The former Envoy lounge at PHL. Fairly deserted at noon before the first leg to CLT.
I was lazy with pictures, and this PHL apron shot was the last one I took until Minsk. I'll briefly report that the C seats on the US 762 are underwhelming, but servicable, and that the former F seats on the A333 were quite comfortable, well padded, and able to accomodate my 6'1" frame and allow a few hours of wine induced sleep from CLT-LGW.
Now my plan on arrival was, since I had to pass immigration to check in for my B2 flight, use my US passport to enter the UK, then leave on the EI passport, thus ensuring no record of my travels to Belarus for Uncle Sam. Because obfuscation is clearly the best policy when it comes to travelling to politcally unsavory countries a a US citizen, unless you want "the treatment" upon your return. What I wasn't expecting was that the immigration officer I got at LGW was doing his best CBP impersonation and challenging my every answer to his questions. My plan was to say I was staying with my half-sister outside of Glasgow (she does, in fact, live there), figuring that would suffice.
It didn't. And led to this exchange, which contained no lies other than the initial "going to stay with my sister" lie:
UK Officer: What is your purpose for entering the UK?
Me: Going to see my sister who lives in Glasgow.
UK Officer: Where does she live?
Me: Right outside of Glasgow, Paisley.
UK Officer: What's her address?
Me: I don't know.
UK Officer: Well how are you getting to her house?
Me: She's picking me up at the train station.
UK Officer: Well how long has she lived there?
Me: I don't know, 20 years?
UK Officer: (incredulous) And you don't know her address?
Me: I've never been there and I haven't seen her in 15 years.
UK Officer: (incredulous) Why haven't you seen your sister is 15 years?
Me: Full story? Her and my father had a falling out when, in the process of his divorce with her mother, the mother and her wheelchair bound lesbian lover spread hateful lies about my father in an effort to drive a wedge between them, which ultimately worked and led my sister to move to Scotland for reasons I've never been told. The last time I saw her was at my other sister's wedding in 1997 when the only thing she said to my father and I was our first names as she walked by us.
All true. And not what the customs officer expected, because who makes that up? A chuckle, a stamp, and I was through.
After that fun, I fondly remembered the former US LGW arrival lounge I used twice back in college after, in true FT fashion, purchasing envelopes on ebay which, as a gift (T&Cs, you see), included two TATL upgrade vouchers. No shower on arrival for me during my four hour layover. I was relegated to the ServisAir lounge which was tiny, cramped, and whose only redeeming quality was the coffee/espresso.
LGQ-MSQ was served by a CRJ. Business class was...not worth it. Same seats, only difference between that and Y was the "meal" and the close proximity to the FA, who wore what had to be prohibited footwear the entire flight.
They were boots. You know those boots that just give you impure thoughts about the woman wearing the boots? Those kind of boots.
I had impure thoughts.
Finally at MSQ, my CRJ with a large number of IL-76s in the background. Outside temperature? 3F.
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