First Flight Fiasco

I knew that it was bound to happen sometime, but I had not expected it to be during my fourth week on the job. 

My flight from O’Hare to Calgary was scheduled to depart Sunday evening at 5:47. I left my apartment at 3, got to the airport around 3:40, and somehow had passed through security by 4. I bought myself an iced tea, plugged in Human After All, and peeled through a chapter of Midnight’s Children before getting into the boarding line. I was one of the last people in line.

As I handed my boarding pass to the United representative, the scanner shut off and would not come back on.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you are putting our flight over the weight limit. In the case of an emergency where we cannot land in Calgary, this aircraft cannot make it to the nearest accommodating airport with its current fuel supply. You and two other passengers will have to take another flight out tomorrow.”

“But-“

The representative had scurried back onto the plane to pull the other two passengers, who turned out to be a mother-daughter pair. They looked very important and expensive - I am pretty certain the mother’s haircut cost more than my net worth. Both were red-faced and shouting furiously at the United representative. Phrases like “We are elite members”, “this is not about safety, this is about DISCRIMINATION”, and “never flying United again” were thrown about at the gate. I stood there silently, praying that nobody would accidentally punch me in the face.

And of course, the piece de resistance in the conversation:

“So why were WE chosen to get off?”

“Ma’am, it is our policy to pull our lowest-ticketed guests first. Here is the list of how much each person on this flight paid. As you can see, here it says you and Ms. Fan did not pay anything.”

“THAT IS BECAUSE MY COMPANY IS PAYING FOR MY TICKETS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? IF I CALL AND RECEIVE A CREDIT CARD STATEMENT FROM THEM, YOU’D SEE THAT 90% OF THAT PLANE WOULD GET OFF BEFORE ME!”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry. It’s company policy. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I NEED TO BE ON THAT FLIGHT!”

“Ma’am, the flight has already left.”

Everyone had been so caught up in watching the tantrum that we had not noticed the aircraft pulling out of its dock. This spurned another round of screeching from the mother, while her daughter texted furiously on her BlackBerry, only stopping to look around tragically and say insightful things like “This is bullshit” and “I, like, have to be in Calgary!”

The next hour was spent with three United representatives scurrying around trying to find flights for Menopause Mom and CrackBerry Addict Daughter. I was invisible - I literally just stood there, avoiding eye contact with the duo, until one of the representatives looked up, realized I was still there, and handed me my vouchers and a boarding pass for a flight out the next morning. I probably could have gotten on an earlier flight had I made a fuss as well, but at this point I was too disgusted with both how childish Menopause Mom had been and how negligent all three United representatives had been towards me, the passenger who was in an equally sticky situation but who chose not to yell curses and threaten to “Yelp!” about their terrible business, to pursue the issue any further.

I spent last night in a ridiculous hotel room anyway, so really I don’t get to pout. I worked out in luxury, showered in luxury, and watched TV whilst lying in a king-sized bed and munching on a turkey sandwich. It was pretty glorious.

But all notions of comfort and relaxation flew out the window the next morning when I was waiting for the shuttle to the airport. I absent mindedly plunged my fingers into my backpack to grab my passport. Nothing. Oh, I put it inside Midnight's Children, which I kept in another compartment. But again, nothing.

I ran upstairs to my hotel room and turned it upside down. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!" No beloved orange dog-eared copy fell from the folds of my bed. I checked my backpack and my luggage, throwing clothes everywhere. "Thisisn'thappeningthisisadreamithastobeadream". Finally I admitted that I had probably left it at the gate and flew back downstairs, just in time to catch the 9:00 shuttle to the airport. I arrived at 9:17, precisely 30 minutes before my morning flight was to board, and spent the better half of the next half-hour running about O'Hare International Airport like a lunatic. At every line I would explain my situation ("PLEASEILOSTMYAIRPORTMYPLANELEAVESINANHOUR") and would be ushered through to the front by confused, sympathetic folks. It wouldn't have been so bad had I not run into so many people I knew, damnit. But I just kept bumping into (sometimes literally) familiar faces, including one fellow ThoughtWorker whom I'd met many times before but for some reason I stuck out my hand and shook his before tearing off towards the lost and found.

Then at security, I absent mindedly stuffed my sandals into my backpack and then thirty seconds later, had a bunch of bewildered TSA staffmembers searching the area for a pair of orange braided sandals. Yeah, my brains had totally abandoned me at that point. I think that pulling those sandals out of my backpack and seeing the expressions on the security guards' faces had to be one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

I managed to get onto my flight about five minutes before boarding closed. I slid into my seat (United Economy Plus! Fuck yeah), relieved, panting, and clutching onto my Midnight's Children for dear life. Then, the dreaded words blared over the speaker:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid we have a weight issue with this aircraft..."

But no, thank the heavens, I was not bumped again. In fact, I had a pretty nice and uneventful flight over to Calgary. Except for the part where I ordered a beer at 11 in the morning and received some skeptical looks. But I didn't care - I was pretty sure that out of everyone on that plane on that morning, I deserved that beer the most.