight attendant (having seen the manifest) said, “Hello, Dr. Weiss, welcome back!” Here is the ensuing conversation:
Her: Is there a conference that’s ended and people are returning to Boston?
Me: Not that I know of, why?
Her: Well, we have quite a few doctors in first class today.
Me: I’m a PhD, not the kind of doctor who helps people.
Her: Oh, that’s a pity.
The service was superb, Johnny Walker Blue, asparagus and egg, lobster and a grand cru Margaux, with some outstanding cheese. I wrote another chapter of a book I’m on commission to write, I finished a book I’ve been reading, and I reached 32,000 pounds on the video’s Would You Like To Be A Millionaire? game.
I had arrived Monday morning, had four private meetings, three workshops (all never done before), connected three wealthy, global clients together, ate at the finest restaurants (including a chef’s table in the kitchen), smoked some terrific cigars, and visited a private club impossible to get into.
It was a deeply appreciated, outstanding week. And now I’m back to my daily Frisbee sessions with Bentley. He’s unimpressed.
© Alan Weiss 2014