I gave BA one final chance – this was a terrible mistake
A few months ago, I broke a promise to British Airways. Having previously sworn to all that is holy that I would never, ever fly with them again (their first transgression involved failing to transport me to Santorini in 2020 but charging me £550 regardless) I decided that I should perhaps give them another chance. It was the early days of the pandemic, I reasoned. Maybe the awful agent I spoke to had put their dog down that day. Perhaps it was a one-off. This is our nation’s flag carrier, after all. I wanted to like them.
What an idiot I was.
I was moving from the UK to Mauritius – requiring a 12-hour flight with our 16-month-old – and BA is among the only few airlines that operate a direct route. I don’t need to stress to you, reader, how abysmal a task it is to convince a toddler who has just learnt to walk that they must sit down and be quiet, even for a handful of minutes, let alone half a day. You’ve either had the misfortune to fly long-haul with your own tiny dictator, or you’ve been sitting near one.
So I went about the planning process with military precision, hoping to lessen the collateral damage for all involved, and frankly throwing more money at the problem than we could afford. I spoke to BA over the phone at length about tactics and decided that sleep was to be our best weapon.
We therefore booked a night flight, and instead of paying close to £1,000 for two tickets (his father and I, with Jasper on my lap) we coughed up £1,412 for three, so that Jasper could have his own seat; which, with the help of a popular device that turns economy seats into beds for children, would mean he could lie down.
It’s called the Stokke JetKids bedBox – a £180 kids-sized carry-on suitcase that essentially extends the length of the seat so that little ones can rest their legs on it. I told BA in depth about our plan and asked if we could have a bulkhead seat with a bassinet so that in case, for any reason, the BedBox system wasn’t working, we’d have back-up. No problem, the agent assured us, we would just call them 24 hours before the flight to book this row, which is reserved for families.
As instructed, we phoned the day before our departure. Contrary to BA’s earlier assurance, we were told that we couldn’t have this row after all. It was still available, they told us, but since Jasper had his own seat he wasn’t eligible. Fair enough, I thought. Thank goodness we had the BedBox. Cut to the flight. It was dinner time. Jasper was justifiably tired, bored and hungry, but he was hanging in there. His father and I were served our meal, but Jasper’s was missing.
“We don’t serve meals to under-twos,” the cabin crew informed us.
“But he has his own seat,” I pointed out. “It cost nearly £500. Does every seat not come with a meal?” Confusion ensued. The manager was fetched. Yes, it was determined, Jasper should indeed have got a meal, but they didn’t have one for him. I was annoyed now, and feeling stupid in the same way one does having returned to a philandering lover. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me, as the adage goes. Regardless, we shared our food with Jasper, set up his BedBox, fastened his seatbelt over the blanket and eventually got him to nod off.
I was no more than 10 minutes into my own slumber when I felt an ominous tapping on my shoulder. It was the cabin crew again, waking me to break the news that whatever we were using to enable Jasper’s sleep, it wasn’t allowed.
“It’s a safety hazard,” the lady insisted. My pulse at this point was reaching high altitude. I calmly explained that the only reason we had spent £500 on an extra seat for our son was so that we could use the £180-BedBox that was designed and sold for this exact purpose, and that this had been approved by the BA booking agent. More confusion. More conferring with the manager. The conclusion? Not only were we forced to wake Jasper and prop him upright for the rest of the flight, but the crew wouldn’t even remove the so-called safety hazard (approved by more than 50 airlines, I later found) from under his seat. So there it stayed, being perilous, our son’s legs banned from resting on it.
Naturally, I lodged a complaint upon landing and requested a refund on the basis that obviously, had BA told me at booking that they didn’t allow the BedBox, I would not have purchased the extra seat. This time, I assured them, I really would never fly with them again. After much chasing on my end, I received a response.
“As we make clear on our website, suitcases that convert into leg rests aren’t approved for use on our flights as they don’t meet our safety standards. If incorrect information was relayed to our customer ahead of their flight, we apologise for that mistake. Following an initial misunderstanding, the correct number of meals were provided to the customer on the flight. We have offered a £200 voucher as a gesture of goodwill given her experience fell short of her expectations.” An understatement to say the least.
To add insult to injury, they keep sending me automated emails to this day that read: “We’d like to understand how you’re feeling about British Airways.” I’ll tell you how I’m feeling, BA. In the past, you famously claimed to be the world’s favourite airline. This year, according to Skytrax, the global benchmark of such standards, you’re not even in the top 15 (Singapore Airlines, incidentally, is number one, and they approve and even sell the BedBox). Your customers do not have time to check your website’s small print after booking just in case your own agent gave them “incorrect information”. And I have no use for a voucher given that I would rather crawl through barbed wire than give you another penny in business. I hereby invite our readers to share their own verdict on your service. I suspect I’m not the only one who feels this way.
