There is no wheeze our columnist Richard Tams hasn’t seen by passengers attempting to blag a better seat.

In the days before airlines used clever algorithms to select candidates for that elusive cabin upgrade, it was left to the discretion of the airline duty manager to bestow such an honour on a favoured passenger. I’m not saying that it was a free for all, but in those days, as a passenger, it was always worth asking, and many did.

So what could you do to single yourself out to the check-in agent as someone who would not look out of place perched on a business class seat; as someone who could hold their own in that hallowed space that is first class? In my younger days as an airport manager, I came across just about every trick in the book when it came to blagging an upgrade. From the clever and unintended to the mean and the downright dishonest ploys, I’ve seen them all.

Most common (and so unimaginative) was the medical ailment trick. This tended to centre around chronic back pain, hip replacements and bad knees. All of these complaints seemed to call for extra legroom and unlimited champagne as a cure-all.

Hardened by experience, I have to confess that in the face of such claims I did tend to treat customers as healthy until proven unhealthy. The amateur theatrics employed by some people to evidence these medical conditions were often extensive and frequently amusing, particularly when the passenger in question seemed to forget which of their hips had been replaced as they hobbled forlornly away from the check-in desk.

Smoking gun

One of the meanest tricks I experienced in my years on the front line was in the days when smoking was still allowed on an aircraft. A passenger rocked up to check-in and explained loudly and rudely to the Korean agent that she needed to be allocated a smoking seat on the 15-hour flight from Seoul to London via Hong Kong as there was no way that she would be able to last all of that time without a dose of nicotine. The agent duly found her a smoking seat and the passenger departed.

When the time came to board the fully booked B747 aircraft, I happened to overhear the same passenger at the gate abusing a different agent. She was declaring, in a tactically loud fashion, that there was no way she was going to get on the plane unless she was removed from the smoking seat that she had erroneously been allocated. She abhorred smoking and was immovable.

Observing this, I concluded that her violent change in preference was not being driven by a Damascene conversion to non-smoking but an assumption that our only option to resolve this problem with a fully loaded aircraft would be to move her into Club class.

She was absolutely right that this was our only option; however, she was wrong to assume it would be her that would be moved forward. I had great pleasure in upgrading an elderly Irish nun who was only too happy to exchange her non-smoking seat in economy for the front row of business class. You should have seen the other woman’s face.

On a wing and a prayer

I don’t know if it’s the luck of the Irish or the legacy of my Catholic upbringing, but the most unlikely story of an impromptu and totally unintentional upgrade involved another lady of God. I was supervising check-in one day when a nun approached me. How can I say this without being unkind? This kindly lady was somewhat full figured. “Excuse me, Mr Tams,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’m a little bit overweight.”

This, sadly, was the understatement of the century so I attempted to reassure her by pointing out to her that the flight was not full and that I would block out the seat next door to her to give her more room. At this, her face reddened and she looked me in the eye with a look that told me I would burn in hellfire for eternity and said: “I was referring to my luggage!” Desperate for absolution, I immediately upgraded her to seat 1A.

Richard Tams is an airline consultant and executive coach