Last Christmas, BTN Europe appealed to corporate travel professionals to
send in their stories of their biggest mess-ups as business travellers. We had
such a huge response that there wasn’t space to publish them all in one go, so
here's a second instalment, including a couple of stories of eminent travel managers’
spectacular slip-ups when arranging trips for others. Once again, our thanks to everyone who was a big enough sport to confess
to their least finest hours.
Unexpected mess-up in the bagging area
I was checking myself in at London Gatwick for a flight to Berlin when an
easyJet rep suggested I check my suit bag in too using the self-service
facilities. This seemed like a great idea to save me from lugging it around, so
I scanned the bag, stuck the label on and sent it off on the conveyor belt. About one second later I realised that, unlike my normal procedure, my
suit bag was where I had put my passport. Too late I lunged for my luggage only
to watch helplessly as it trundled off into the bowels of the airport. I did fleetingly
consider leaping on the conveyor belt and following it but quickly realised all
I could do was alert the easyJet staff. I finally got the bag back two hours later, but the flight had already
closed, so I had to fly to Hamburg instead, hire a car and drive to Berlin.
Luckily, I was working for a German car rental firm at the time!
Jason Dunderdale, head of sales, Blacklane
Auck-ward embarassment
My first venture into
business travel was as a travel consultant in a tiny office in Newcastle. One
of our customers called to ask me to book him a flight to Oakland, which I duly
did and sent him the confirmation. He flew all the way to Oakland before
realising that he was in the wrong destination – he had in fact asked to fly to
Auckland. We paid for a hotel, brought him home the next day and arranged a
free flight to Auckland shortly afterwards. I will say in my defence that he
spoke with a very broad Geordie accent and I was heavily pregnant at the time!
Nicola Dodds, travel manager
Source: AdobeStock
Busted flush (and a
flustered blush)
Back in the days when
meetings were held in weird and wonderful places I flew with a colleague from Paris to Stockholm,
from where we were supposed to travel onwards to the famous Icehotel in
northern Sweden. On landing, I couldn't find
my passport about me but, knowing I had definitely boarded with it, I decided
to disembark safe in the knowledge that eventually I would find it tucked away somewhere
in my hand luggage. However, just as I stepped off the aircraft, a
Swedish immigration officer arrested me, telling me I was being detained on suspicion
of claiming political asylum. As I was led away baffled for questioning, I
didn’t feel my case was helped by my colleague
loudly quipping that “if she wanted to claim asylum, she would have gone
somewhere warmer like Acapulco, not Stockholm.”
Anyway, in the
interrogation room, after some questioning, I was finally handed a very wet and
blue-stained passport in a plastic bin bag. It was mine. The officer
explained that when a plane lands, the grille under the toilet system is always
checked as people who want to claim political asylum hope that by flushing
their identity down the pan, the authorities won’t know where to deport them
to. My passport must have fallen out of my jeans back pocket when I was
“adjusting” my wardrobe. After I finally convinced
the authorities I had no intention of claiming political asylum, I was
released, but I still had to get through customs. When I was asked for my
passport, I held up the bag and explained where it had been and what had
happened. After a stern look from the officer, I was eventually waved
through. A stiff gin and tonic later, I had just about recovered my
composure when I realised I was going to have to pop on the Marigolds and clean
my passport in time for my flight home!
Miranda Robson, VP global programme optimisation, BCD Travel
5B or not 5B, that is the question
One Friday evening, back in the ancient times when I was a jet-setting
business traveller, I turned up last-minute at the usual gate at Brussels airport
for my weekly flight home to Milan Malpensa. The gate attendant was doing a one-person
juggling act, and only glanced at my boarding pass and ID before ushering me on
board with a distracted wave. I found my seat, 5B, and was just settling down when a dishevelled passenger even later
than me rushed in, pointed at me, and said, "Sir, you're in my seat!"
– "I doubt it,” I replied. “I've got 5B, just like my boarding pass
says". But, he insisted he also had 5B and whipped out his boarding pass
as proof. The other passenger called over the flight attendant, and we presented
our boarding passes for judgment. The flight attendant looked at both passes.
"Mr Simontacchi? Seat 5B? Your seat is on the Brussels to Milan Malpensa
flight. This is the delayed Brussels to Rome Fiumicino flight!" I only had
time to sink my face into my hands for a couple of seconds before gathering my
belongings and taking the walk of shame off the aircraft.
Corrado Simontacchi, independent consultant and associate partner, DOBILO
Front-row view
I once had to fly from the
UK to Sweden via Copenhagen with a very tight layover. The first leg was
delayed, so I had to sprint for my connection through Copenhagen airport in a
heavy coat while clutching my cabin bag. The corridor to the gate seemed to
grow longer the faster I ran. Finally I reached the gate,
gasping for air, tomato red and shall we say, glowing heavily. Given my
appearance, I was beyond relieved to remember that I'd checked into the front
row and could slip into my seat largely unnoticed. But then, crossing the
tarmac, my heart sank: it was the only plane I have ever boarded where the only
door is at the rear. Panting and sweating, my luggage and I had to do the walk
of shame past an entire aircraft full of impatient passengers who knew exactly
who had delayed them. Moral of the story: if the front row is fully available
when you check in, there's a good reason why!
Emma Eaton, commodity manager, Siemens
Source: AdobeStock
I’m with celebrities and
I can’t get them out of here!
Many years ago when I was
still a callow travel agent looking after the entertainment sector, it fell to
me to organise a plane full of 120 celebrities travelling to Portugal for the opening of a
restaurant. It was for Richard Shepherd, chef and co-owner of Langan’s
Brasserie, which was very much the “in” place at the time. We’re talking
Michael Caine, Roger Moore, Ronnie Barker level – folks who patronised Langan’s
heavily and were friends of Richard. This being pre-9/11, we received
clearance from the local police chief to skip formalities like passport control
and immigration so that on landing at Faro the guests could disembark straight
on to coaches taking them to their hotel. All I had to do was gather all 120
passports from the celebs and wave them in front of an official who had been
given his orders. The plan was to store the passports in the hotel safe and
return them to their owners after everyone had again been waved back on board for
the flight home.
On the day of our return, everything
was fine at the airport and all the celebs took their seats to await take-off.
I then heard the unmistakable voice of Ruby Wax, who was sitting behind me,
ask, not loudly but certainly audibly to her companion, “Do you think we will
get our passports back when we get to London?” Fighting an urge to be
physically sick, I said to my colleague next to me, “@&%*, we’ve left those
passports in the safe!” As coolly as I could, I stood
up and went to the captain, told him what had happened and asked if he could
get a message to the hotel (this was the 1980s, so there were no mobile phones).
He duly obliged but then we had to push back from the stand to hit our
departure slot. The captain taxied around the airport perimeter until the
hotel, having retrieved our passports, drove them straight on to the airport tarmac,
a ladder went up against the plane and they were passed to the flight deck!
Tom Stone, director, global travel procuement, Sony Pictures Entertainment