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This is an excerpt from the a chapter of the still-in-progress sequel to my 2009 book, AFTER HOURS. It actually chronicles an experience I had in Zanvoort (The Netherlands). This just happens to be the lead in to that chapter... I was preparing to leave Houston for Amsterdam where I was scheduled to present a technical paper at a week-long international technical conference sponsored jointly by two oil industry professional associations: the Society of Petroleum Engineers and the International Association of Drilling Contractors. The finishing touches for my visual aids and the narrative were pretty much complete, but at the outset I told another executive that I’d write the paper if he'd make the presentation. He agreed, but became ill at the eleventh hour—that is, a day before boarding the plane—leaving everything to me. No big deal. I am a polished and entertaining speaker (even if I do say so); and probably a better “show” than my contemporary, but it meant I would have to do something responsible other than attend meetings and goof-off at the conference. Two days before I left, I opened my office mail, which included an offer from Delta Airlines for a free one-class upgrade in the (highly unlikely) event I was traveling to Europe in the next ten days. At the time, I had reached one-million-miler status with the air carrier, and received endless offerings through the mail. There was normally something “just off” about the offered perks—inconvenient timing, undesirable destinations, wrong time of year, etc.—that rendered them functionally useless. The airlines are very clever that way—offering you goodies you can only use in rare circumstances. Here’s a good example: At various times I’ve had enough miles on Continental Airlines to transport my wife, Kay, and me back-and-forth to Hawaii three or four times in first class; and I’ve tried! Lord knows I’ve tried—numerous times! (I guess I’m a slow-learner.) Typically I would start the process on-line until the electronic system bounced the first three dates I entered. Then desiring a real voice—someone with whom to talk, I called their (wink) convenient 800-number. By the way, maybe it’s just me, but I think having to go through endless menus, listen to various commercials, and crappy smooth-jazz music is very inconvenient! Sometimes they even disconnect saying no one is available to take your call at this time—please call back, and thanks for giving us the opportunity to serve you. In my head I hear, “Your call will be ignored in the order it was received. Now stop bothering us you a-hole!” Finally after two calls and twenty minutes on hold: a real person! Hot damn! I could almost feel the trade winds and hear the surf. “I’d like to book first class travel from IAH to HNL using my Platinum frequent flyer account.” I spoke sweetly and exaggerated-and-elongated the word “platinum” figuring they might treat me better. Boy, was I wrong! “What dates, sir?” asked the detached, mechanical, bored, monotone on the other end of the line. I gave her my first preference. “Sorry, sir, we’re not taking any more reward customers for those dates.” So I gave her another (same answer), and another (same answer), and another (same answer) up to twenty dates (all same answer). “Okay, I’m very flexible.” I wasn’t really. I just wanted to see how far I could push this. “What dates do you have that are available?” “I’m sorry, sir, we’re not allowed to say. You have to suggest a date.” “Cool, how about nine months from today?” “We’re not allowed to book that far ahead.” “Okay, how about…( fill in the blank)?” Eight months? (Nope). Seven and a half months? (Nosireebob) Seven months? (Sorry) Six and a half months? (‘Fraid not). “How about six months from today?” “I’m sorry, sir, we’ve reached our allotment for reward travelers up to and including that date.” “I see… Okay, I’d like to suggest the first date you show an opening. How about that?” Meaningful sigh. “I’m so sorry. That’s against policy.” Her tone said: please just go away, you pain-in-the-ass. “Are first class seats are available on all the flights I just inquired about if I want to pay for them myself?” I used my gee-whiz voice like I was some rube who really would pay full fare. She jumped on this with a new-found cheerfulness. “Yes, sir—and coach seats are available for reward passengers on all those flights as well.” “But I want to go first class by using miles I’ve already earned on your airline," I whined. "By the way, just how many first class seats are set aside for reward travelers on each flight?” “I can’t say, sir.” “It could be just one or two, right?” “I am not at liberty to say, sir.” I gave up, and put down the phone—gently, before she could say thanks-for-calling-Continental, but it took some effort. I never did travel to Hawaii on Continental first class or coach. I always took any other airline even if I had to pay full fare. But this time, I had Delta dead to rights, and it felt great! See, I was already booked in business class, and by the way, international business class is far superior to domestic first class. I called them up coupon in hand. “Ah ha, you rat bastards! I got you this time!” I said triumphantly with gloating, maniacal laughter. This after entering my frequent flyer number. They knew who I was. “I beg your pardon, sir,” said the kindly customer service agent. He also got a kick out of my opening salvo. I told them about my travel plans, including the code number and what ever else they wanted. “Your offer means I upgrade from business to first class round trip, right?” “That’s correct, sir. Congratulations.” Rats. I was hoping they’d feel disappointed that I’d beaten them, but instead they were happy. Actually, I really expected them to come up with some non-disclaimer or fine print nonsense. They didn’t. I guess the lesson was that I needed to have more optimistic expectations, but the experience with Continental Airlines biased me. Still, shame on me. The flight was quite nice, with only four of us in the front cabin. The seats seemed about a half mile apart. At the time I was overjoyed that my employer allowed us to travel business class, so being placed all the way upfront was beyond any reasonable expectations. Actually, I would not have complained if we were compelled to fly economy, prices what they were at that time. The round trip price was: $800 economy, $3,500 business class, and $8,000 first class. That’s a lot of beans for an ego trip, and the oil industry was full of those. Our CEO took the Concorde because he had to boogie back to New York quickly for a stockholders meeting. That was the story we heard. (I am sooo sure...) Anyway, who am I to judge? Copyright by Gene Myers, author of AFTER HOURS: ADVENTURES OF AN INTERNATIONAL BUSINESSMAN (2009), Strategic Publishing Group, New York, NY – a hilarious account of the author’s overseas travels; and SONGS FROM LATTYS GROVE (2010), PublishAmerica, Fredericksburg, MD - a mildly sinister, but amusing work of fiction. Both are available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble, and available in Amazon Kindle and Nook formats. Visit www.myersamazon.com
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