Monday, April 10, 2006

A SCOTSMAN'S EDUCATION


Ministers fly coach. That’s just the way it seems to be. For years, all the flying I did was in the back of the plane. It’s not a big deal. I’m short and I have very short legs so I’m rarely inconvenienced by the absence of leg room. The great thing about flying coach is there are very few decisions to be made. You get no choice of meals on the flight. No choice of movie. And your choice of Scotch is usually Johnnie Walker or J & B. I want to tell you about my education.

I was flying to Romania and the first leg of my journey took me to Heathrow on British Air. Upon arriving at the ticket counter I discovered they had overbooked the flight. I fully expected to be bumped to a later flight and was about to make a complaint that I would miss my connection in London when the lady smiled at me and said in what was the most beautiful British accent I had ever heard, “Sir, would you be willing to be bumped up into First Class?” It couldn’t have sounded better if she sang it!

I couldn’t believe I was the recipient of such a kind providence! I had so much room! There was a personal video screen and the choice of about a dozen movies. My seat lay back almost horizontally. I was given a menu from which to choose any number of great entrees. As I giddily familiarized myself with my new surroundings I was startled by the arrival of an older gentleman dressed in formal wear.

He spoke in the most cultured of Scots accents, “Good evening, sir. Welcome to British Air. May I get you something to drink?”

“Who are you?”

“I, sir, am your bar steward this evening. I’ll be taking care of your beverage needs.”

Taking care of my beverage needs? You mean I wouldn’t have to flag down a flight attendant? I wouldn’t have to climb over people to get to the back of the plane and carry my little bottles back up to my seat? I could get used to this.

In my most cultured voice I said, “Yes, thank you. I’ll have Scotch.”

The steward acted like he didn’t hear me and he almost imperceptibly shook his head and said, “Would you like whisky, Sir?”

“No. I’ll have Scotch.”

“Yes sir. Which brand of whisky do you prefer?”

Which brand do I prefer? Heck if I know. I don’t usually get a choice and if I ask for Johnnie Walker, all they have is J & B! I was starting to perspire.

“Johnnie Walker?”

Again, the smooth steward quietly shook his head just once.
“J & B?”

Another shake of the head.

I asked him, “What kind of whisky do I want?”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’ll be happy to get you a Glenfiddich.”

“Yes, a Glenfiddich, please. And could you make that a double?”

Head shake. “It will be my pleasure to bring you three fingers of Glenfiddich.”

“Yes. Three fingers of Glenfiddich. Thank you.”

“And how would you like your whisky, sir?”

Now I was really sweating. I was sure everyone was looking at me. I glanced around and could see that my steward was really very good at not embarrassing his customers. No one was watching.

“On the rocks,” I said confidently.

A slight shake of the head.

“Neat?” I wasn’t as confident this time.

Another negative head shake.

“How would I like my whisky tonight?”

“Yes sir. One Glenfiddich with a drop of water. Good choice sir.”

I don’t sleep on planes. I’m not sure why. I suspect I am subconsciously afraid that my mouth will drop open and I will drool all over my shirt. I’ve never been able to sleep. About half way across the Atlantic I got up and walked over to the steward where I received a first class education in Scotch whisky. It was a most enjoyable flight.

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6 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Did I ever mention that British Air upgraded us this past July to Business Class on our flight from LAX to London en route to Madrid? Man, that was the most amazing flight experience of my life! Sadly, it made the flight home back in coach more of a living hell simply by way of extreme contrast. I would swear that our flight attendant was the spitting image of Mrs. Doubtfire.

10:47 PM  
Blogger Smoking Christian said...

A couple of years ago, I got to fly to London twice on Brittish Air in Business Class. It's the only way to fly. I too found the accents to be part of the joy.

How did I fly such long distances without a smoke? One nicotine patch and the nicotine gum. If they made a nicotine hat, I'd wear that too.

10:55 PM  
Blogger Yakimaniac said...

A great story, well told!

It is similar to the time I took my bride to an expensive downtown Seattle oyster house. A lover of the bivalve, I thought it would be a treat to sample the Great Pacific Northwest’s finest fare. The menu was six pages of small print. I was amazed at how many different species there was to choose from and from so many different growing regions. Each variety had its own complex description of taste and palate sensation. I thought I was reading a wine list: “Strongly herbaceous with a hint of oak,” and such.

The waiter was cold, detached and very lithe. (I think he was a competitive hang-glider in his off-hours.)
I asked for his recommendation, which he gave.
I said, “Fine.”
And then I asked, “How are they cooked?”
He looked at me in stunned silence.
My bride turned a different color.
Finally he sniffed, “Sir, all our entrées are served raw in the shell. Perhaps you would like another minute with the menu.”

I ordered a hors d’ oeuvre.
My long-suffering bride wondered how she got lashed-up with such a bumpkin.

3:09 AM  
Blogger Shiloh Guy said...

Mr. Yak,

Grins and smiles! I love your comment! Worthy of a blog posting of its own!

7:06 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

While attending a small, Midwestern, non-denominational college I served on the Parents Weekend Committee. Our compensation was dinner at the 90-something floor restaurant in the John Hancock Building. Apparently in Chicago the further up you go the fancier things get. Anyway, after the food was blessed I grabbed a fork and started stabbing at the fruit cup. The waiter shook his finger at me and said very loudly "No, no, no, you use the spoon with the fruit." These are hard lessons for a young man just off the farm.

1:04 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

In my years(and years) of restaurant work and ownership in Santa Barbara, I earned my BBW degree. (booze beer and wine) Spikes Place a sports bar we owned had 100 plus beers from around the world. Once one finished drinking them all a plaque with your name was displayed on the wall. Earlier I held a management job at El Encanto Hotel on the California Riviera. I used to get calls from customers asking me in advance of their dinner reservation to decant sinfully expensive bottles of wine before their evening arrival. Hobey Baker's in Goleta was this GUBA girls' intro to the world of the 5 drink business lunch, Happy Hour and Clubbing. (This was 1978 after all) When I was the tender age of 21 a customer asked me for 'a slow comfortable screw against the wall'. I almost fainted and went straight to the bartender to have this customer kicked out.To my stunned humiliation I was handed a drink and told to return to this obnoxious customer and give him what he ordered.

I can still recall the tune we were required to memorize-
B
S
V
G
BR
R
T
This the specific order bottles salute you in the well of every bar.
SYS

7:05 PM  

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