“Something to drink, sir?” the stewardess proffered the silver tray. There was Champagne, orange juice or water. Bryan reached for the fizz. Drink in hand, he glanced out of the window of the 747 at the ground crew winding up the fuel pipe before settling back to reading his copy of The Times. He was at peace. “Excuse me…” the New York accent was loud and a little abrasive, “but you’re sitting in my seat”. Bryan looked up over his half moon reading glasses in the direction of the aisle. A large man, about fifty, heavily built and draped in a Burberry raincoat stared at him from under a shapeless hat. The man held a briefcase in one hand and his valise in the other. He looked like he meant business.
Bryan didn’t respond. Very deliberately he put down his newspaper on his lap and reached for his boarding pass – lodged conveniently in his shirt breast pocket. Ostentatiously he took it out and checked it. Inclining his head up in order to look down his nose through the half moon spectacles at the boarding pass, Bryan smiled politely. With the quizzical assuredness of one who knows he is in the right, Bryan showed his boarding pass to the the stewardess and then to the American. B21.
“This is ridiculous”, bellowed the American. “He’s in my seat – they gave me this seat at check in. My secretary booked this seat. I always have a window seat.”
The stewardess looked at Bryan’s boarding pass and at the one the increasingly irate American was brandishing in front of her face. ” This shouldn’t be happening”, the man pointlessly pointed out. “I guess I should expect it from British Airways.” He spat out the insult, letting the implication that no self respecting US carrier would make such a slip up. He rumbled on – now the centre of attention for all the other passengers who watched the unfolding saga over their magazines. “I have to be in New York for a very important meeting. It’s imperative I get there on time.”
Bryan remained calm. Possession being nine tenths of the law, he wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, however imperative this man felt it was for him to arrive in New York. The stewardess poured verbal balm on the situation and said to the American that she quite understood and that she was terribly sorry there had been a mix up.
“Mix up! Is that what you call it?” the American boomed. “Look, I’ve had about of much of this as I can stand. What are you going to do about this? This man is in my seat. I demand he vacates it. As I have said, I need…”
“…To be in New York for a very important meeting. Yes sir, I do appreciate that. ” Her face was a model of smiling charm. Her voice was the quintessence of British iciness. She turned her gaze onto Bryan and instantly changed from sub zero to radiant sunshine.
“I happen to know this flight is full so I cannot offer either of you gentlemen an alternative seat. I do apologise. Given this unfortunate situation, I have to ask if either of you gentlemen will give way and I will endeavour to get you on the very next flight leaving for JFK?”
The American was almost beside himself. “I already told you, I booked on this plane for a reason: I want to be in New York, I need to be in New York in the morning. ”
“Mr. Endrell?” she entreated Bryan with her eyes and gave him her most brilliant smile.
“Well”, began Bryan, ” I might be able to rearrange a few things if it makes things easier for everyone.”
“Oh, thankyou, sir”. The stewardess beamed. The American looked victorious.
“If you would like to start gathering your things, Mr. Endrell, just give me a moment and I will call Flight and see what we can arrange for you. Bryan folded his glasses and put them in their case. Slowly, very slowly, he collected his papers, his bits and pieces and started putting them away. As he did this, the large presence of the American businessman slowly simmered in frustration, impatient to get into his seat, which, apparently, was still so obviously occupied by this stuck up Brit.
The stewardess returned. “Mr. Endrell. Have you got everything? Would you like to follow me? I’ve got you on Concorde. “
Bryan rose from the seat. As he pushed out in to the aisle, he smiled at the American. “Enjoy your flight” he said.
You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. It pays to be nice. It pays to show grace. And you’ll probably get there quicker, too.