Sometimes it pays to be four hours early for your flight. Or to have a ticket clerk who is easily swayed by women in tight shirts. And sometimes it pays to have both.
Thanks to a generous ticket agent, a wife with the aforementioned tight shirt, and the inclination on both her part and mine to accept what amounts to a thousand-dollar upgrade, per ticket, for the two of us AND her mother, today's edition of D&V's Excellent Filipino Adventure comes to you, live, from the British Airways/Cathay Pacific business lounge. An excellent way to kick off what will be the interminably lengthy leg of our cross-Pacific voyage.
I wonder what the common folk are doing right now. (insert snooty laugh)
We're on our way to scenic Manila to attend the wedding of Weird Brother-In-Law and Mysterious Fiancée (so named because our side of the family has yet to meet her). It began with a quick jaunt in a puddlejumper from Boston to JFK, and then a walk from Terminal 9 to the "Air Train" that was longer than our trip on the Air Train to Terminal 7, and arguably longer than our flight from Boston. We then met Mrs. Dave's mother at checkin, and a little dip, wink and smile later, here we are in the plush confines of JFK's finest.
Of course, Mrs. Dave has been wheeling and dealing from the start - she managed to wheel and deal her way into getting us a ride to the airport from a carless co-worker of mine (long story, but basically, he's in the US from Mexico for a couple of months, and instead of renting a place for two months, he's living in my boss' basement. As a result, he's also at the complete and utter caprice of her comings and goings (not to mention the object/target of Anklebiters both Jr. and Sr. - he's rousted every morning by squealings of ¡Tío Cliff! ¡Tío Cliff!). So Mrs. Dave casually appealed to his sense of independence, offering up the use of our car to him during our week's absence. One gear slowly turned another, and he, of his own volition (though not exactly without forethought on Mrs. Dave's part) offered to be available at 6:30 to accompany us to the airport for this morning's 9am departure. And so it was that we again availed ourselves of the generosity of others.
At the moment, I am blogging on one of a dozen free computers, while my wife lunches upon a sumptuous cup of Maruchan's finest shrimp ramen (an essential part of this prelude to our impending Asian odyssey). My mother-in-law is contemplating a vacuum-wrapped apple, having polished off a few pieces of crustless mystery meat sandwich and a Coke. The gentleman across from me is struggling with a packet of individually wrapped raisins, while another is reposing on a leather easy chair. There is a fountain 50 yards away below the sign for the "pre-flight supper", large paintings on the walls, decorative vases, model galleons, and, hidden from view at the moment, a satellite TV room. I'm guessing the jacuzzi is downstairs, right next to the chauffeur's quarters and down the hall from the private bowling lanes.
I can only hope that if we get a female ticket agent on the way home, that my charms work to equal effect.
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