csutter

AA2314 JFK-BOS
B737 N834NN, First, Seat 3A

Editor's Note: This post was written in frustration and tiredness pretty much as it happened. Having slept over it, in retrospect it probably wasn't quite as bad. I have since been on two fantastic AA flights and in two great Admirals Clubs with immensely friendly and helpful staff.

I apologise in advance if this part of my TR comes across as overly negative. It took an immense amount of restraint not to launch into a foul-mouthed rant about this leg of my journey, because a) it was piss poor, b) it was piss poor and c) I'm slightly sleep deprived. But I digress, you're here to read rants not meta-rants.

The Airtrain is a glorified airport monorail that costs a whooping $5 to use if you board it at Howard Beach station. It runs every ten minutes, meaning that on average you'll wait nine minutes for your train, and serves American's T8 dead last.


After the subway and the Airtrain shuffle, this means I arrive at the premium checkin area at T8 only 90 minutes before my scheduled departure. I am one of three people in the whole area and it takes me eight minutes for me to get called forward. The mathematics behind this are left as an excercise for the reader. My bag is tagged (no priority label in sight) and a souvenir BP printed.

I make my way to the priority security queue which was really just a front to join the same queue from a different side while making you feel all posh and important because you walked past a sign with the word "priority" on it. Take my shoes off, go stand in the microwave, scrap my earthly belongings back out of the trays and shimmy to the lifts to the Flagship Lounge.


I am welcomed warmly at the Admirals Club reception, where after scanning my BP, scanning it again, swiping my BAEC card, swiping it again, puzzled looks, typing in the card number, typing it in again, and then typing out the first half of Tolstoy's "War and Peace" I am presented with a key card to the Flagship Lounge. Quite why that is necessary given there is someone standing in front of it anyway, plus another reception desk inside, I do not know.

Once inside the Flagship Lounge, I am interrogated by the angry dragon as to what on earth makes me think I am entitled to be there. It is not made easier by her being on the phone at the same time, and she bellows at the poor sod on the other end of the call while shaking her head, mouthing "do-mes-tic" and making hand gestures to the effect of "get the hell out of here before I set your a$$ on fire". I stand my ground, miming the internationally recognised hand symbols for "I am perfectly entitled to be here thank you very much" and gesture at the "ONEWORLD EMERALD" writing on my mobile BP. The dragon grunts "oh, you're a partner Emerald, fine then", rolls her eyes, and returns to her phone conversation.


I walk to the far end of the lounge, which goven its immense size takes the better part of four seconds, and look around in disbelief. This is meant to be the US's largest carrier's flagship first class lounge at one of the most important major world airports. It is no more pleasant, larger, or better equipped than a decent European BA outstation lounge like the Galleries in Brussels, with food options that make the Heathrow Galleries Club (!) lounges look like culinary paradise. The Concorde Room at T7 is already fantastic in its own right, but this place makes it look like a Michellin-starred 20-star luxury hotel and restaurant.


I have some pecan-crusted pork (okay) and lemon&chive sweet potato mash (what on earth?!). Add some chili for good measure (palatable). Head for the computers to print tomorrow's Air Canada boarding pass, eh. Decide the sucking inherent in this place is so deep and malignant it needs immediate amputation and wander back out into the terminal for a walk before my flight before depression gets the better of me.


I briefly consider buying some camping chairs and setting up my own lounge in the wide open space around the lifts. Call it the "csutter Club", sell access for $30 and make people bring their own food and drinks. Might just work. I take the lift back down to departures and admire the only redeeming feature of this entire setup: a lift button with the Admirals Club logo that lights up when you press the relevant floor button. Now that's awesome!


By the time I get to the gate, boarding is about to start and I am once again third to board the plane (this is really becoming a bit of a tradition) and settle into my front row seat 3A. Maybe they think higher numbers sound better, or maybe they're just really bad at mathematics, I guess I will never find out.


The seat is comfortable enough for the short flight, although the headrest is fixed and positioned way too low for me to, well, rest my head (unless it has a deeper purpose in life that I am unaware of). This may make me seem like a BA apologist but I fail to see how these seats are supposedly sooooo much better than European short haul seating with a blocked middle seat. In fact, I dare say you're probably sitting closer to your neighbour on AA - a non-issue on this flight as my whole row was empty.

On the epic taxi to runway 13R (this is JFK after all) I read one of my favourite books on my phone and start laughing so hard I segue into a coughing fit. The man behind me shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe he thinks I have Ebola. Think about coughing some more in his general direction for fun and giggles, but decide not to lest they get the CDC to meet me at the gate in Boston. Wouldn't bode well for future readmission into the USofA.


After takeoff, "drinks" "service" begins. Who knows what they have and I'm absolutely not in the mood for a game of "we don't have X, Sir" so I just ask for some water. The guy behind me receives nuts with his drink which I didn't. Maybe nuts are counterindicated for Ebola or the FA just hates me.

We land in BOS nice and early (yay!) after a short 40 minutes in the air and slam down so hard that 5F's phone becomes airborne, comes flying through the cabin, and lands at my feet. Turns out 5F is a deadheading AA Captain and we shrug in unison. Consider wagering him $5 to ask the pilots if we were shot down.


I make my way off the plane to baggage reclaim. There, I am rewarded for checking in my bag by having to wait 15 minutes for it to arrive dead last, and I crawl off to Terminal A for the walkway to the Hilton Boston Airport.

I will write about this hotel stay a bit later on in the TR as this is the first of two nights.