British Airways

Huffin' and Puffin'. Huffin' and Puffin'. Why did the two birds from an old Enid Blyton story from his childhood pop into the Hatter's mind out of the blue? British Airways and Heathrow weren't endearing themselves to him, and having to run from terminal to terminal didn't help ...


Ten hours earlier, a rather ancient Jumbo with the BA logo pulled back from its gate at Bangalore airport with the Hatter on board. He was feeling rather well-disposed towards BA at that time, having been able to catch some sleep before getting to the airport for an early morning departure rather than the more inconvenient midnight departures of most international airlines. Well begun was half done, he thought.

Just like their food, he would later remark to himself, half done.

"Hullo everyone, if you would pull your seat backs up and fold your trays for take-off, thank you .."

Decidedly more cheerful than other airlines, and definitely British. A bit of all right as far as announcements went.

And the little business about an open overhead bin that the attendants missed until right before takeoff? Forgiveness is the essence of humanity, and one mustn't grudge an overworked flight attendant an odd moment of distraction. Or two. The fourth attendant that walked by did close the bin, and two full minutes before the takeoff run too.

What was it about British flight attendants that made them surly in person but cheerfulness personified on the PA system?

Ten hours, a short nap, and two meals served by surly attendants later, the venerable Jumbo circled Heathrow. The delightfully British-accented pilot informed passengers that it would be just a couple of minutes more while he waited for permission to land. Half an hour later, the wheels touched down.

"Sorry Ladies and Gentlemen, we're going to park in an outside position today, and you'll be taken by bus to the terminal"

Inconvenient, yes, but forgivable.

Ten minutes later, standing still on the tarmac, the pilot's cheerful voice piped up again -

"I'm awfully sorry Ladies and Gentlemen, but we're having a bit of trouble getting to the parking spot, the directions given to us are a bit confusing"

Full marks for honesty. In this day and age, that counts for something, doesn't it?

Fifteen more minutes in the plane, and five chilly minutes on a ladder waiting for one bus to leave and the next to pull up up didn't change the Hatter's disposition in the least.

But it must be admitted, two boarding pass checks, one long line for a security check, and a train ride to get to a gate supposedly in the same terminal, and one mad rush to get from the train to the gate did cause the said disposition a bit of wear. When he got to the gate, huffing and puffing as hinted earlier, all of five minutes before it was supposed to close, the Hatter was willing to forgive and forget.

Willing, that is to say, until he saw the line for the second layer of security checks at the gate, where they were clumsily but cheerfully checking everyone a second time before they let them into the flight. Where he had to wait in line. Patiently. While they helpfully reminded him through the public address system that all passengers bound for San Francisco wouldn't do too badly to transport themselves aircraft-ward with immediate effect, and that was the last time they would be reminded to do so, so there.

On the bright side, there were about a hundred passengers in the same line bound for San Francisco, and the plane couldn't very well take off without them, could it? It didn't and he managed to board, about fifteen minutes after the gate allegedly would close.

At least they were a good sight more cheerful than the Germans. Not half as efficient at running an airport, compared to the rather simple experience of catching connecting flights at Frankfurt, but more cheerful. And much more entertaining accents, it must be said.

Thankfully, the flight across the pond wasn't too interesting. Including, that is, the two more indifferent meals served with a dollop of surliness by attendants who'd find a good alternate career modelling for "before" pictures of all kinds. And the fact that they were rather stingy with liquids. Also, their entertainment system had the same stuff as the previous flight. That's why one brings books and an iPod on flights, isn't it?

If you'd seen the Hatter standing in line for immigration and waiting for his baggage to arrive, you'd have noticed the slightest tinge of disappointment tinge his brow for a brief while, before the sights and the air of Silicon Valley claimed his attention.

...

A week later arrived the time to board the return flight back home. A sparse flight London-wards meant a few multiples of forty winks were caught, only to be rudely and physically interrupted each time by a stewardess offering coffee, lunch, dinner, or some-such. Never drinks, it must be said. Perhaps a do-not-disturb sign would have helped? Perhaps it was indeed naive of the Hatter to think that wearing eyeshades would provide a gentle hint that he was attempting to sleep.

Heathrow tested his patience again, what with all those boarding pass checks and security screenings, and whatchumacallems, and trudging what seemed like miles to gate 10, which was one level below others, having to walk down a non-functional escalator to get there, being bussed out to the aircraft again, and finally waiting on the ladder open to the elements in the chill of late winter while flight-attendants slowly directed passengers in front to their seats.

Then the delightful accents took over again, and all was well. The healing power of the British accent must never be underestimated.

This time, the stewardesses weren't like the ones on the previous flight. They were louder, ruder, physically seemingly more determined to shake passengers out of their stupor and subject them to a Chicken Tikka Masala that would make a grown Andhra-ite cry.

Note to self - never attempt to pair a Chicken Tikka Masala of British origin with a Bordeaux. The flavour of the Bordeaux gets drowned in the sheer loudness of the masala, not unlike a polite Frenchman at a boisterous Punjabi wedding would.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Bangalore International Airport"

Thank you sir, and I'm sure I'll miss that cheerful British accent. Cheerio and pip pip to you too.

And then, possibly the longest wait ever at the immigration counter at BIAL. All because BA handed out the wrong version of the landing forms. Just when one thought they couldn't make their brand of distinctive organization felt again ...

Thank you, BA, for an interesting experience. Not a dull moment. A bit of all right, one might say. If one may, may one suggest a new advertising line?

"Flying BA through Heathrow - the airline experience that builds character."

If the Empire were to rise again, it would be built not on the cricket fields of Harrow and Eton, but in the security queues of Heathrow.


All incidents, characters, airlines and airports mentioned above are fictional, and not to be confused with any airline or airport living or barely getting by on government support.