Adventures in Air Travel

I return, at last, to a recounting of my recent trip to Europe. I will begin at the beginning (and what was very nearly the premature end).

I had had a busy and stressful week at work and left late on Wednesday evening (March 12th), providing little time to eat at home and change and pack for… not my trip but rather mixed pick-up Ultimate at Bobby Morris that evening. Great. I played lackluster, tired from work and preoccupied with upcoming travel. Upon my return home, I cooked some dinner, talked to my housemates, and found myself at 11 PM or so, totally exhausted.

No problem, I thought. My flight leaves from Seattle, through Chicago and on to London, at like 3 PM tomorrow. I’m just going to bed and waking up early in the morning to prepare. I’ll have plenty of time.

And so I awoke a bit before seven that next morning, loaded up some laundry, poured a bowl of cereal, and settled down with my laptop to answer outstanding e-mails and plan my departure.

So I took a look at my flight itinerary, apparently for the first time since I had bought it. Huh. That doesn’t say 3:00 or 3:30 or 2:00 or even 12:45. That says 8:30. AM. ANTE EFFING MERIDIEM.

Which, if you’d like to know, was around 63 minutes or so from that moment of terrible shock and panic and clarity, with my second load of laundry still spinning in suds. Did I mention that I still had shopping to do at REI?

There goes my trip to Europe, all because I imagined a departure time…

I took a few moments to tell my housemates and freak out a little bit. And then I decided that I was going on this trip one way or another. I took a deep breath, and called American Airlines. No, there was no way I could make my flight. Yes, I’m glad I called so you didn’t cancel my whole itinerary. Sure, I’ll wait while you calculate the price to change my flight to a later time. Excellent, I would be happy to pay fifty forty-seven for that change.

Except, of course, the airline representative meant $5047, not $50.47. I guffawed (been looking to use that word) and begged for some other option. She responded that my only chance was to head to the airport ticket counter and throw myself at the feet of some airline employee. Fantastic.

Luckily, Claire was off work that day and could drive me around (Thank you, Claire! Always a lifesaver!). I calmed myself, finished my laundry and packing, ran around the corner for some toiletries, and got ready to try my luck. Claire and I executed a brief stop at REI for Clif Shot Bloks¹, extra SmartWool socks (argyle!) and some tech boxer briefs. She then dropped me at the airport, a bit before high noon, and promised to chill in the cell phone waiting lot until she heard some news from me.

I got in line at the AA ticket counter, and scoped out the available employees. A middle-aged, kind looking woman appeared the most promising. Maybe she has a son, I thought. Maybe she’ll think I’m cute. Maybe she’ll understand the stress of my week and want to help me. Maybe, maybe, this trip will not be a failure. The other employees, all older and male, were less promising but I stayed focused all the same.

And my time came, and the woman smiled and called me forward. With my huge pack on my back, and passport and printed itinerary in my shaking hands, I leaned despondently on the counter, effusing exhaustion and despair and searching for sympathy in her eyes. Marilyn, her name was Marilyn.

I explained my situation and emphasized the difficulty of my week and last 24 hours especially. Was there any way, I asked, if I could fly standby on one of these later flights to London?

Standby isn’t allowed on international flights, she told me. She’d have to go talk to her manager.

And so Marilyn headed around the corner and behind closed doors to discuss with her manager. I breathed deep, trying to stay optimistic and focused, and waited for an extremely long ten minutes. Countless passengers came and went at the other counters, blissfully unaware of the ridiculous situation in which I had placed myself.

Marilyn finally reappeared and approached her console, all business. She logged a few keystrokes and then looked up and smiled. I have you confirmed, she said, on a flight to Chicago this afternoon and then on to London. No charge.

My eyes widened, and I smiled in utter disbelief.

We all have bad days, she said. Enjoy your trip.

Victory!

¹ I love these, especially for travel. They’re easier and more satisfying to eat than energy gels/goo and will never explode in a bag, leaving a sticky, goopy mess all over clothing, books, travel journal, etc. See Shot Bloks for more information.