Adventures in Holiday Travel, Part II
It’s official. I don’t know how to travel without having an adventure.
6:30 a.m.: Head to Delta Kiosk at Albuquerque International Airport, with Nana trailing shortly behind me begging to let me let her carry one of my suitcases. Convince her that I should practice handling the bags on my own so that way, when I get to Washington, I know I can do it. Sit on the benches with Nana to wait for Dad to show up with her bags.
6:35 a.m.: Standing in the security line in front of a mother and two daughters heading to Vegas.
“How much time do we have?” says one of the daughters. “Ten minutes?”
“15 minutes,” says the mother. “We can make it - if we run.”
“Don’t run through security,” admonishes the helpful cute, married, armed forces Unibrow. “That will definitely cause you to miss your flight.”
“Oh, I know,” says the daughter.
“Hey,” I suggest. “Jump in front of me. I have time.”
“What time is your flight?” asks the mother.
“8:00,”
“In that case, move over!”
I have time. Famous last words.
7:40 a.m.: Board the aircraft. Still haven’t figured out the Delta boarding system. It’s not back to front, because I walk by people to get to my seat. It’s not outside to inside either, because I have the aisle seat and none of my neighbors are on the plane yet. Think that Southwest’s “open seating” is just putting to policy what all the other airlines do anyway.
8:00 a.m.: Door is closed. Pilot comes online, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Neil from the flight deck. You may have noticed that it’s cold outside. This aircraft was parked overnight at the gate, and when we powered up the electrical system this morning, it was pretty sluggish. Rather than jeopardize your safety, I’ve requested use of the back up electrical system, which requires a lot of FAA paperwork. I’ve just about got that wrapped up, but now the co-pilot and I have to do the preflight check. Give us a couple of minutes to get that done - we want to be thorough so as to not jeopardize your safety - and then we’ll be on our way to Atlanta.
Clever, Captain Neil. Since that door was closed at 8:00 a.m., that counts as an on-time departure…even though we haven’t left the gate.
8:15 a.m.: Push back from gate (finally!) Pilot says, “We’re going to sit here in the sun and wait for the engines to warm up, and then we’ll be on our way.”
There’s that…or, it could be 20 degrees outside and the de-icing line could be really long and you could be parking the aircraft in the sun to melt any frost that may have accumulated on the wings overnight, instead of sitting in the de-icing line. Either way.
8:45 a.m.: Pilot comes back on. “Ladies and gentlemen, when we brought the electrical system back on line, one of the engines didn’t fire up. We’re bringing the plane back to the gate to have the mechanic take a look at it. As the pilot in command of this aircraft, I don’t feel comfortable gambling on your safety. Hopefully, we’ll be on our way shortly.”
Now that have become expert in FAA regulation, suspect that pilot is taking the FAA regulation about the “pilot in charge being ultimately responsible for the safety of the passengers” a little too seriously. That, or he just has huge Napoleon complex.
9:30 a.m.: Aircraft door opens and seatbelt sign is extinguished. If they’re kicking us off the plane, this is not going to be a simple quick fix. Ground operations team requests that we stay near the gate area, “because we could be off the ground shortly.”
After all the passengers get off the plane, see the pilot, second-in-command, and the flight attendants high-tailing it out of the gate and toward one of the bars. This is definitely not going to be a quick fix… Laugh that am spending my 3-hour layover in Albuquerque instead of Atlanta and am still only a little worried about my 4:10 connecting flight to Baltimore.
10:00 a.m.: Ground operations team comes over the intercom. “Attention Flight 1601. We have received word from the maintenance crew. It looks like we’ll be on our way in the next hour or so. That is, of course, subject to change, so stay in the gate area for further announcements…”
Begin completing mental addition: 11:00 departure time, plus two hour time difference, plus three hour flight time equals a 4:00 arrival into BWI, just ten minutes before my scheduled departure. Now, am a little concerned.
Spend 15 peak daytime minutes on hold with Delta customer service to confirm seat on next available connecting flight.
11:00 a.m.: Am commiserating with fellow DC area passengers.
“I’m working for a federal contractor,” one of them says. “Department of Health and Human Services.”
“I used to hold two government contracts, but now I’m working for a different contracting agency.”
Think briefly about tossing in how much I love being a federal employee, but don’t, even though I know that being a “federalé” totally trumps being a contractor every time.
11:12 a.m.: Uh-oh…another announcement…
“Passengers on Flight 1601, the mechanics have still not determined what is causing the engine problems, so we’re going to be moving the plane from the gate to the tarmac to make room for the incoming flight. We will be bringing any personal items that were left on the aircraft.”
This is definitely not good. If they thought there was some hope they’d get it up in the air in the next 20 minutes, they would have left our plane in the gate and made the other plane wait.
Ground crew continues, “The new estimated departure time is around 12:26 p.m. Ladies and gentlemen, this aircraft is still going to be your best bet for getting to Atlanta. The remaining afternoon and evening flights are completely full. The earliest available flights will be tomorrow morning.”
Back to mental addition… 12:26, plus half an hour to load the plane back up, plus two time zones, plus three hours flight time…equals just past my newly scheduled connecting flight. Will go wait in line to talk to the gate agent to see what my options are.
12:02 p.m.: 11:05 flight to Atlanta and 11:25 flight to Salt Lake City have already come and gone, which creates perfect opportunity to approach the gate. Hand the gate agent my boarding passes and say simply, “My 8:00 flight hasn’t left yet.”
She looks up my confirmation number in the system. “You’re confirmed right now on the 4:10 connection and the 6:00…you could still make the 6:00 if your flight leaves any time soon.”
“Any time soon?” I laugh. “That optimistic, huh?”
“Let me confirm you on the 8:00 connection.”
12:30 p.m.: Ground crew…again. This really can’t be good…
“Passengers on flight 1601, you may notice your aircraft is still on the tarmac. We will be flying in a maintenance team and parts from Atlanta. Your new estimated departure time is 6:30 p.m, and there will still be some connections available. Contact a gate agent if you have any questions.”
Back to my math practice: 6:30 p.m., plus two time zones…plus three hours flight time equals 11:30 p.m. arrival into Atlanta Any “legal” connections will be more than 45 minutes after arrival time…12:15 a.m... add two hours flight time from Atlanta to Baltimore…which equals an arrival 15 minutes after airport “quiet hours” begin. This is definitely not promising. Spend another 10 minutes on hold waiting for the customer service rep to tell me what I’ve already figured out: I’m pretty much hosed in terms of making a connecting flight today. If that flight takes off.
12:45 p.m.: Scope out my options: can stand in line waiting to talk to a gate agent behind 125 other people who have just gotten the same news I have, or I can go downstairs to the ticket counter, which should be desolate, since the next scheduled departure isn’t until 3:40 p.m. Head downstairs to ticket counter, where will be third in line. Excellent.
12:55 p.m.: Couple who I recognize from the morning flight, who are immediately in the front of the line, are run over by a woman, her child, and the skycap, bearing the luggage and a Yorkshire terrier in a pet carrier.
“I need to put my dog on the plane,” she says.
“Does your dog have a reservation?” the ticket agent says.
“What?”
“If you are carrying your dog on the plane, your dog needs a reservation. And a different carrier that will fit under the seat in front of you. If you are checking the dog with your luggage, we need notarized authorization from your veterinarian saying that your dog is over six months and is healthy enough to withstand subzero temperatures in the cargo hold of the plane.”
“Nobody told me that when I made my reservation.”
Am listening to the conversation seriously doubting that this woman actually made a reservation for the dog, but will give her benefit of a doubt anyway.
“I’ll carry the dog on, then. How much is your special carrier?”
“Are you traveling coach or first class? We already have two dogs in the coach class, and it is the airline’s policy to only allow two dogs in each cabin.”
“I’m traveling coach. Then, I’ll just check the dog.”
“Then, I’ll need to see an authorization from the veterinarian.”
“The vet is in Santa Fe. I can’t get notarized authorization in the next two hours before my flight!”
“Then, you’ll have to buy a first class ticket.”
“I don’t think I should be punished because Delta didn’t tell me. Get me on the next flight that doesn’t have two dogs on it.”
“Okay,” says the ticket agent. “What time on Monday would you like to go out? We had a flight cancel today and we don’t have anything open until Monday.”
“Here, Momma,” says the little girl. “Give me your cell phone number. I’ll call the vet.”
Are you kidding me? First of all, if she knew that Delta took animals when she made the reservation, she should have been full aware of the pet policy. Second, who attempts to travel with a pet and then doesn’t read or ask for the pet policy? Third, what’s the little girl doing being the voice of reason in this situation? Woman acquiesces and coughs up $200 for two first class seats (for her and her daughter) and $95 for a Delta approved “Sherpa” bag for the dog.
While second gate agent helps the “refugee” couple who were pushed aside by the dog woman, listen into conversation between two other sets of flight refugees behind me: a kind, elderly couple who I had talked to briefly in one of the other lines I had been in, and a younger woman who was “irate” that “Delta had ruined her travel plans.” Will briefly ignore that neither the gal who missed her connecting flight to Moscow nor the family who missed their connecting flight to Ecuador were “irate” that their “travel plans had been ruined.”
She says, “Even if they get the airplane fixed, I’m not getting it in. They have to bring in special parts from Atlanta. That can’t be good luck.”
Wanted to look at her and tell her that was simply the most retarded statement I had ever heard in my life, because her statement was analogous to never driving a car ever again because the car sat waiting in a parking lot until someone could bring her a new battery from the auto parts store. Decided better of it. New Year’s Resolution #6: Be less passive aggressive.
1:10 p.m.: Second gate agent has taken care of couple and can now help me.
“You’re trying to get to?”
“Baltimore. Or the Washington, DC area in general. I’ve been told by the reservations line that there are no connecting flights after our new scheduled arrival time.”
“That would be correct,” he says. He taps the keyboard on his machine a few times and then reports, “I can get you on the 11:40 to Atlanta and on the 8:00 to Baltimore, which would put you in Baltimore at 10:00.”
“And my other option?”
“I can put you on the 6:15 to Salt Lake City, which would put you into National at 3:45.”
“Let’s go with that option,” I say, forgetting temporarily that a massive storm is supposed to roll across the Rocky Mountains Wednesday night into Thursday morning and forgetting briefly that this option puts me 630 miles farther away from where I want to end up.
“Do you have a place to stay?” he asks.
“Oh, no.” I said. “I live in DC.”
“Let me get you a hotel voucher and some meal vouchers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, then. Will you be needing your luggage overnight?”
“Yes.”
“What do your suitcases look like?”
“Ummm, a big black one and a little black one, and they were supposed to go to Baltimore.”
“Stay here,” he says. “We’ll bring your luggage up in a few minutes.”
1:15 p.m.: Luggage handlers see me standing at the edge of the ticket counter.
“What are you still doing around here?”
“Waiting for my luggage.”
“No, go downstairs.”
“But the ticket agent said…”
“Go downstairs. The bags will be waiting for you there.”
1:20 p.m.: Get to baggage claim. My bags aren’t there, but about 30 people from the flight are there, waiting for their baggage.
“What’s the sitch?” I say to one of the young couples.
“We don’t know. We asked the agent at the luggage counter, and she said fifteen minutes ago that the luggage handlers would be bringing the bags down ten minutes ago.”
“You know,” says another one of the flight refugees. “I can understand when it’s weather related. It’s unforeseeable and there’s nothing anyone can do to make it better. But when it’s something like, this…well, I just don’t understand it. They should have a contingency plan.”
They probably do, but the airlines contingency plan was probably all shot to hell by pending inclement weather on the two coasts and by the holiday busy travel season. Think about pointing this out to her, but think better of it.
“And worse, I called the baggage handling hotline at Delta, and they said that their policy is that when a flight gets cancelled, they send all the bags on the next flight to their eventual destination.”
Then, if push comes to shove, Delta buys as a set of jammies, some clean socks and undies, and a toothbrush for tonight. It’s not the freaking end of the world, people.
Notice that cell phone is chirping for a dead battery. Excuse self politely to go plug phone into an outlet along the wall. Decide to make the best of a bad situation and see what friends I can find for the evening. Call Melissa’s cell phone.
ME: Hey, what are you doing right now? Do you want to catch a movie or something?
MELISSA: Wait a minute, isn’t today Wednesday?
ME: Yes, it is.
MELISSA: Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane right now?”
ME: That is an astute observation, my dear friend, and I am. My 8:00 flight out of Albuquerque is still sitting on the ground in Albuquerque.
MELISSA: In that case, I’d love to go catch a movie. Do you need me to come pick you up at the airport?
ME: Or the hotel. I’ll be there as soon as I get my luggage.
Decide on one of two shows: the 2:30, if the luggage comes out in the next hour or so, or the 3:45 if it doesn’t.
2:30 p.m.:
MELISSA: I didn’t miss your call, did I?
ME: No, I’m still waiting for my luggage.
MELISSA: Oh, no!
ME: Oh, yes. Apparently, since that plane’s not turning around and going anywhere anytime soon, there’s no incentive to get the luggage off it.
3:10 p.m.: Luggage is FINALLY on the conveyor belt. Apparently, agent at luggage counter convinced the luggage handlers that it’s in their best interests to take all the bags off the plane and then, only send on the bags that are left behind. Grab my giganticore black “tanker” of a suitcase and a little black one bound for BWI.
Go to call hotel to request shuttle from airport, and after 15 tries, hang up out of exasperation. Call Melissa, who was on her way to the hotel lobby. “Melissa, I am going on eight and a half hours at this airport, I can’t get ahold of the hotel shuttle, and my patience with the travel and tourism industry is waning very thin. Can you come pick me up here instead?”
She laughs. “Not a problem.”
3:14 p.m.: Hotel shuttle pulls up while am waiting for my ride.
3:30 p.m.: Where is Melissa??? Check cell phone voicemail. She went to the parking garage instead of the baggage claim area. Will re-check her steps and hopefully find her way to the baggage claim area.
3:32 p.m.: She pulls up her car. “You know, the roads around airports are laid out like mazes.”
“I understand completely. The interior of airports are laid out like black holes.”
3:34 p.m.:
“Hey, Kim?” she asks as she’s rolling my small bag toward the trunk of her car. “How do you open this handle?”
“I don’t know. It’s my mom’s suitcase. I’m just borrowing it so I wouldn’t have to deal with shipping big heavy boxes of cast iron pans to myself.”
6:30 p.m.: Have successfully managed to transfer my luggage from Melissa’s car to Sayward’s car. Melissa peaces out to meet her husband for dinner.
8:45 p.m.: Have had enough fun drinking with T-dubs and Sayward. Point out to Sayward that I should drink every time I get in her car. I hadn’t freaked out once in the whole time she had been driving, which is new record.
9:00 p.m.: FINALLY get into hotel room and take long, hard look at the smaller bag. I thought Mom’s bag had an attached “add-a-bag” strap on the front of the suitcase. Did it break off in just that one traumatic experience?
“Oh, no…” I say out loud. I look at the airline claim slip, still attached to the bag. It was a small black bag checked to Baltimore…but it wasn’t my small black bag checked to Baltimore. “Oh, no…” I say again.
9:10 p.m.: Get Delta luggage counter on phone.
“Thank you for holding, Miss,” the agent says. “I don’t see any boxes that are specifically labeled ‘Nintendo Wii.’ Perhaps you checked it in a different bag?
“Umm, I don’t think you transferred…”
“No ma’am, all the bags that remained from that flight are waiting to be checked to their final destinations tomorrow.”
“Well, sir, as helpful as that is to know, I think you picked up the wrong caller on hold. I don’t have a Wii, and if I had one, I would probably carry it on, not check it.”
“Oh.” He laughs. “Have you been helped?”
“No. I was on the flight that got cancelled today, and I grabbed the wrong little black bag that was supposed to go to Baltimore.”
“Shame on you!” he says. “Where are you now?”
“At the Wyndham in Albuquerque.”
“Can you bring the bag by ASAP? She’s scheduled to go out tomorrow, so if you can get it back here before she knows it’s missing, no harm, no foul.”
“Awesome. What about my bag that I didn’t grab but should have?”
“What’s the claim number?”
“I don’t know…there are two of them on my ticketing envelope, and one of them is here and one of them is not here.”
“Well, if you really need it tonight, I can get it to you, but unless it’s absolutely necessary, it’s already been re-checked to its final destination.”
“That’s fine. I have the one I need anyway.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that. When are you bringing me back the other bag?”
“I’m on my way now! Sheesh!”
9:25 p.m.: Bring the imposter bag up to the luggage counter.
“Miss!” says the guy I had talked to on the phone. “Can I see your claim ticket for that bag, please?”
“Oh, I’m not taking this bag. I already took it once and realized it wasn’t mine. I’m bringing it back to you.”
“That’s right. You didn’t check the tags when you picked it up?”
“I was looking for a little black bag going to Baltimore. I had been at the airport for eight hours at that point. Forgive me for not processing information clearly.”
“I do understand that.”
“Not completely. You’re getting paid to be at the airport for eight hours.”
So much for the whole not-passive aggressive thing.
10:30 p.m.: Realize that probably should have packed the rescue remedy in my bag, because will totally spend the whole evening obsessing over snow in Salt Lake City. There has to be a better way to do this than commercial air travel...
6:30 a.m.: Head to Delta Kiosk at Albuquerque International Airport, with Nana trailing shortly behind me begging to let me let her carry one of my suitcases. Convince her that I should practice handling the bags on my own so that way, when I get to Washington, I know I can do it. Sit on the benches with Nana to wait for Dad to show up with her bags.
6:35 a.m.: Standing in the security line in front of a mother and two daughters heading to Vegas.
“How much time do we have?” says one of the daughters. “Ten minutes?”
“15 minutes,” says the mother. “We can make it - if we run.”
“Don’t run through security,” admonishes the helpful cute, married, armed forces Unibrow. “That will definitely cause you to miss your flight.”
“Oh, I know,” says the daughter.
“Hey,” I suggest. “Jump in front of me. I have time.”
“What time is your flight?” asks the mother.
“8:00,”
“In that case, move over!”
I have time. Famous last words.
7:40 a.m.: Board the aircraft. Still haven’t figured out the Delta boarding system. It’s not back to front, because I walk by people to get to my seat. It’s not outside to inside either, because I have the aisle seat and none of my neighbors are on the plane yet. Think that Southwest’s “open seating” is just putting to policy what all the other airlines do anyway.
8:00 a.m.: Door is closed. Pilot comes online, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Neil from the flight deck. You may have noticed that it’s cold outside. This aircraft was parked overnight at the gate, and when we powered up the electrical system this morning, it was pretty sluggish. Rather than jeopardize your safety, I’ve requested use of the back up electrical system, which requires a lot of FAA paperwork. I’ve just about got that wrapped up, but now the co-pilot and I have to do the preflight check. Give us a couple of minutes to get that done - we want to be thorough so as to not jeopardize your safety - and then we’ll be on our way to Atlanta.
Clever, Captain Neil. Since that door was closed at 8:00 a.m., that counts as an on-time departure…even though we haven’t left the gate.
8:15 a.m.: Push back from gate (finally!) Pilot says, “We’re going to sit here in the sun and wait for the engines to warm up, and then we’ll be on our way.”
There’s that…or, it could be 20 degrees outside and the de-icing line could be really long and you could be parking the aircraft in the sun to melt any frost that may have accumulated on the wings overnight, instead of sitting in the de-icing line. Either way.
8:45 a.m.: Pilot comes back on. “Ladies and gentlemen, when we brought the electrical system back on line, one of the engines didn’t fire up. We’re bringing the plane back to the gate to have the mechanic take a look at it. As the pilot in command of this aircraft, I don’t feel comfortable gambling on your safety. Hopefully, we’ll be on our way shortly.”
Now that have become expert in FAA regulation, suspect that pilot is taking the FAA regulation about the “pilot in charge being ultimately responsible for the safety of the passengers” a little too seriously. That, or he just has huge Napoleon complex.
9:30 a.m.: Aircraft door opens and seatbelt sign is extinguished. If they’re kicking us off the plane, this is not going to be a simple quick fix. Ground operations team requests that we stay near the gate area, “because we could be off the ground shortly.”
After all the passengers get off the plane, see the pilot, second-in-command, and the flight attendants high-tailing it out of the gate and toward one of the bars. This is definitely not going to be a quick fix… Laugh that am spending my 3-hour layover in Albuquerque instead of Atlanta and am still only a little worried about my 4:10 connecting flight to Baltimore.
10:00 a.m.: Ground operations team comes over the intercom. “Attention Flight 1601. We have received word from the maintenance crew. It looks like we’ll be on our way in the next hour or so. That is, of course, subject to change, so stay in the gate area for further announcements…”
Begin completing mental addition: 11:00 departure time, plus two hour time difference, plus three hour flight time equals a 4:00 arrival into BWI, just ten minutes before my scheduled departure. Now, am a little concerned.
Spend 15 peak daytime minutes on hold with Delta customer service to confirm seat on next available connecting flight.
11:00 a.m.: Am commiserating with fellow DC area passengers.
“I’m working for a federal contractor,” one of them says. “Department of Health and Human Services.”
“I used to hold two government contracts, but now I’m working for a different contracting agency.”
Think briefly about tossing in how much I love being a federal employee, but don’t, even though I know that being a “federalé” totally trumps being a contractor every time.
11:12 a.m.: Uh-oh…another announcement…
“Passengers on Flight 1601, the mechanics have still not determined what is causing the engine problems, so we’re going to be moving the plane from the gate to the tarmac to make room for the incoming flight. We will be bringing any personal items that were left on the aircraft.”
This is definitely not good. If they thought there was some hope they’d get it up in the air in the next 20 minutes, they would have left our plane in the gate and made the other plane wait.
Ground crew continues, “The new estimated departure time is around 12:26 p.m. Ladies and gentlemen, this aircraft is still going to be your best bet for getting to Atlanta. The remaining afternoon and evening flights are completely full. The earliest available flights will be tomorrow morning.”
Back to mental addition… 12:26, plus half an hour to load the plane back up, plus two time zones, plus three hours flight time…equals just past my newly scheduled connecting flight. Will go wait in line to talk to the gate agent to see what my options are.
12:02 p.m.: 11:05 flight to Atlanta and 11:25 flight to Salt Lake City have already come and gone, which creates perfect opportunity to approach the gate. Hand the gate agent my boarding passes and say simply, “My 8:00 flight hasn’t left yet.”
She looks up my confirmation number in the system. “You’re confirmed right now on the 4:10 connection and the 6:00…you could still make the 6:00 if your flight leaves any time soon.”
“Any time soon?” I laugh. “That optimistic, huh?”
“Let me confirm you on the 8:00 connection.”
12:30 p.m.: Ground crew…again. This really can’t be good…
“Passengers on flight 1601, you may notice your aircraft is still on the tarmac. We will be flying in a maintenance team and parts from Atlanta. Your new estimated departure time is 6:30 p.m, and there will still be some connections available. Contact a gate agent if you have any questions.”
Back to my math practice: 6:30 p.m., plus two time zones…plus three hours flight time equals 11:30 p.m. arrival into Atlanta Any “legal” connections will be more than 45 minutes after arrival time…12:15 a.m... add two hours flight time from Atlanta to Baltimore…which equals an arrival 15 minutes after airport “quiet hours” begin. This is definitely not promising. Spend another 10 minutes on hold waiting for the customer service rep to tell me what I’ve already figured out: I’m pretty much hosed in terms of making a connecting flight today. If that flight takes off.
12:45 p.m.: Scope out my options: can stand in line waiting to talk to a gate agent behind 125 other people who have just gotten the same news I have, or I can go downstairs to the ticket counter, which should be desolate, since the next scheduled departure isn’t until 3:40 p.m. Head downstairs to ticket counter, where will be third in line. Excellent.
12:55 p.m.: Couple who I recognize from the morning flight, who are immediately in the front of the line, are run over by a woman, her child, and the skycap, bearing the luggage and a Yorkshire terrier in a pet carrier.
“I need to put my dog on the plane,” she says.
“Does your dog have a reservation?” the ticket agent says.
“What?”
“If you are carrying your dog on the plane, your dog needs a reservation. And a different carrier that will fit under the seat in front of you. If you are checking the dog with your luggage, we need notarized authorization from your veterinarian saying that your dog is over six months and is healthy enough to withstand subzero temperatures in the cargo hold of the plane.”
“Nobody told me that when I made my reservation.”
Am listening to the conversation seriously doubting that this woman actually made a reservation for the dog, but will give her benefit of a doubt anyway.
“I’ll carry the dog on, then. How much is your special carrier?”
“Are you traveling coach or first class? We already have two dogs in the coach class, and it is the airline’s policy to only allow two dogs in each cabin.”
“I’m traveling coach. Then, I’ll just check the dog.”
“Then, I’ll need to see an authorization from the veterinarian.”
“The vet is in Santa Fe. I can’t get notarized authorization in the next two hours before my flight!”
“Then, you’ll have to buy a first class ticket.”
“I don’t think I should be punished because Delta didn’t tell me. Get me on the next flight that doesn’t have two dogs on it.”
“Okay,” says the ticket agent. “What time on Monday would you like to go out? We had a flight cancel today and we don’t have anything open until Monday.”
“Here, Momma,” says the little girl. “Give me your cell phone number. I’ll call the vet.”
Are you kidding me? First of all, if she knew that Delta took animals when she made the reservation, she should have been full aware of the pet policy. Second, who attempts to travel with a pet and then doesn’t read or ask for the pet policy? Third, what’s the little girl doing being the voice of reason in this situation? Woman acquiesces and coughs up $200 for two first class seats (for her and her daughter) and $95 for a Delta approved “Sherpa” bag for the dog.
While second gate agent helps the “refugee” couple who were pushed aside by the dog woman, listen into conversation between two other sets of flight refugees behind me: a kind, elderly couple who I had talked to briefly in one of the other lines I had been in, and a younger woman who was “irate” that “Delta had ruined her travel plans.” Will briefly ignore that neither the gal who missed her connecting flight to Moscow nor the family who missed their connecting flight to Ecuador were “irate” that their “travel plans had been ruined.”
She says, “Even if they get the airplane fixed, I’m not getting it in. They have to bring in special parts from Atlanta. That can’t be good luck.”
Wanted to look at her and tell her that was simply the most retarded statement I had ever heard in my life, because her statement was analogous to never driving a car ever again because the car sat waiting in a parking lot until someone could bring her a new battery from the auto parts store. Decided better of it. New Year’s Resolution #6: Be less passive aggressive.
1:10 p.m.: Second gate agent has taken care of couple and can now help me.
“You’re trying to get to?”
“Baltimore. Or the Washington, DC area in general. I’ve been told by the reservations line that there are no connecting flights after our new scheduled arrival time.”
“That would be correct,” he says. He taps the keyboard on his machine a few times and then reports, “I can get you on the 11:40 to Atlanta and on the 8:00 to Baltimore, which would put you in Baltimore at 10:00.”
“And my other option?”
“I can put you on the 6:15 to Salt Lake City, which would put you into National at 3:45.”
“Let’s go with that option,” I say, forgetting temporarily that a massive storm is supposed to roll across the Rocky Mountains Wednesday night into Thursday morning and forgetting briefly that this option puts me 630 miles farther away from where I want to end up.
“Do you have a place to stay?” he asks.
“Oh, no.” I said. “I live in DC.”
“Let me get you a hotel voucher and some meal vouchers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, then. Will you be needing your luggage overnight?”
“Yes.”
“What do your suitcases look like?”
“Ummm, a big black one and a little black one, and they were supposed to go to Baltimore.”
“Stay here,” he says. “We’ll bring your luggage up in a few minutes.”
1:15 p.m.: Luggage handlers see me standing at the edge of the ticket counter.
“What are you still doing around here?”
“Waiting for my luggage.”
“No, go downstairs.”
“But the ticket agent said…”
“Go downstairs. The bags will be waiting for you there.”
1:20 p.m.: Get to baggage claim. My bags aren’t there, but about 30 people from the flight are there, waiting for their baggage.
“What’s the sitch?” I say to one of the young couples.
“We don’t know. We asked the agent at the luggage counter, and she said fifteen minutes ago that the luggage handlers would be bringing the bags down ten minutes ago.”
“You know,” says another one of the flight refugees. “I can understand when it’s weather related. It’s unforeseeable and there’s nothing anyone can do to make it better. But when it’s something like, this…well, I just don’t understand it. They should have a contingency plan.”
They probably do, but the airlines contingency plan was probably all shot to hell by pending inclement weather on the two coasts and by the holiday busy travel season. Think about pointing this out to her, but think better of it.
“And worse, I called the baggage handling hotline at Delta, and they said that their policy is that when a flight gets cancelled, they send all the bags on the next flight to their eventual destination.”
Then, if push comes to shove, Delta buys as a set of jammies, some clean socks and undies, and a toothbrush for tonight. It’s not the freaking end of the world, people.
Notice that cell phone is chirping for a dead battery. Excuse self politely to go plug phone into an outlet along the wall. Decide to make the best of a bad situation and see what friends I can find for the evening. Call Melissa’s cell phone.
ME: Hey, what are you doing right now? Do you want to catch a movie or something?
MELISSA: Wait a minute, isn’t today Wednesday?
ME: Yes, it is.
MELISSA: Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane right now?”
ME: That is an astute observation, my dear friend, and I am. My 8:00 flight out of Albuquerque is still sitting on the ground in Albuquerque.
MELISSA: In that case, I’d love to go catch a movie. Do you need me to come pick you up at the airport?
ME: Or the hotel. I’ll be there as soon as I get my luggage.
Decide on one of two shows: the 2:30, if the luggage comes out in the next hour or so, or the 3:45 if it doesn’t.
2:30 p.m.:
MELISSA: I didn’t miss your call, did I?
ME: No, I’m still waiting for my luggage.
MELISSA: Oh, no!
ME: Oh, yes. Apparently, since that plane’s not turning around and going anywhere anytime soon, there’s no incentive to get the luggage off it.
3:10 p.m.: Luggage is FINALLY on the conveyor belt. Apparently, agent at luggage counter convinced the luggage handlers that it’s in their best interests to take all the bags off the plane and then, only send on the bags that are left behind. Grab my giganticore black “tanker” of a suitcase and a little black one bound for BWI.
Go to call hotel to request shuttle from airport, and after 15 tries, hang up out of exasperation. Call Melissa, who was on her way to the hotel lobby. “Melissa, I am going on eight and a half hours at this airport, I can’t get ahold of the hotel shuttle, and my patience with the travel and tourism industry is waning very thin. Can you come pick me up here instead?”
She laughs. “Not a problem.”
3:14 p.m.: Hotel shuttle pulls up while am waiting for my ride.
3:30 p.m.: Where is Melissa??? Check cell phone voicemail. She went to the parking garage instead of the baggage claim area. Will re-check her steps and hopefully find her way to the baggage claim area.
3:32 p.m.: She pulls up her car. “You know, the roads around airports are laid out like mazes.”
“I understand completely. The interior of airports are laid out like black holes.”
3:34 p.m.:
“Hey, Kim?” she asks as she’s rolling my small bag toward the trunk of her car. “How do you open this handle?”
“I don’t know. It’s my mom’s suitcase. I’m just borrowing it so I wouldn’t have to deal with shipping big heavy boxes of cast iron pans to myself.”
6:30 p.m.: Have successfully managed to transfer my luggage from Melissa’s car to Sayward’s car. Melissa peaces out to meet her husband for dinner.
8:45 p.m.: Have had enough fun drinking with T-dubs and Sayward. Point out to Sayward that I should drink every time I get in her car. I hadn’t freaked out once in the whole time she had been driving, which is new record.
9:00 p.m.: FINALLY get into hotel room and take long, hard look at the smaller bag. I thought Mom’s bag had an attached “add-a-bag” strap on the front of the suitcase. Did it break off in just that one traumatic experience?
“Oh, no…” I say out loud. I look at the airline claim slip, still attached to the bag. It was a small black bag checked to Baltimore…but it wasn’t my small black bag checked to Baltimore. “Oh, no…” I say again.
9:10 p.m.: Get Delta luggage counter on phone.
“Thank you for holding, Miss,” the agent says. “I don’t see any boxes that are specifically labeled ‘Nintendo Wii.’ Perhaps you checked it in a different bag?
“Umm, I don’t think you transferred…”
“No ma’am, all the bags that remained from that flight are waiting to be checked to their final destinations tomorrow.”
“Well, sir, as helpful as that is to know, I think you picked up the wrong caller on hold. I don’t have a Wii, and if I had one, I would probably carry it on, not check it.”
“Oh.” He laughs. “Have you been helped?”
“No. I was on the flight that got cancelled today, and I grabbed the wrong little black bag that was supposed to go to Baltimore.”
“Shame on you!” he says. “Where are you now?”
“At the Wyndham in Albuquerque.”
“Can you bring the bag by ASAP? She’s scheduled to go out tomorrow, so if you can get it back here before she knows it’s missing, no harm, no foul.”
“Awesome. What about my bag that I didn’t grab but should have?”
“What’s the claim number?”
“I don’t know…there are two of them on my ticketing envelope, and one of them is here and one of them is not here.”
“Well, if you really need it tonight, I can get it to you, but unless it’s absolutely necessary, it’s already been re-checked to its final destination.”
“That’s fine. I have the one I need anyway.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that. When are you bringing me back the other bag?”
“I’m on my way now! Sheesh!”
9:25 p.m.: Bring the imposter bag up to the luggage counter.
“Miss!” says the guy I had talked to on the phone. “Can I see your claim ticket for that bag, please?”
“Oh, I’m not taking this bag. I already took it once and realized it wasn’t mine. I’m bringing it back to you.”
“That’s right. You didn’t check the tags when you picked it up?”
“I was looking for a little black bag going to Baltimore. I had been at the airport for eight hours at that point. Forgive me for not processing information clearly.”
“I do understand that.”
“Not completely. You’re getting paid to be at the airport for eight hours.”
So much for the whole not-passive aggressive thing.
10:30 p.m.: Realize that probably should have packed the rescue remedy in my bag, because will totally spend the whole evening obsessing over snow in Salt Lake City. There has to be a better way to do this than commercial air travel...