A word on flying United

Bill writes: During the medieval period, pilgrims journeyed their many wearying miles flagellating themselves in penance for sins real or imagined. To sustain themselves on their awful journey, they fed simply on such meager foods as they could forage. Today, this is called flying economy.

My own period of self-flagellation began with booking my ticket for our flight from London to California and back...

Me: I'd like to upgrade from economy.

Her: We don't like to use the term "economy." However, we could upgrade you from standard Double-Amputee Class to our slightly roomier Toulouse-Lautrec section for $100, or perhaps you'd prefer the plush Sunrise at Campobello service for $7000.

Me: Could I use my miles?

Her: Of course. Although certain restrictions apply.

Me: Such as?

Her: Blackout periods extend May through March, weekends, workdays, evenings, and travel to or from the Americas (North and South), as well as trips that overfly any land mass.

Me: OK, well I have 60,000 miles that I've earned by flying United.

Her: Did you fly them yourself?

Me: Sorry?

Her: These miles are only good if you personally piloted the craft. If someone else piloted the plane you were on, you can hardly expect to accrue miles for work performed by someone else.

To make a long story short, I settled for the Tolouse option, also called "Economy Plus" (the "Plus" referring to the extra $100 United made off me). The last time I had this kind of seating, I got the extra legroom, but lost the extra seat width, because--suprise--the armrest was fixed in place. However, I was smarter by now, and asked if I could raise the armrest to make the seating between Aline and me for comfortable. "Yes," the operator kindly assured me, I could definitely raise the armrest.

(By the way, Virgin Airlines has their own version of improved seating. When I flew them last month, I tried to get emergency exit row seating, as that has extra leg room. But according to the brochure the helpful Virgin woman (sorry, I know how that sounds, but it really does refer to the corporation she works for) handed me, the airline charges $85 for the "extended legroom" and increased odds of survival should you crash that emergency exit seating offers.)

So what did this extra $100 per ticket on United buy me? It's not that the legroom is greater, it's that they didn't shrink the legroom like they did on the rest of the economy class. OK, score one for United. Well, I thought to myself, at least I can raise the armrest so Aline and I can share the space. But as I pulled it up, the armrest stuck at a 45-degree angle, exactly parallel with my ribs as I reclined in the seat. The effect was to wedge the armrest between my ribs in much the same manner as a surgical ribspreader does to provide access to one's internals in open-heart surgery.

Here is a photo of the armrest at it's furthest retracted position:


At first I thought this must be a mistake, so I flagged down a flight attendant. "Excuse me," I said. "The armrest only goes back half way. Am I doing something wrong or is it broken?" (Naively thinking these were the two possibilities.)" "No," she responded. "That's the way they work. It's unfortunate, but they were designed that way." "Do a lot of in-flight open-heart surgery, do you?" I thought. But instead I asked only, "In that case, could you bring me a pointed stick for my other side, to sort of even things out?"