Standby for Free

Want to know how to make it from downtown Chicago to downtown DC in less than four hours door to door? Fly standby.

In these days of fees for everything from advance itinerary changes to emergency row seats to cabin upgrades, it may surprise you to know that you can still fly standby for free. It certainly surprised a group of travel writers with whom I was recently sharing this tale.

I have this annoying tendency of getting places way too early. That includes the airport. So, on a Sunday morning, I found myself at Washington National Airport (DCA) two hours before my flight to Chicago However, there was another flight to O’Hare in just 55 minutes. Since I only had carry-on, I wanted to take a stab at getting on the earlier flight. Fortunately, a ticket agent assisted me through the steps needed to do so on the check-in kiosk.

Here’s how it works. First, you check in for your original flight, which is confirmed. At a certain point, after rejecting all of the options the airline gives you for paying extra for specific seats, you can opt to fly standby on an earlier flight. The choices are listed on the screen. You touch the flight you want and a boarding pass prints with both your standby status information and your confirmed flight information (you need to print a separate boarding pass for the confirmed flight). Get to the gate on time, and assuming there are seats, you are on your way. You can also do this when checking in on-line.

So, how did I make it from the Loop back home in four hours? By knowing the standby trick. I left my hotel at 11:30, took the CTA train from the Loop to O’Hare, and arrived at the airport at 12:18. My original flight was scheduled for 2:25 (which was likely to get delayed, as storms were developing on the East Coast). There was an on-time departure at 1:05, but I thought catching it would be impossible. I had to get from the CTA train stop to the ticketing area (a lengthy journey, which included an uphill climb on a non-working escalator); press the correct buttons in a speedy manner at the nearest check-in kiosk; get through the security line; and then make it to the gate in less than 35 minutes. That may be an easy thing to do at a smaller airport like DCA, but O’Hare is a behemoth. But guess what? I arrived at the gate area just as they were calling my name for standby approval, and I boarded the plane five minutes later. After a bumpy 90-minute ride, I arrived in DC and somehow managed to perfectly time all of my Metro connections. Travel time from DCA home (including the walk from the Metro station to my condo): 35 minutes. Total travel time from downtown Chicago: Four hours on the dot.

The moral of the story: If you absolutely, positively don’t have to get to your destination earlier than expected, don’t pay to change your reservation. Instead, get to the airport early and try standby…especially if you are traveling a route where a flight takes off every hour or two. True, standby seats may not be available. But then, it’s just a matter of going back to Plan A.

A second moral: The total cost of taking public transportation to and from the airports in both cities, round-trip, was $8.20. Carbon footprint: Baby feet. Four cab rides would have cost at least $115. Carbon footprint: Shaquille O’Neal times four.

Here's the WUSA-TV packing segment in living color. Enjoy.




If the footage does not pop up, please go to http://www.wusa9.com/ and type Laura Powell Travel in the search box.

Laura on TV

Given all of these baggage fees, a gal (or a guy) can always use a few tips on packing light. And who better to give said tips than the moderator of The Daily Suitcase? BTW, if anyone knows how to control the sound on the clip, please drop me a line!

Presidential Properties: The Jefferson Opens in Washington

Well, by George, after a two-and-a-half-year overhaul, a classic hotel reopens in the nation’s capital today. The hotel has been redesigned to make guests feel like native Washingtonians, even though the property is actually named after Thomas Jefferson. The Jefferson Hotel, in honoring our third president (and our first secretary of state), sports Jeffersonian touches throughout. Suites are themed according to the wide-ranging interests of America‘s first Renaissance man (oenology, agronomy, cynology, lepidopterology); 18th century maps on the walls of the bar trace Jefferson’s wine travels through Europe; and original documents exhibiting Jefferson’s John Hancock dot the facade of the lobby.

But even non-historians will enjoy the Jefferson treatment. During my pre-opening stay, I experienced several unique features which, IMHO, are big selling points. To wit, there’s free Wi-Fi everywhere. That, my friends, is a rarity in the luxury hotel realm. There is no iron in the room. Why? Because the hotel will press a suit or a dress for free. Need a quiet place to catch up on reading or to host a clandestine meeting? The main floor is filled with charming nooks and crannies where guests can enjoy quiet privacy without being confined to their rooms. The hotel also has a spa which offers a number of specialized vinotherapy treatments reflecting Jefferson's passion for the grape.

Now, room rates are in the $500 neighborhood, so the property is not for the pecuniarily pinched. However, for the guest who might otherwise stay at The Mandarin Oriental or The Ritz-Carlton, The Jefferson offers a convenient and relaxed downtown option for visitors to Washington.

Maid Too Much Order

Today, I would like to discuss one of my pet peeves--that being the anal retentive housekeeper who takes it upon herself to rearrange a guest's goods for no apparent reason other than her own aesthetic pleasure. Said circumstance most recently occurred to me during a stay at the newly-renovated Jefferson Hotel in Washington, DC (highly recommended--see tomorrow's post). However, by no means is this lovely property the sole offender. Indeed, the practice seems to occur in many luxury hotels. This pattern leads me to believe one of two things--luxury hotels hire housekeepers with OCD, or the powers that be actually train the housekeepers to move every toiletry left on the bathroom counter onto a washcloth. Regardless, I, the guest, don’t want the housekeeper touching my personals, especially when you consider where her hands have previously been.

In the most recent circumstance, I had, on the bathroom counter, carefully placed my toothbrush and accompanying paste in a glass cup. My make-up, floss, lotions, and potions were either in or adjacent to an open cosmetics bag. There was also a pair of (clean) underwear taking part in the countertop action. Parenthetically, I will note that I do not usually leave clean underwear on the bathroom counter, but with limited items to unpack, I didn’t bother with drawers.

At any rate, none of said items were in the middle of the counter, nor in the way of a proper cleaning of the area. Yet, when I returned from dinner, there were my toiletries and my underwear (the latter neatly folded), sitting like a sanitary little family lounging on a pristine white washcloth.

Lest you say, come on, Laura, give the maid a break…she was just trying to keep everything clean, I will ask you, why did the fastidious factotum (look it up) also choose to move some loose change, a bottle of vitamins, and my cell phone from the coffee table in the living room to the valet stand in the bedroom? Such a move could easily have resulted in leaving said property behind.

In fact, I have had friends report losing items after a hotel housekeeper unilaterally decided to rearrange a room. In the most extreme case, one well-traveled colleague reports the housekeeper actually unpacked her suitcase and put items in closets and drawers. Lost in the shuffle--a pair of glasses and a favorite sweater.

So, to the overzealous housekeeper, I say do keep it clean, but please do not disturb.

Airlines Board the Twitter Express

To celebrate my long-awaited arrival on Twitter (http://twitter.com/dailysuitcase), a post about how airlines are using the service to chirp out to customers.


Just as the early bird gets the worm, the Twitterer gets the early word when it comes to amazing airfare deals.

To wit (or to twit?), JetBlue posted its first cheep last month. The deal: $9 one way from JFK to Nantucket. Since then, JetBlue has been notifying its Twitter followers about deals for upcoming weekends on Mondays. There is a little-noted catch, however. Most cheep dates are one way. Sure, they'll get you to Nantucket for nine dollars, but if you want to get back to NYC, you'll probably end up paying a full fare on the return flight. That's the problem with tweets--no space for the fine print.

Meantime, United is offering twares. The Twitter-only fares are randomly timed and randomly located. Whether by tware or by cheep, customers have to act quickly if they want to snap up these so-called bargains. And, to take full advantage of these deals, you have to be spontaneous, flexible, and somewhat of a Crackberry.

Of course, many airlines still offer last-minute fares by e-mail (how retro). While the discounts are not as steep, e-fares tend to have a longer booking time (a few days versus a few hours) and a wider range of destination options.

Announcing cheap seats is just one way airlines are employing Twitter. The smart ones are shifting the focus of their Twitter accounts to relationship building, using the service for real-time customer service. Airlines are using Twitter for frequent flyer outreach, to notify customers about flight delays, and to provide a head's up about Wi-Fi availability on selected planes (Alaska, Southwest).

Meantime, part of the beauty of Twitter is that it is not a one-way street. Customers can have their say. Bags lost at the airport? Tweet Southwest. Encounter a smarmy customer service agent? Tweet JetBlue. Stuck on a tarmac? Tweet Continental. On second thought, given the events of this week, good luck with the latter.

Suddenly Seeking Silence: A Philippic for Plane Passengers

Here's the thing I like about Southwest. You can strategically pick your seat. If you are in the A or B boarding zones, you can usually avoid sitting next to screaming babies, malodorous adults, and other beings offensive to one's senses (while at the same time keeping an eye out for hunky men with washboards abs). And so, upon boarding my 5 and a half hour flight to LAX, I, as B5, was somewhat free to choose a relatively delightful seat. I spied an aisle seat at 14 C. The window seat was taken by a woman whom I assumed was traveling alone (but you know what they say about assuming), as the middle seat was empty. I made a comment to her about our strategic seat selection, and she concurred, happy that no loud babies were nearby. As I settled in, I noticed her wave. Apparently, she wasn't traveling alone, but her companion had been in the C section. I experienced a pregnant pause, pondering the possibility of moving back to Seat 15 D (an aisle next to a mother and her teen-age son, seemingly umbilically attached to an iPod). But, I decided to carry my initial decision to term. Oh, baby.

I soon learned that while both woman were quite the Chatty Cathies, Window Seat had the added bonus of a foul mouth. It was F**King this, and S**TTY that. Apparently, I was cursed.
The conversation never ceased. In retrospect, seeing that the reading material of Window Seat consisted of the Clinton wedding issue of People, and that of Middle Seat was some awful piece of chick lit, I should have realized that they were unlikely to stop talking to, say, read for a spell.

But I tried to, I also attempted other tried and true techniques for hinting to neighbors that I was looking to acquire a piece of momentary peace and quiet. I started typing madly on my Netbook. I feigned sleep. I endeavored to focus on my reading material. Bupkes.

Next, I attempted the deep sigh; the muttering under my breath; and the turn of the head, followed by the evil eye. Finally, I went for the finger. No, not that F**King finger. Rather, I leaned forward on my tray table and put my index finger in my right ear, demonstrating an attempt to create a noise dike between the two woman and me.

The only time I would notice the slightest break in the gabfest was when I started putting pen to paper (my computer having run out of battery hours ago) to vent my thoughts (replicated here) about the sad situation in which I found myself. Maybe, in some way, my written thoughts were seeping through (it certainly couldn't have been a glance at said writing, entitled in large letters NON-STOP CHATTER, largely because my penmanship is illegible to nearly all). Anyway, I did notice this phenomenon several times. I would write; they would shut up. Ah, the power of the written word.

But alas, it was not to be. Minutes after putting down my pen, they were yakking it up...again. After four hours, the conversation started repeating itself. And toward the end of the flight, when a baby five rows away did start screaming, they felt the need to babble on about the noise. Oh, how I wanted to turn to them, my middle finger now in my ear, and say, "Really? What I just went through the last five hours was far worse than any crying baby." But I figured said comment would merely provoke Window Seat to tell me to "F**K off."

My next thought was to tell them I was working on, in the wake of the infamous JetBlue not-so-straight chuter, a piece for the New York Times about obnoxious passengers. Instead, as soon as the signal dinged that we were free to stand and roam about the cabin, I jumped out of my seat and ran as many aisles away from the clamor as possible.

Dear reader, if you would like to contribute a moral to this story, please chime in. But quietly...