Everyone has a holiday travel story
filled with unfortunate events. Here’s another one for the books…
I don’t normally check a bag, but
this year I decided to take advantage of the convenient option of checked bags
– roomier suitcase, space for gifts, and all the liquids a woman desires -
including a bottle of rum. We planned to take a flight from Wenatchee to
Seattle, enjoy a leisurely dinner and a restful night’s sleep before our flight
to Britain the next day. These plans were futile, beginning with the checked
bag.
After landing in Seattle, we
strolled to baggage claim with the other passengers to wait for bags that never
arrived. While my husband walked the length of the airport baggage area
searching for our bag, I stood in a long line at customer service. Apparently,
all the bags where lost. All I wanted was dinner, a cup of tea, my liquids, and
my comfortable pajamas from my checked bag. It was not to be. We gave up and
turned in for the night…sans liquids and comfy pjs.
In the morning we lumbered down to
baggage claim, and there was our bag, sitting all alone in a vast empty line of
silent luggage carousels. I opened the zipper just enough to verify that this
was indeed my bag - and upon seeing my socks and underwear, promptly zipped it
shut without fully examining ALL the contents. We grabbed the bag and rushed
upstairs to check it in before joining the security line before our flight to
Chicago, which was delayed.
The flight from Chicago to
Manchester was also delayed, and there was a scene at customs. The customs
agent simply was having one of those days (or lifetimes) where he gained
immense satisfaction from being an asshole. We watched as numerous families
were loudly belittled for "wasting his time and everyone else's" for
imagined slights and sent to the end of the ridiculously long line of over a
hundred weary passengers and crying children. When our turn arrived, the only
available agent was this power-wielding sack of flesh. We also were immediately
shunned, yelled at, and sent to the end of the line for showing disrespect,
when we had not been able to get in a single word to answer the belligerent
rapid fire questions of "and how would I be treated if I were to travel to
your country?! You are wasting my time. END OF THE LINE!" Making our way
back through the maze of line forming poles and rope we were intercepted by
another agent who took us back to the front of the line and hand delivered us
to a different agent - they passed knowing looks and we sensed that the agent
who was having a no-good-rotten-horrible-day was a regular occurrence.
With all the delayed flights and
customs drama we missed the prime 10 a.m. train to Edinburgh, but managed to
score tickets for the noon train. There was a bit of confusion before boarding
the train, as our tickets did not match the train cars or seats. We stopped a
uniformed man to ask which car we should board and were informed these tickets
were for the metro train across town, not this train right in front of us,
ready to leave the station. Being the calm, rational, people that we are, we
tossed our luggage on the theoretically wrong train and jumped aboard. Long
story short, the uniformed individual happened to be new on the job and gave us
directions that would have most certainly ruined Christmas. The other
passengers were very helpful in explaining the ticket and seating process.
We arrived in Edinburgh, the hilly
capital of Scotland. Cobblestone streets and Harry-Potter-esque architecture
make up the section known as Old Town, lined with baked potato delis and shops
offering highland wool and Celtic jewelry. I opened my bag and rummaged around
for the rum. It was gone. Of course it was gone. When a bag goes missing in an
airport for 12 hours, so does the rum.
On the return trip, I ditched all
the liquids and opted to carry on my bag instead of checking it. That was a
“stable genius” move on my part because everything that could possibly go wrong
in the history of air travel went wrong.
Perhaps that sentiment is overblown.
We did not die, there was no water landing, and the air sickness bag was not
required. However, the pilot came over the intercom and said, "Folks, this
plane is smaller than the one we would normally use for a transatlantic flight
and the fuel tank is not big enough to get us all the way to Chicago. We're
going to stop in Bangor, Maine for a refuel." As we approached Bangor,
Maine, the pilot made yet another announcement, "Folks, Bangor Maine is
too windy for a safe landing, so we are going to try to make it to Boston for a
refuel."
Never fly American. Who uses the
wrong plane??
All this wrong plane business
resulted in an unexpected overnight stay in Chicago, as everyone missed their
connections. Representatives met passengers at the gate and had dinner and
hotel vouchers, and tickets for rebooked flights. American Airlines rebooked us
on an Alaskan Airline flight to Seattle the next morning. This time I had my
comfy pajamas in my unchecked bag, so staying overnight in Chicago was not that
inconvenient. The next morning we arrived at the gate and were on standby for
seat assignments. After all the passengers boarded, and just before the plane
door was shut, we were assigned seats. As they scanned my newly issued ticket,
the ticket agent said, "I'm sorry, American didn't complete the purchase
on this ticket - You'll have to go to gate K7 and have them issue you a
purchased ticket." I ran to K7 and was told, "We aren't ticket
agents." I ran back to N9 (yeah, a different terminal!) and they let me on
the plane anyway, sans ticket.
My advice for sane holiday travel?
Forget the checked bag. Just take a backpack with a toothbrush, clean underpants,
and comfy pajamas. Be prepared to enjoy the ‘scenic’ extra-long way home.
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