Sully and I have a bit of a history with the Air Canada agents at the Charlottetown airport. It all dates back to once upon an Easter holiday (I believe) after both of us had consumed way too much food over too short a period of time.
The long and short of the story is a particularly ornery service agent took issue with the size and weight of my dog (who, admittedly, has always been just on the border of the size of animal allowed to travel in the cabin). He was the right weight on the way to PEI, but while there he had gained 5 lbs.
With less than an hour left until the plane was to leave, I was told he was NOT allowed on the plane, and the lady basically told me I was screwed. She said I wouldn’t have enough time to go buy a kennel to check him, and she wasn’t about to allow him on board.
Anyway, after much drama, she finally decided to let him on board if I bought an Air Canada-issue kennel at the low price of $80 dollars.
Ever since I get a little bit anxious leading up to any flight I take with the pup. I put him on a strict feeding diet so that he’ll meet the weight requirements, no easy task after a week or two with the parents.
My mom’s parting words to me before I went to bed last night was “If you see that lady at the counter, avoid her at all costs. Run. Away.”
Easier said than done.
This morning as I wound my way through the check-in line, I spotted her. I had a one-in-five chance that she’d be my agent.
I won the jackpot.
I considered faking a “my phone is ringing, you go ahead of me” but decided to suck it up and accept my fate.
In my tried and true way, I was ultra friendly and tried to make her like me. She struggled to process the payments for checking the dog on board and an extra checked bag. It probably took a good 15-20 minutes to get me through the line.
But she didn’t say anything about my dog. She obviously didn’t remember me (and with a last name like mine, that’s actually a bit surprising) and didn’t’ care how chubby my dog was (actually, we would have been fine — four days running the beach in Tignish did him good).
And to my surprise, as I boarded the plane, she passed me a new boarding pass with a smile, and said “I changed your seat. You’re in executive class!”
So I flew in first class from Charlottetown to Montreal. The seats are like La-Z-Boy chairs, that you can curl up in. You can get all the beverages you please (in real glasses, no less) and they feed you breakfast — for free. I even spread my whipped butter on my lemon-poppyseed bread with a real knife.
And the flight attendant smiled.
It was so refreshing.
Kind of makes me consider upgrading (if it didn’t cost an arm and a leg and my first born child) for future long-haul flights.
Those chairs were amazing.