« Feels Like a Monday | Main | Things My Brother Taught Me »
March 7, 2011
In The Morning
In the morning, I awake but something's not right. The alarm isn't going off. I'm sure that it's after 5:30 a.m. I check the phone and, because it's plugged in, the alarm doesn't ring for some reason. Not clear why.
But this is where we are. This is reality. It's 6:30 a.m. and there's precious little chance I'll make my flight.
Outside, a few inches of snow. I toss a few things in a bag, turn the heat down and I'm out the door. The first turn, I almost lose control and I think...this is insane. It's not worth wrecking over. If I miss my flight, I miss my flight. So I settle down a little and focus on trying to get to the airport.
I check my boarding pass about 37 times as I'm driving through the canyons. There's almost zero chance I'll make my flight. I think about parking in short term parking, but finally, I just resign myself. I'll park where I always do, go to the airport per usual. If I make it, I make it. If I don't, then I don't, and I'll just deal with the consequences.
Traffic is not good. I get to my long term parking and it's covered in black ice. Somehow, I don't wreck and I don't fall and break my hip. A woman shuttles me to the airport and I find myself before the Khafkaesque security theatre that is the TSA.
As a general rule, I don't speak to these guys. If they try to be friendly and speak to me, I just grimace. But this guy is really pushing my buttons.
"Where are you going?"
"San Francisco, I reckon."
"When were you born?"
"May 22nd."
"Have a nice flight."
So I bolt past him, clear security, and hop on the stupid little train.
Now, this is where it gets interesting. I print my boarding passes at home. No gate was assigned at the time I printed my boarding pass. I know United flies out of Terminal B, but this is all I can know at this point.
There are no monitors in the TSA screening area. Now, there should be. Because this is where you spend your time, endlessly waiting for the nimrods to search grandmothers and children for explosives, pocket knives, and helium balloons.
In the bowels of the airport, where you wait for the train, no monitors of course. This would be an excellent place to put them, but alas, a government has no brain. It has no thoughts and no will, save to tax and impede. This is all a government can do. Efficiency is it's antithesis.
So, I get on the train and go to Terminal B and get off, rush up the stairs to he banks of monitors. This is the first chance you have to see them if you print your boarding pass at home.
There's a huge bank of monitors for Arrivals, which is just absurd. You can't go to the gate to meet people any more, so why you'd need to know Arrival information is beyond me. Only to meet unaccompanied minors, I would guess.
So, I ignore the Arrival information, and focus on Departures.
Now, United has entered into an unholy "Code Share Alliance" with about 5 other airlines. The result of this illegal collusion, aside from reduced competition and increased ticket prices, is that each flight is listed under 5 different airlines with 5 different flight numbers. They scroll through the various airlines and flight numbers in perpetuity. So, the trick is to look at the Departure monitor banks, find the city you want to go to, and the departure time, and cross your fingers.
I know my flight is United Flight 869, but none of them say United. In theory, if you stand there long enough, it may eventually get around to showing United airlines, after scrolling through about 5 other airlines and their flight numbers.
But I don't have time for this. So, instead, I look for the flight that has the closest departure time and the gate says C45 and the flight is Boarding. Now, I know it would be unusual for United to fly out of Terminal C, but I really haven't gotten this Code Share thing all dialed in anyway, so maybe this is one of their partners that really does fly out of Termianl C? How would I know?
So, I bolt back downstairs and catch the train to Terminal C. At gate C45, the door is still open and I offer the guy my boarding pass and he's like "Dude...you're flying United. This is a Southwest Airlines flight. You're in Terminal C."
He says this like I'm the dumbest person on earth.
Immediately, I realize my mistake. But I've had airlines other tickets for other airlines. It happens all the time. I just shove my boarding pass at him and say "I realize this is Southwest Airlines...will you fly me to San Francisco?" Because, at least the flight is going to San Francisco. I did manage to get that much right, anyway.
"Check with them at the counter."
'Will y'all fly me to San Francisco?" I ask, offering my boarding pass as collateral.
"Sir. Your boarding pass is for United. This is a Southwest Airlines flight. You're in Terminal C."
Again, she says it like I'm the dumbest person on the planet. Like somehow, I don't measure up to the rigors of modern air travel."
"I'm well aware of what airline I'm flying and what Terminal I'm in. Thank you. I'm asking if you'll fly me to San Francisco."
"Not without purchasing a ticket, sir."
So, I turn around and race back down to the train, back to Terminal B and back to the same confusing bank of monitors.
Now, I'm not clear what the monitors said that made me think I needed to go to Terminal C. Clearly, in retrospect, I made a mistake.
This time, I study the monitors a little more closely. I find a United flight for San Francisco that's boarding and head for that one. Gate B something or other. So, I race to the gate and I hand the guy my boarding pass and he just looks at it, like it's a turd in a punch bowl.
"What is this?" he sneers?
"My boarding pass," I reply.
"This boarding pass is not for this flight," he continues, like I'm dumber than carpet.
"I'm aware of that, thanks."
"The why are you here?"
"They told me to come here," I lied. I just knew that, since his was the next United Airlines flight to SFO, I needed to come here and plead my case. Probably, I should have gone to the "United Airlines: Please Wait Here" penalty box, but I skipped that stage and just went straight to the gate of the next departing flight.
"Who's THEY?" he demanded.
"The people at the ticket counter," I lied. No reason to back down now.
"If you want to go standby on this flight, there's a $50 charge," he announced proudly. I'd fucked up, and he had me. He was happy that I'd have to pay a penalty for missing my flight. This was clear to everyone involved.
"Fifty dollars? Seriously? OK. Fine. But I'll never fly United again. I'll start flying Southwest. They don't charge ridiculous fees like that."
"Sir, it's not my policy."
"I understand that."
"It's not my fault."
"I understand that also. I'm just stating a fact. I'll never fly United Airlines again. I'm not blaming you. I'm just stating a fact."
"Do you live in Denver?" he asked.
"Yes. That's why I used to fly United," I continued.
"Why did you miss your flight?" he continued. There was just no pleasing this guy. He was out for blood.
"I missed my flight because your fucked up code-sharing alliance is so confusing that someone that flies every week can't figure out which gate to go to. That's why I missed the fucking flight."
"Was it because of security that you missed you flight?"
I was looking at the guy through throbbing temples. I wanted to come across the kiosk and choke him to death with hands. Gouge his eyes out with my thumbs.
"I don't know what game we're playing here. I'm not clear what you want me to say."
"Did you miss your flight because of security?" he repeated.
Slowly, it dawned on me. He was trying to help me. I was just too livid to understand what was going on.
"Yes. I missed my flight because of the long lines at security."
And that was it. He typed something into the computer, printed me a boarding pass, and I was on the plane, headed to San Francisco for no additional charge.
Once we're on the plane, I realize I'm in the last row, which doesn't recline. I'm in a window seat, but on the wrong side of the plane.
So, I'm in my seat. Everyone's boarded except for a small village of Vietcong, and a few others I noticed out there. I give everyone the official OK to spread out, as though some how I have this authority, and everyone does. I grab a window seat a few rows up and, I'm still on the wrong side of the plane, but it reclines at least. And I'm as happy as a pig in slop and praying for them to close the cabin door. I want them to nail that thing shut, but they won't close it and now, here comes that village of Vietnamese and they're coming this way and of course, I'm in their seat. It's a whole village, as I mentioned. At least 5 of them. And, of course, I'm in their seat. But somehow, they all just sit down and no one throws me out. They should have, of course. But now one does.
And we slip away from the winter storm that's bearing down on Colorado.
Posted by Rob Kiser on March 7, 2011 at 10:01 PM
Comments