This is a Trip Report from the Upper Class cabin
Ground Staff
Food & Drink
Entertainment
Seat
Cabin Crew
In the end it came down to the taxi to the airport. UC Wing access I had sorted a couple of weeks back, and then it was time to confirm the details of the car. So I sent a text to the company asking for make, model and registration, and radio silence was all I received in return. Remembering that the company had gone through some changes, new owner, reduced fleet I began to worry whether he was actually still in business, and no other local taxi firms have ever proved reliable for airport runs. Driving to the airport and parking would be a pain but manageable, but what of the return trip? Horror of horrors, I might have to remain….sober. Shallow fellow that I am, this did cause me some sleepless hours.
Eventually, just before we went in to watch “The Force Awakens” on our wedding anniversary (MrsPJH’s choice before anyone says anything) the phone rumbled and the details came through – with a pick up time of an hour earlier than I had thought. That proved no issue for the UC team when I phoned it through the next day, the only comment being “more time to enjoy the Clubhouse then!” with which I could not disagree.
And so it was that we rocked up at DTCI at 10am for 3.40pm departure. Both the DTCI and Clubhouse stuff raised a slightly quizzical eyebrow (not the same one, obviously) at the timings. This – more correctly “I” - was clearly going to have to be carefully managed.
DTCI is still a thrill, and MrsPJH is particularly fond on stepping out of the car, having the cases whisked away and being addressed as “MrsPJH” (something that she hates in other places such as banks). We were straight through security – unlike the very flustered lady before us who kept leaving things in the tray and having to be called back – with only good manners preventing us breaking out into an unseemly trot to get to the Clubhouse.
Above I say DTCI is a thrill; well, going into the Clubhouse is still a “pinch me” moment. We always wonder what our parents would have thought of us going this. Initially, though, we were brought earthwards by a not entirely customer service orientated experience at the spa when booking MrsPJH’s nail treatment (only one time slot offered, 12:45 pm, no discussion) and then a frankly awful cup of coffee when we sat at a table.
Any ruffled feathers were soon soothed by the champagne and the service and we settled into a strategy meeting for our time in the CH, agreeing on a late morning graze from the deli to be followed by a brasserie lunch at about 1.30 pm, giving MrsPJH’s nails a little time to dry.
Then, to steal Bretty’s line, it was “drink, rinse and repeat” interrupted only by my head polish (where I was offered a drink but refused), lunch (meh CH Burger and very fine Carmenere) and some playing on V-Flyer and Facebook. At which point things started to get a little….unusual. Facebook communicator sprang into life with V-Flyer HoneyLamb (Christine) sending me messages wishing us well for our trip and enquiring about the aircraft type we were on and the seat numbers. At this point I wondered whether we were being tasked with some top secret V-Flyer reporting activity, but at the close of the conversation it seemed to have been just a friendly enquiry.
I was all set for rectifying my fundamental V-Flyer omission of having never had a Redhead cocktail, but was thwarted by the call for the flight. For a moment I considered saying “we’ll go at the second call, bring me that Redhead!” but MrsPJH was on her feet. This was the first of the two occasions on which VS saved me from myself, thought the second (of which more later) was down to astute service rather than coincidence.
On boarding MrsPJH nudged me, pointed out a member of the cabin crew and said “we’ve flown with her before and had a great time”. A search of the Memory Palace (more of a Memory B&B for me) placed her on our first day flight and first 330 experience back from JFK in 2013. We were in shock from being denied champagne in the CH due to the licencing and thus spent a long time at the bar that day. I think this was the first time we have recognised a particular crew member, so she clearly made an impression the first time around.
We were then really pleased to have her introduce herself to us as being responsible for our section, addressing us by name, as we knew we would be experiencing the best of VS. Then came the biggest surprise as she uttered the words “…and Christine says hello”. Ah. So that’s what the Facebook enquiries were about. Sometimes it’s not what you know….. Let us call her “Z”, as she re-appears a number of times in this story.
After one or more refills of the Gardet and what was possibly an on time push back and take off (things were a little hazy already) the crew fell into the drinks / meal order routine for the not quite full UC cabin and we fell into our viewing routine. By the time my traditional g&t (with lime, of course) arrived I was started on “Bridge of Spies”, which I was delighted to see in the list as it had only arrived in cinemas a few weeks before Christmas. I should just say that the aircraft did not appear to be one of the A346 fleet that had been refurbished, with some dings in the IFE screen housing. (This site’s aircraft database tells me we were on V-FIT) The seat was comfortable though…
As is our tradition MrsPJH and I ate together. To be honest the food wasn’t great. I avoided the beef instead opting for the pasta, supplemented by a couple of glasses of the South African Constantia Glen Three red offering.
Once I had finished watching “Bridge of Spies” I decided that we should add to our list of “bars visited at 35,000ft” and headed off to stake a claim to seating rights, where until MrsPJH emerged from her postprandial slumber, there was only one other passenger. (Note to Bretty – if you sit there, they will come). Z arrived to act as barkeep and conversation assistant and what we talked of I have no idea, save for our fellow passenger dividing his time between living in North Wales and Santa Monica. Oh – and the worst celebs. I decided at one point that I’d probably had enough JD and switched to Diet Coke, which Z judiciously kept topped up, continuing the day’s pattern of VS saving me from myself. Another crew member donned the barkeep’s apron as Z went for her rest break, and I stayed on the Diet Coke.
Well, “stayed on” Diet Coke in that no drink I had from that point did not have Diet Coke in it. At least one presented to me by Z later had JD (“your usual”) in it. OK, I have to admit I was tickled pink (figuratively) by Z being attentive (being a late middle aged bald bloke who usually tends to the invisible) but I have to say that Z did not at any point give less than 100% to any of her other passengers; she just seemed to have this boundless friendliness.
There may have been a snooze involved before we started our descent into EWR, where we landed and were on stand at 6.30pm local time, half an hour ahead of schedule. In the immigration hall there was little evidence of automation, with the only machines appearing to be servicing Global Entry. Those managing the lines were sharp though and routed us through underused “US Citizen” lanes and we were through by about 7.00pm.
Time for one final chat with and farewell and thanks to Z and then our Carmel car was ready to take us to our hotel in SoHo. We were in our room at about the time I’d been expecting to be leaving the airport, so all was good.
What can I say? A great experience (thank you HL!), which was important given the brief nature of the trip.
We can get better, because we're not dead yet