I took the last flight back from Istanbul, Ataturk Airport to London’s Heathrow. The Ataturk airport seemed empty, well it was Saturday night, not a high demand period. I wondered what would happen on this flight.
I went to the departure lounge with some time to spare, so I wrote the blog English Course – My last day with them and nearly missed the flight as for once they did not announce the departure over the public address system.
Boarding the aircraft, which was not full, I walked up the isle, and knew that someone else was sitting in MY seat. It was mine, I had booked it earlier on the internet, 12A wing exit so I had lots of leg room, and the youth sitting there pretending to be asleep. Not for long, a quick tap on his shoulder, and showing him my boarding card seat allocation. He protested that he was in the correct seat, but I stood my ground, no language from me, just pointing at my ticket and the markings above his head.
Loads of thoughts raced through my mind:-
“If he was in the right seat, and we had been double booked as happened before, they may upgrade me to Business Class, but too many empty seats for that, and I want a window seat, and he was in mine, I want my seat.”
I stood my ground. Noticing that the seat in front was empty, 11A, narrow and someone in 11B. He was not happy, but neither was I.
I stood my ground, I had paid for the flight, I chose my seat early’ and I have a Gold Elite frequent flyer card. I want my rights.
Eventually, he admitted defeat, stood up and moved to his allocated seat, looking around as he went for another seat he could claim. The man behind smiled and said that I was smooth in way of moving him.
As the meal was being served, I pondered what would be available, as the gentleman in the isle seat got a special meal early, perhaps a vegetarian. I decided I would have a white wine, after all the hard work I had been doing over the previous two weeks I deserved something special.
The trolley got to my seat, and the flight attendant looked at me and started to move away as I caught her eye. She said why didn’t I want a meal? My reply was that I had not been offered one, yet. There was not one left in the trolley.
Frantic signals were exchanged between her and other flight attendants, eventually producing a meal, but I had no choice. What ever it was it tasted of chicken. Nothing different from all the other meals. Click to see other meals.
