It’s been a legend of sorts, how Singapore Airlines’ service is reputedly the best in the world. Throughout my wander years, I’ve always heard that the standard, against which other airlines are supposed to be compared, is the Singapore Girl’s.
So there I was on Christmas Eve, looking forward to experiencing that very reputation for myself, on my virgin flight with the airline—but things went awry even before I took the flight.
I was checking in, and the amiable-enough clerk named Mac took my ticket and, after just a couple of minutes, smoothly handed over my boarding pass. But, hold on—wasn’t he going to first ask me my seat preference? Not wanting to make a scene this early in my vacation (I usually reserve that for the latter part of my trips, right around when I get tired and ornery) I asked him politely where he had assigned me. Good thing I did, because with nary a sign of remorse or apology, he straight away informed me I was given the choicest seat on the plane—a middle seat, right between two strangers I would have to suffer through for the next four hours.
I gave him a thin smile, and replied, with all the gravitas I could muster, “Move me.” Which, to be fair to Mac, he did, but meanwhile dark thoughts were already gathering around my nimbus. Aren’t you supposed to ask me first where I want to sit? And even if you don’t ask me, couldn’t you at least give me a nice surprise by giving me a great seat without me having to ask?
Maybe I’ve just been spoiled by my flag carrier (and God knows I bitch enough about it), but this experience wasn’t starting out well. Next up, time to board the plane. Pretty straightforward, things are more orderly than the usual Filipino panic that comes from the deep-rooted Pinoy fear that the plane’s going to leave without the passengers. On board, the Christmas cheer was evident, with Christmas boughs sprinkled throughout the cabin. Aw, isn’t that nice.
I made my way to my seat, settled down, and tried to make myself comfy. Hmmm, too much Christmas, I think. It’s way too cold. At some point during the flight, I ask for a blanket, but the flight attendant I speak to apologizes and says there are none left. She asks me matter-of-factly, as if she’s doing me a favor, whether I’d consider using a used blanket as an alternative. Say what? A used blanket?
I grimace, and I shake my head frantically. No, not a used blanket! I pull my hoodie around my head, never mind if it makes me look like I came from Jayzee’s ‘hood. Then I get a bright idea – why not ask another flight attendant, who might know where some secret stash of blankets lies? So I did, and surprisingly, the second attendant whisks of in pursuit of a blankie. My hopes were immediately up. And dashed.
Two minutes later, she’s distributing blankets left and right, and to my horror, I realize, the blankets aren’t encased in plastic. Eww, they’re obviously not the freshest, and she’s not even telling the passengers they’re already used. I receive mine gingerly and let it drop surreptitiously down my legs. Meanwhile, other passengers are snuggling into theirs, not knowing they were being intimate with total strangers. (Note to self: For the next leg of this vacation, still on this same airline, ask for a blanket immediately, and make sure it’s encased in plastic.)
By the way, Philippine Airlines stopped giving blankets to the poor cattle in economy class, unless one admits to being sick. In these days of swine flu, admitting to sickness can be quite dangerous. So you either freeze, or admit you have a condition that just might get you booted out the plane. What is it with airlines and blankets nowadays?
Well, at least my feet are warm.