It strikes me that although we see “VIP” lounges and clubs all over airports, few of us know exactly what happens behind their closed doors. Back in the day when I was an infrequent flyer, I held hedonistic notions of wild orgies, alcohol binge fests and parties of ancient Roman nature.
Now that I’ve been spending some more time in airports, I recently decided to indulge in a Northwest Airlines Worldclub membership and I’d like to file this report from behind enemy lines:
It’s all true.
I just saw a tiger burst out of the women’s washroom, leap over a fresh seafood buffet and tear a CEO’s head (bluetooth dongle and all) right off, only to be stabbed in the face by a midget flight attendant. Right now we’re building a fire out of Toyota Management books for a fabulous shish-a-la-tiger dinner.
Or not. The truth is that it’s pretty quiet up here (the Detroit Worldclub is on the second floor, thank you). Business people wander in and out as if they’re sleepless ghosts, lost in a maze of luggage and partitions, CNN plays on a half dozen flat panel televisions and nobody really smiles at each other.
But hey, the snacks, booze and chocolate espresso are free, and I can log into my gmail and work accounts easily over the club wireless. So in the end, it pays off for me. If you’re ever in the same airport at the same time as me, let me know and I’ll bring you in for free.