The Devil's Kids Fly Coach

Anna Wintour, of course.

But we'll get to that.

First, our Heathrow adventure.

I admit it: I'm an angle-shooter sometimes when it comes to air travel. Look, traveling--even when comfortably ensconced in a forward cabin--can be a drag. So I've become a, shall we say, well-informed and savvy member of the flying public. Maybe too well-informed. I've learned many of the tips and tricks to making the trip as easy and pleasurable as possible. And I had two doozies in mind for this trip. First: use Virgin's double-super-secret premium security line. Second: lounge access.

So there Suzie and I were at Heathrow Terminal 3, yesterday morning. The flight was absolutely chockablock, and since Suzie and I had booked our tickets separately, our seat assignments couldn't have been further apart.

But we'll get to that.

Following check-in, I steered Suzie to Virgin's little-known premium security screening area, an oasis of calm tucked away from the main screening area, far from the traveling hordes. As coach travelers with no Virgin status, we had no basis for using the premium line, other than my feigned ignorance as a BMI Gold status holder. But we successfully sped through the premium security line nonetheless, avoiding the 45+ minute wait at the main security line.

My BMI Gold status may not have entitled me to use the premium security line, but it did give me a HUGE perk with Virgin: use of the Virgin Clubhouse, the swankiest airport lounge there is. But with a HUGE caveat.

But we'll get to that.

Okay, we can get to that: basically, my BMI Gold status gets me in, but I cannot bring a guest. Of course, I'm traveling with Suzie, and we're newly engaged, so no way I'm going in without her, right? Wrong. My angle-shooting luck came to an abrupt halt--the lounge reception desk would not allow an exception to the "no guest" policy. Despite my proffered willingness to forgo lounge nirvana, Suzie told me to go ahead, and she patiently sat at the entrance while I went in to (a) try to get us seats together and (b) gorge on food. Hey, she wasn't hungry anyway.

Short story long: after tucking into gravad lax, stilton and various other comestibles, I spoke with the Virgin VIP agent in the club about moving our seats together. I innocently let her know that I was newly engaged (thus the need for seats together), and that I had to leave Suzie outside since my status didn't let me bring in a guest. Well, as soon as the agent heard this, she immediately strode out the door and whisked Suzie in. WHICH HAS RUINED HEATHROW FOREVER. Why? Because the lounge is freakin' amazing, and Suzie loved it and will want to use it from now on whenever we're in London. And I don't think I can pull that off again...I'm an angle-shooter, sure, but not that good an angle-shooter.

Oh, and the seat assignments? The angelic agent called ahead to the gate and somehow they arranged to get two single passengers to move so we could fly together.

And the angelic agent? We thanked her profusely and next saw her later at the gate, escorting a VIP entourage that I was certain was Anna Wintour, her boorish husband and their two kids. (I know!...and I don't even read Cosmo!) Suzie, however, didn't think it was Anna Wintour. But after we arrived at JFK, while we were waiting patiently at baggage claim--right next to the Prada-ish Devil herself--Suzie changed her tune.

So how do I know that Anna Wintour's kids ride in coach? Because they were seated three rows ahead of us, and she only came back once to check on them.