Going Beyond Travel

As you know, I’m no air rookie. Like Ryan Bingham in the movie “Up in the Air” I know my way around an airline terminal, and for the most part, around the major airlines as well. This week though I got to fly with Virgin Atlantic, an experience I was looking forward to a good bit given their reputation amongst many frequent flyers I know. I’d not had a chance to fly with them before but the stories laid on about their incredible lounges, fun air staff and above average food had me convinced that my choice to layover in London Heathrow instead of Frankfurt or Amsterdam on my trip from Singapore to the US would be more than offset by the amazing flying experience my friends assured me was on offer from Virgin.

I can only conclude these colleagues are daft. From service to seating, food to flyer program, Virgin just isn’t that fun to fly. Now admittedly I was seated in cattle class – an especially appropriate name at Virgin where the only thing missing from the “herd them up and push them through” mentality is a branding iron to the ass. Perhaps my experience would have been different were I flying in Upper Class as they call their premier seats. However, I do tend to find that airlines who can’t take the time to help their economy customers be comfortable rarely do much better in their premium cabins. Sure the seat may be a bit bigger, the meal slightly better, but don’t we all expect more from a business or first class seat than a little extra space for our hipbones and an overcooked beef medallion? And the truly awful service wasn’t just onboard but extended to check in, lounge and gate staff as well. But more on that later.

First, let’s get back to my seat in the rear of the plane. The seat I had going east to west was bad. Very bad. It began with banged knees, and carried on with an inconveniently placed electrical box under the seat ahead, a completely lack of any sort of padding aside from the slip cover on the seat itself, the flimsy tray table, and a TV so small that it was more annoyance than entertainment. My cell phone has a larger display. Well maybe not, but it’s not much smaller, for certain. On top of which the aisle was so narrow that it proved impossible to roll my carryon down the aisle. It is aggravating enough being crammed into such a small space, but to have your exit delayed because every passenger in front of you has to twist sideways heft their bag down the aisle in an awkward carioca step is maddening.

For seven grueling hours I sat hunched in misery wondering if somehow I’d gotten on the wrong airline. But I consoled myself in my belief that surely this must be the exception not the norm. An in ability to select a specific seat in advance of flying (I could only request aisle or window) meant I’d not bothered to make my usual check of Seat Guru, and so, I supposed, I must have had the misfortune to be seated in one of the rare “bad” seats that every airplane seems to have. Even my beloved Singapore Airlines has those seats that would make Cool Hand Luke beg to switch out for more time in the box. As far as “worst seats” go, this one was pretty bad, but I figured if I showed up at the check in for the return flight a little earlier and maybe schmoozed the check in staff I’d get a better seat for the return flight.

I could not have been more wrong. As I write this I am currently seated in the worst chair in the air. Seat 42G on the Virgin Atlantic flight from Dulles to Heathrow. Before sitting down, I already knew the seat would be problematic. What I had thought had been a successful check-in ass kissing in order to secure a slightly better seat turns out to have been an abject failure.  The woman who gave me my seat assignment apparently decided I deserved punishment for interrupt her foul mood by daring to be cheerful and polite. While it was true she had given me a bulkead, aisle seat, this was no premium seat. Instead of an ample aisleway between the seats and bulkhead that is a narrow cramped alley along a wall that abruptly terminates about halfway across my seat.  A double whammy as it means there is not only no space to extend ones legs, but it also means that as soon as the service begins you can count on getting whacked in the knees by every cart that the air staff shove blindly through the curtain between the two cabins. Forget sleep – this seat requires vigilance! I have found that angling one leg and cocking my foot up off the floor I am able to deflect many of these collisions from hitting my kneecap, but only by sacrificing my ankles.

Then there is the seat itself. It is a narrow seat to begin with. Virgin makes it even more so by inserting the media and light controls onto a curly cord mounted handheld device bolted to the inside of the seat. Add to this not one, but two metal buttons (one to release the seat recline, one to release the under seat TV mount) and you end up with a seat that anyone larger than Paris Hilton will find agonizing to squeeze into. Sure, I’m no svelte specimen, and I’m used to being a bit squeezed in most economy seats. But nothing  like this. I literally have to keep my knees together and almost cross my legs just to fit into the seat. The control panel gouges into one hip bone. A little metal button slowly wears a divot into the opposing thigh. And because the seat only reclines three and a half inches, give up on the idea of turning sideways and trying to get some sleep.

This is dismal. And it’s made all the more miserable by the knowledge that at the end of my ride in the world’s worst airline seat, I’m facing the world’s worst airport where I will face even more evil Virgin Atlantic staff. The exclusive Virgin Atlantic club lounge that is meant to make this all bearable seems to be beyond my reach. Despite assurances from Singapore Airlines, and indeed other SQ passengers I’d spoken with, that my PPS club status with SQ would be sufficient to gain me admittance to this frequent flyers paradise, the staff at both Dulles and Heathrow insist that the club is reserved ONLY for the Virgin flyer program elite members and passengers flying in upper class. And don’t think you will get some polite apologetic refusal. There is no sign of the polite British demeanor to be found in the attitude of the savage front desk staff at these lounges. I nearly felt like I should be apologizing to them for intruding on such an exclusive sanctuary, that perhaps I deserved some sort of punishment for encroaching on their turf.

And really, that sums up my entire experience with Virgin: That I’m being punished for something. I’m not sure what exactly. For paying more than the average rate of carriage between London and the US? For daring to have status with another airline that allegedly has a partnership agreement? For asking for a seat with a little more leg room?

It’s all rather disappointing. All the hype has only led to a supremely sour experience. And so I’ll sit here, in misery and pain, for the five remaining hours of this flight taking what little comfort I can from the simple fact that I will never ever fly this airline again. They can keep their attitudes, miserable seats and poorly configured airplanes to themselves. There are simply too many better choices out there for me to ever find the need to waste my money on their airlines again.