A Little Worse for Wear

May 4

I stepped off the plane at Heathrow just about the time my connecting flight was taking off.

But that’s all right. It gets funnier.

They had a bus for people who missed American flight 107. I was supposed to get on the same bus, but I had to ask to find that out.

The rebooking desk was kind of busy. The man at the counter said I was already rebooked for a 6:15 flight. I confirmed that the time is 18:15 on the 24-hour clock.

The gate closes 20 minutes earlier, at 17:55. So I first think “7:55?” No, subtract 12, not 10. I don’t know why this gives me so much trouble. Maybe my mind sees it as military time and refuses to accept it.

Anyway, I get the gate information a little later, because first the guy behind the counter gets on the phone. I hear him mention my last name. It is always strange to hear it preceded by “Mister.”

Then the conversation gets chatty. I can’t hear everything he says, because he is turning his head away. Something about how somebody looks.

He gets the information he needs, prints the papers, and then asks me to meet him at the end of the desk. OK, I think, the pony tail has done it again. He has summoned the authorities and I am about to be searched at another border. Laboratory analysis might be able to find traces of contraband in the form of cake crumbs, although I was careful about resealing wrappers when I was carrying cannabis.

But no, it gets funnier. Apparently he considered it discreet to tell me out of hearing of the line waiting for rebookings that the airline had run out of economy seats on the flight and had bumped me up to business class. 

I figure that must have been the purpose of the phone call: Before they confirmed the upgrade, the airline wanted to make sure I looked put-together enough not to upset the class of higher-paying customers. 

I got to use the fast track security line. Whenever you go through airport security, you can always tell who the Americans are. They take their shoes off even in countries where you don’t have to.

I’m at Huxley’s bar in Terminal 5 at Heathrow right now. There is some kind of exclusive lounge that my boarding pass entitles me to use. I think I’m going to look for it.

More later.

Harry by the Nieuwe Kerk wall.

May 5

I never found the lounge. But I had leg room on the plane. I could get up and walk around whenever I needed. I watched the Coen brothers’ remake of “True Grit,” which is very good, and “Expendables 2,” which is ridiculous, but hey, things blow up.

British Airways had Fuller’s London Pride in cans, and I had two of those.

We landed around 8:15. There was no line at passport control, but this is Newark so it took several minutes anyway.

Miss Libby was there in all her eerie shining glory.

I got home some time after 9. It has been a while since I was that tired. A little achy too, but that will pass. It shows that I have been busy.

When I emptied my pockets, I found a wrapper from the Paradox space cake that I finished between Schiphol and Heathrow. I didn’t see any dogs this time, so it was OK.

Everybody be well, and remember: Dress for an upgrade because you never know when you’ll get one.

May 6

Gotta LOVE a free upgrade!!! I've had other friends tell me that wearing a tie definitely helps. No champagne?

Glad you're home safe and sound.

Larry

May 6

I had a glass of champagne while the plane was waiting at the gate. I had the Fuller's during the flight.

Harry