I travel a lot, so once in awhile I get special perks like upgrades to first class. (Sara and I, incidentally, are becoming very used to flying first class, which is a problem when we have to sit with the plebes back in coach.)
Anyway... Despite my hoity-toity travel experience on American Airlines (my airline of choice, mostly because they treat frequent travelers like me pretty well), I'd never been inside one of their Admiral's Clubs. Today was the first time, and this is my report.
We got into the Admiral's Club in the first place because I was flying on a full-fare first class ticket. Of course, I didn't actually plop down $2500 for a plane ticket from BOS to LAX, but apparently tickets purchased with miles count as "full fare."
[This, by the way, is a chance for me to point out the fact that virtually no one actually pays full-fare for first class tickets. On any given flight, the vast majority of the people sitting up front are doing so because they (a) are an elite frequent flier who got upgraded; (b) flying somewhere having used frequent flier miles to purchase the ticket; or (c) they're sitting in their seat having used tickets pre-paid for by their business, an arrangement that gets the business certain financial incentives (like the ability to hop on a plane with very little notice), but also gets the fliers full-fare tickets that are easily upgraded. The point is, a very small percentage of people in first class are actually "first class" people who paid "first class" dollars. Most of them are just people who have to fly a lot for their jobs. But I digress...]
Getting into the Admirals Club in the first place was a pain in the ass. Several months ago, AA sent Sara a coupon that entitled her to a one day pass in the Club and $100 off the membership fee (which is $500/year or something like that). I think the idea is that AA saw that Sara was flying pretty frequently, and that maybe if she saw how relaxing and wonderful and great the Admirals Club is, she'd be willing to pop for the membership.
The pass expired at the end of April (and we forgot to use it when we flew to Chicago for Passover), but I brought it along anyway. I figured that I might be able to show a sad face to the Admirals Club desk attendant, explain that it was our honeymoon, and she might find some way to honor the coupon. No such luck. The lady looked at Sara's ticket (which, unlike mine, was a purchased coach-class ticket plus an upgrade to first using miles... the reason why her ticket was done this way is a blog post unto itself, though probably more boring than this one), and frowned. "The coupon's expired and you're not on a ticket that makes you eligible for the Club. Do you fly here a lot?"
"Actually, I fly quite a bit. Probably even more in the next year," I told her.
"Well, then you should think about buying a club membership."
The look on my face showed her that we were not Admirals Club type people, but rather normal people who were trying to use an old coupon to slide our way into the jet set lifestyle.
She said, "Sorry," then looked down at her computer screen and promptly began ignoring us. Sara stole a candy from the jar on the desk, and we made our way out, back to the manger where we came from.
Not twenty steps out the door, I hear someone calling me. "Mr. Barkin... Mr. Barkin..."
It was the desk agent from the Admirals Club.
"You didn't tell me that you have a full-fare ticket," she told me.
"I don't," I answered, incredulously.
"Well, if you bought your ticket with miles, you have a full-fare ticket, which entitles you to access the Admirals Club. Follow me."
So we did, and that's how we got to spend an hour in the Admirals Club. And what an hour it was!
First, we were entitled to free pretzels. They had this giant punch bowl full of them. There were at least, like, five or six pounds of pretzels. Also, we were entitled to free — self-serve, I should mention — lemonade, sweetened iced-tea (made from powder, I'm quite sure), coffee, and hot tea. There was a cash bar, where there were a number of tables, all occupied by people with laptops. Then there were several large rooms filled with furniture out of a doctors' office waiting room circa 1989. (And in one of those rooms there was a big-screen TV — a big, old fashioned big-screen, also circa 1989 — blasting CNN.)
[I should also note that there were two rooms full of little office cubicles where people who have serious business to do could hole themselves up with their laptops. I didn't avail myself of this opportunity, seeing as I was on my honeymoon, but they were there, and I presume that they're useful for people who can't miss a single second of work time.]
The place was miserably crowded, and at first Sara and I couldn't even find a seat in the section with the less-than comfortable chairs. Finally we did. I read a magazine. Sara read a book. Then we headed to the gate and boarded our flight.
So the point is this: I have no idea what kind of crazy person ponies up the money (or the miles — you can get a one year membership for about the same amount of miles as two domestic coach-class round trips) for this crap. I guess if you're someone who works from the road, it might be worth it to have your company pay for the membership so you can have some quiet office space in most major airports. But anyone else? I don't get it.
You're basically paying a bunch of money for the privilege of not sitting near the unwashed masses. That's all you're getting. You don't get food. (Okay, you get pretzels. But it's not like they had complimentary turkey sandwiches or eggs benedict or pea soup.) You don't get a beer. (Well, you can get a beer, but you have to pay for it, just like at the bar in the terminal.) It's not even that quiet, and you're not even guaranteed a seat. You get wireless internet (which Sara and I didn't get... only paying members get that, not freeloading first-class ticket holders or Platinum Amex customers), which I guess is nice, but it's probably a better deal to spend the money on a T-Mobile Hotspot membership, so you can get wireless in places other than the Admirals Club.
Before going through security, Sara and I had our last honeymoon meal in an airport bar/restaurant. We ordered a couple of drinks (which cost about the same as they would have in the Admirals Club, if not less... not to mention the fact that the bar had far more beers on tap than the Club did), ordered some fresh seafood (not an option at the Club), and had a nice time. There were several big flat-screens near our table, showing sports highlights or the news, or the financial scroll.
The Club had one ancient TV, two crappy beers on tap, and no food. Why would I pay for the privilege of sitting on a crappy, torn couch in there, when I can sit in this swanky new restaurant in the main terminal?
I can understand people paying for luxury if dropping a few bucks of their wealth buys them something that is actually a benefit to them. But paying to sit in an Admirals Club is basically just paying to sit around with a bunch of people who are all also paying for the same thing. That's all it really gets you, and that doesn't seem to me like much of a privilege. It sounds more like a waste of money.
I'm not much of a metrosexual, and I'm not one of those guys who spends way too much time grooming himself (except for the fact that I take long showers, and I often get distracted making faces at myself in the mirror).