An open letter to Richard Branson

Dear Richard Branson,

We never met, and here lies the very reason I’m writing you.

This past Saturday, December 19, I was booked on Virgin America flight 23 from New York JFK to San Francisco SFO. I had a First class ticket and was lucky enough that my departure was scheduled before a much publicized snowstorm shut down the airport. Everything was fine. Or so I thought.

As the media coverage of the imminent snowstorm declared it “an event of his historic proportions”, I gazed through the taxicab window looking for an indication of possible severe weather ahead. Despite the cold temperatures, the sky didn’t show any signs I should fear anything other than perfect flying conditions. But being a frequent flyer, I used that time in the back of the cab to get online and check in on my flight.

My mileage account may not be as wealthy as the one from George Clooney’s character in the movie Up in the air but I, like him, pride myself of keeping a distinguished airline status and sharp travelling skills. In previous years I achieved United’s prestigious 1K level. In 2009, despite travelling more than the required 100,000 miles, different itineraries required me to branch out to other carriers. As a result, my current status is Premier Executive on United and I have accrued miles on a few other airlines. Virgin America included.

In all honesty, I used to love Virgin (more on that later) but would give preference to booking flights on United for the unique reason of accruing miles (and taking advantage of the perks given to loyal customers). In 2009 I flew Virgin America a few times having accumulated a modest yet non-dismissible 14,380 miles. But despite always liking Virgin’s new, clean planes; the attentive, friendly service; the wifi-access; and even the quality of its food; little did I know that the dismal experience with the flight ahead was going to put a definitive end on my willingness to fly the airline. And, most importantly, my affinity towards the brand.

A couple of hours ahead of my departure time, still in the cab, I logged on to virginamerica.com to check in online. After entering my last name and confirmation code I received the puzzling message saying that the number had been canceled. No further explanation. So I called Virgin’s customer service. I was told the wait time was less than one minute. Not bad, I thought. For the next 30 minutes or so, the time it took me to finally arrive at the airport, I was kept on an endless automated hold. Never having reached a single agent.

With a discomforting feeling that something was wrong, I crossed the international terminal to find Virgin’s check in kiosks. After swiping my card, another error message. This time saying my check in was not possible. My last hope, a real agent.

With a puzzling look on his face the agent behind the counter took my driver’s license and punched a few numbers on his telephone. The conversation carried in hushed tones lasted a good 5 minutes and while I couldn’t make the exact words, I could tell something was wrong as he kept referring to me in the 3rd person; as if I wasn’t there, right in front of him. Finally came the news.

“You have been bumped from First class”. Confused I asked the simple question: “Why?” A question that, to my absolute astonishment, was never answered. I was directed to the gate agent that supposedly was going to clarify what had happened. Still with no seat assignment on a clearly sold out flight – remember, this was one of the last flights that got out of JFK before the airport was shut down due to the storm.

After waiting several minutes for the supervisor who would tell me the top secret reason for my downgrade, she arrived with an even more puzzled look than mine. “I’m sorry, she said.” But didn’t seem to want to dwell on the subject. So I asked again and again why was this happening? But no answer. Until she finally realized she had to tell me the reason. And then it came: “I’m sorry, all I can say is that it’s official business.”

Official business? I mean, seriously? After all the disturbing stress, insecurity and lack of information all I get is “official business”? What does that even mean??

A new boarding pass with a seat on economy class was given to me along with the promise that I’d be compensated with credit and a $350 voucher. Tired with all that had happened I took it and moved on to get this dismal experience over with. But I couldn’t help but feel utterly disrespected.

As I sat 2 rows back from First class, I could see through the transparent divider the man who took my the seat originally assigned to me. There he was, average build, short hair. Who is this guy? He’s clearly not the president – he is much shorter. He’s also not Richard Branson – no beard or British accent. So who is the guy that somehow deserves to take a first class seat from a paying customer with no apparent rhyme or reason? Then it hit me. He’s just someone Virgin (or someone from Virgin) thinks is simply more important than me.

Once I realized the company I once admired didn’t give a shit about me, things started to get clear in my mind. That’s just how it works. And in those terms, I will never be treated respectfully by Virgin. Nor will anyone that doesn’t have the privilege of being in this secret club of VIPs who enjoy the unique status of what I now refer to as the airline’s latest status level “Nepotism Plus™”. A level achieved by few, which includes benefits like kicking non-members out of First class so they can get their seats.

A few days have passed and I still haven’t heard a single word from Virgin about the compensation that was promised. In all honesty, I don’t think a mere 350 dollars would do any good in repairing my perception towards the brand. Not at this point. Hardly anything would. But it amazes me that even that was a shallow promise, probably only stated to get me out of the agent’s way.

It seems Virgin is turning into the DMV of airlines but unlike the government institution, which is honest about its lack of personalized care, the airline still wears the Stepford wife’s persona of always serving with a smile. Even if only for appearances.

What I experienced was an act of blatant nepotism. I felt outraged and disrespected. As a result, all the admiration I had for the brand was turned into a contempt I feel compelled to broadcast.

Long gone is the time when an unhappy consumer would tell 9 other people about their bad experience. Now, with the average social networker having 150 Facebook friends and 126 twitter followers, the damage is much greater.