Chase A. Wolf's

Singapore skyline

      Chase’s Log 02.28.10.  I LOVE Cathay Pacific airlines!  Apparently, the Gods of Air Travel  have lost interest in my humble self, and have moved on to torment some other luckless soul.  Maybe.  Hopefully.   

     En route to Singapore, I checked in at the Bangkok airport without a problem – no luggage or security issues – and was offered an upgrade to Business Class.  Why certainly, I replied.  A pass to the Business Class Lounge to hobnob with the swells?  Why not?   

Construction and cranes everywhere

      Cathay Pacific – in their great wisdom – appears to have a policy of filling their empty Business Class seats just before takeoff with loyal customers – like me!  Other, lesser airlines – and you know who you are – will leave the luxurious Business Class seats empty but continue stuffing the sweating proletariat into dank little sausage seats better known to most of us as “Economy Class” or “Coach.”  And what’s the point of that?  Okay, so they save a little on the Osetra caviar and fois gras – but how does that really compare to the loyalty of their customers?     

Singapore

      I settled into my wide, cushy seat, asked for a pillow and extra blanket, and pondered my good luck.  Of course, Home Office would just tell me to brace myself for the equal amount of bad luck ahead needed to balance out the universal equations of travel – but I decide to live in the moment and ignore Home Office’s chattering in the back of my head.        

From the Hippo tour

       Without even being aware of takeoff, I awoke with a start as a smiling flight attendant politely asked me to bring my seat up – we were already on final descent into Singapore.  I’d slept through the whole flight and missed my complimentary Swedish Message!  Damn – Home Office was right after all.       

     Debarking in Singapore, I was quizzed by an officious little immigration agent demanding to know my name, date and place of birth, reason for visiting Singapore, where I was staying, the last time I listened to Abba, my favorite Meg Ryan and Charles Bronson movies – weird – that sort of thing.  For a moment I thought of just giving my name, rank and serial number as a joke, but with my highly developed instinct for self-preservation, I suspected that my brand of humor wouldn’t be appreciated by people who work in a room festooned with big red signs saying things like: “Drug smuggling of any type is a death penalty offense,” and “Offenders will be violated” – or something like that.  So I smiled submissively and provided the required information without elaboration. Read the rest of this entry »