Text 6215, 122 rader
Skriven 2013-10-28 20:45:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: mileage running in F 387
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UA 422 RNO DEN 0545 0856 320 2B

A day of pretty flight attendants. On this leg ours was
rather Tina Feylike but perhaps a tad older (I am a sucker
for the bespectacled owlish or librarianish look); the one
in coach was a young blonde knockout.

I asked for hot water (for my congestion); it kept coming.

Surprisingly, breakfast was offered: it was a sort of
lazy server's amalgam of the two normal offerings, the
hot omelet plate or the cold cereal bowl. 

The usual horrid turkey sausage, a not so bad cheese omelet,
a strange jellylike starchy thing with broccoli embedded in
translucent goo, very snotlike though not really bad to
the taste.

A croissant, which tasted strongly of cheap margarine,
with strawberry jam and a pat of butter, clearly intended
to mask that nasty taste, but I didn't try and ignored the
roll after that one first experimental nibble.

Then Honey Nut Cheerios in a single-serving plastic bowl,
served in a porcelain bowl but without milk, plus a banana,
almost ripe.

Usually there's yogurt on both breakfasts; this time there
wasn't any, no skin off my nose.

Halfway through the meal Tina bustled by leggily offering
milk, squealing to all and sundry that she had forgotten to
give it to us the first time. I and my seatmate (a retired
obstetrician who appreciated the eye candy as much as I did)
both declined.

The guy across the way complained about the wi-fi. Tina
apologized and said there wasn't any, as they had to replace
all the wiring before it could be installed. Well, he said,
it's working all right, just wants to charge me $6.99. She
changed her tune. Okay, if it's working, good for you, but
it's $6.99. Even in first? Even in first. Last I checked the
guy was tapping away.

On the whole a nice flight except for some Rocky Mountain bumps.

On deplaning I got this dazzling smile, which made me appreciate
the friendly skies extra much. We'd landed half an hour early,
and the club was within sight.

UA 948 DEN IAD 1115 1634 752 6F

The computer still still didn't love me and had given me the
last seat up front, with limited recline, instead of the
one that I had reserved. It also showed 4F and 5F available,
so I tried for those. No luck. Ah, well.

Speaking of computers, I was told an hour early by this one
that it was time to go to the gate; turned out it was either
in the wrong zone or had misautocorrected for Daylight Savings.

Erring in the other direction, I hung around in the club with
a glass of Ten High, this city's free pour, until final boarding.
The gate agent greeted me heartily (glad, perhaps, that I hadn't
insisted, as we overentitled elites tend to do, on boarding
either completely first or completely last). I found a gaggle of
attractive FAs at the airplane door doing nothing but being
attractive. One, again assigned to coach, was again a total M
appeal type, with an ivory complexion and a way of moving that
you just dream about.

The first-class FA, almost as pretty, pouted when I refused a
predeparture drink. Changing the subject, I told her that she
looked cute in her new uniform (there are several new uniform
styles apparently, this one looking more office girlish and
less flight attendantly); my seatmate agreed heartily.

Towards the end of boarding, the attendants were pulling luggage
out of coach and storing them in unused forward bins. I was
impressed that they were bothering to accommodate latecomers in
this way - usually it's no overhead space? We'll tag it and put
it in the hold ... and next thing you know your pajamas are in
Ulan Bator. I guess it's to ensure an on-time departure, but
still it's a nice gesture.

And so we went off on time and relatively unruffled.

Postdeparture drinks as we arrived at 10000 feet. I asked for
a Courvoisier, which order was duly sent up front. When the
drinks came back, I discovered a double, and our FA explained
that she'd told the galley slave to pour me a double because
I'd said she was cute. I mused to my seatmate, what would I
have gotten if I'd asked for her phone number, and he said
"a pile of trouble." So much for being dashing and handsome
and young.

Lunch was a choice of beef chipotle burrito or chicken salad.
Actually, as I was the very last one asked, only the salad
was left, but our FA hinted quite strongly that if I made
a fuss someone would be made to cough up his or her burrito.
I didn't really care so said I didn't really care.

Good reports on the burrito, and I was almost sorry that I
hadn't used my elite muscle to try it.

The chicken salad was a green salad, mostly almost fresh
romaine, with lots of cucumber chunks and some carrot curls,
topped with three (3) 1/2 oz chunks of roast brined chicken
breast. Balsamic vinaigrette on the side in a little plastic
Conway cup. Underwhelming. Later, some sort of dairyful
dessert, ice cream perhaps, which I refused.

We landed almost early enough for me to try to catch the
3:40 bus; I thought better of it, though, and got the 4:40,
which didn't come until almost 5 - something about a marathon
closing many of the city streets. With good connections I
just made the 7:15 bus and arrived home to find my brother
feeling not so bad but quite delusional, which makes it tough
to communicate with him.
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