Airport in Sydney. Informed that due to being in a 747 instead of a 380, we have been downgraded to economy class. Couple of pissed off folks here. Anything I said nice about Qantas, I take back. Nice email sent to customer service, for all the good it will do. Her company will be refunded then difference, of course, but that will not help our asses or dispositions. Be glad that you will not see me when I get home. As it is, I feel like fighting with somebody. Anybody.

 

I hate ridin' coach. Only done 1st class on a 47. Never been on a 380.
How long is the flight?

 

A good opportunity to hit them up for some major air miles. Whenever I have an issue with an airline, I write them a strongly worded letter indicating the problems, highlighting why it's clearly their fault, then say for compensation I will accept x amount of airmiles credited to my acccount.

Costs them nothing, gets you off their back, and you can use the miles for a free trip.

my 2c.

 

I just want to know one thing.... martini... shaken or stirred?

 

i guess uall did nt get groped down under

 

save me some i am on the way up there

 

Shaken, not stirred.

 

Shaking upsets the crystaline structure of the ice, and sends small ice fragments into the vermouth, diluting it. Maybe that's the desired effect, I don't know.

I think we have to run some experiments.

 

My experience on the way to Sydney was quite the opposite (though I did have to once 'slum it' on a flight to NZ, where I was reduced to mere executive class). Scavenged first class tickets from sister-in-law....pacific transoceanic flight involved the terrible pressures of selecting proper timing of feedings of Grey Goose martiniis and caviar, teriyaki steaks, or hot fudge sundies....stewardii (yes, flight attendants...whatever) bundling us in prewarmed blankies, as well as furtive glances through the curtains at the sad proles in economy class.

Stepping off the plane, my OL was subjected to a real police state welcome. Her bundle of first class issued American roses were confiscated when the cute little uniformed beagle spotted her contraband...with the severe warning (from the customs officer) to not 'pet the animal customs officer'.

Christ, I wish I could travel that way forever....but being an average working class joe that I am....I'm normally stuck in the back with the coach smucks.

 

Your radical theories are the worthy subjects of experimentation, my civilized Canadian friend.