Ok, fanbase, here it is:
The mighty Bear pulled into Portsmouth, Va., at about 11:00. This was okay. I left the Bear earliler than I should have. This, also, was okay. A friend drove me to Norfolk Airport, where I was holding a ticket for a 12:45 p.m. flight. Still Kosher. I arrived at the airport at 12:20 p.m., which still should have been alright. I was in uniform, and the people standing in line waved me to the front of the line. This was better than O.K., it was downright pleasant. I breathlessly told the ticketing agent which flight I was on, and tried to check in for the flight. This is where all the okay-ness came to a screeching halt. Worse than that, it actually kicked into reverse and floored the gas pedal of fate, catching me like a deer in the tail lights and running me the heck over. The ticketing lady (who works for United Airline, curse their very name) looked at her watch and told me that since I wasn’t there 30 minutes before the flight was scheduled to leave, she was not going to check me in for the flight. So I asked her if I could re-book, and she said she had already helped me and I would have to go to the end of the line if I wanted to be helped again. I was steamed. My mouth dropped to the ticketing counter, and I stood there and stared at her with my jaw hanging open until she threatened to call airport security. I didn’t tell her that they would probably be on my side. I just gawked at the ugliest little manifestation of bureaucratic evil I could possible imagine at that moment. Then I dragged my sorry butt to the end of the line and waited for more than an hour to get back to the front of it. It seems everyone else in the queue was getting about the same service I got. I met a family who was trying to fly to Sacramento who had the misfortune of walking to the same ticketing stall I did. They arrived just before me, and they actually waited for an hour and a half in the line before being told that United oversold their flight, and they would not be able to get on. The little Evil One told them that the next available flight wasn’t until the next day, so they could come back and try again if they wanted.
Well, after waiting through the entire line, I was back with HER again. She told me there were no seats on any flights leaving Portsmouth for the rest of the day. Hard to believe? I thought so, too. I told her to go ask her manager if she could get me onto another airline. She went through a door and came back with a sloppy guy who was licking his fingers. He didn’t bother to come out, just stuck his head through the door and looked around. Didn’t even look at me. She told me it was up to me to do that, although the travel agent I worked with vehemently disagreed.
So I spent the next 45 minutes with my head stuck to a payphone trying to find any flight out of Norfolk for that day. By now it’s almost 3 p.m. The travel agent found me a flight on another airline. I booked it and walked over to America West, and left all the cranky United customers behind.
When I tried to check in with America West, at least I got to talk with a man that seemed friendly. He was no customer service whiz, but at least he was working at a moderate speed. Besides, I think I would have been impressed with a high schooler talking through a fast-food microphone after my previous experience. Never fly United!
The moderate man told me my ticket wasn’t paid for. There was no way I was going to miss the chance to get out of Norfolk that day, so I handed him my credit card, bought the ticket, and hustled through security. When I was sure I was going to make the flight, I called the travel agent and found out they had also purchased a ticket and charged it to my credit card. So I had two tickets for the same flight, both on a credit card, neither that I was supposed to have paid for. I found another moderate man at the departure gate. He cancelled the ticket I was already checked in on and re-checked me. Disaster was narrowly averted, though I still have yet to figure a way to get reimbursed for the other ticket.
I flew to Pittsburgh. It was an uneventful flight. In Pittsburgh I found out that my connecting plane, which was supposed to have been bound for Los Angeles, was hung up in Boston. I was going to miss my connecting flight. Luckily, a mildly friendly counter-lady working for America West re-routed me through San Fransisco. I then scrambled all over the airport trying to find a payphone that worked to tell Lisa of the change of itinerary. I boarded the plane and found my emergency exit-row seat (ah, leg room!) and settled in for a long flight across the country.
After we took off and I was getting settled, I leaned my chair back after a quick glance behind me. I didn’t see anything on the lap of the man behind me, and he didn’t seem to be using the space. Besides, I had woken up 5 times zones away and I was exhausted. The man woke me up to tell me that he had both a cat AND an infant on his lap, and would I mind putting my chair forward? I didn’t say anything, but moved it forward and tried to go back to sleep. I was asleep about a half hour later when his cat landed on my head. Well, I guess it didn’t land there, but it took a good swipe at my head as the guy was taking the cat out to walk around the cabin. I was grumpy about it, but didn’t say anything. Neither did he, which made me even grumpier. I found out later from Lisa that it’s strictly forbidden to take your pets out and let them move about the cabin during a flight.
I tried to go back to sleep, and woke up later with a sore neck from sleeping upright. No fun. I arrived in San Fransisco to find that my ticket held a departing time for Fresno that didn’t match any published departing time. I feared I was going to miss my flight after all. I didn’t miss it, but ended up sitting in the front seat of a 10-seat turboprop next to a nervous smelly Ukranian girl.
When I got to Fresno at midnight (5 a.m. the next day according to my body), I found out the airline had lost my luggage.
Well, there it is. You asked. Just call me Alexander and write a children’s book about me.
