Afraid of Flying? Don’t Worry, Airlines Will Always Keep You Grounded: My Trip To Prague - T4L
T4L (“Thanks For Listening”) marks real stories and random rants, exaggerated for laughs (and because I have a poor memory). Don’t worry, it’s all true… mostly.
My wife, Klara, and I booked a flight to Prague. That’s where we made our mistake. You see, when you book a flight anywhere, there are two things that can happen:
You can end up at the destination on the ticket. This is ideal. But due to airline regulations, it’s not necessary. It’s totally happenstance if you end up where it says on your ticket. It’s certainly not due to the airline, since they try everything possible to ensure you don’t arrive anywhere at all. So don’t blame them if you end up where it says on your ticket.
You can end up where you started… gray-haired and angrier begging the airline associate to tell you when your delayed flight will arrive—or get canceled! “Please, please just give me some closure!”
On the day of our trip, the airline texted Klara and me, informing us that our flight had been canceled. Learning this before leaving bed was great! It meant we could sleep in. But another text said our flight was rebooked for the same exact time.
Ah, the tell-tale sign of a computer making a mistake, I said to myself.
Algorithms have a digital fingerprint. Like a poorly trained intern, computers are about as effective at booking a flight as an ant is at doing arithmetic. So, we packed our oversized luggage into the undersized Uber and were on our way.
At the airport, the line to talk to an airline associate was about 100 miles short of the 5,000 miles we had to travel. Waiting in line really reaffirms your place in the universe; it’s the quintessential human experience. A line has a way of punching the ego right in the solar plexus. A long queue can deflate even the most self-assured, egotistical airhead. It’s safe to say even my ego took a hit.
By the time we reached the agent, my smartwatch told me I had completed my steps for the next year.
“Your flight was rebooked,” the agent said smugly, “for tomorrow.” She dealt with enough angry customers to know where to slide the dagger.
I reeled.
Nowhere did the text message state the day, it merely said the time.
“But we have a connecting flight,” I protested.
The connecting flight was also rebooked for the next day. Identical times, different day.
“It’s in the app,” she suggested.
Klara wasn’t having it. When she’s determined to do something, she does it. She’d fly the plane if she had to.
“Rebook us on the connecting flight for today,” Klara pressed.
“If you miss that flight, it’s not our responsibility.” The airline associate tapped away at the computer in that special way that customer service representatives do; needlessly loud and with extra letters for emphasis. “You won’t be able to get a refund.”
“We’ll make the flight,” Klara said without doubt. I wish I had that confidence.
Klara booked another flight with another airline for an undisclosed amount. We had a short window to make the connecting flight at JFK.
If you’ve ever been to John F. Kennedy International Airport, then you know that a short window—a little over 2 hours—is not enough time to:
Pick up your bags at the carousel
Take the AirTrain to a different terminal
Check in and drop off bags
Go through security
Run the 100 miles to your gate
Scan your ticket at the gate
Collapse in your compact seat
The other airline was quick and efficient.
The only delay was security, not because of a long line (surprisingly there wasn’t one) but because I was scatterbrained. I realized after awkwardly sliding my shoes on and nearly tumbling and taking out a trash can, that my AirPods were nowhere to be found. I had placed them in the bin with my other belongings—and that bin was now redeposited into the ever-revolving security carousel.
I quickly asked a security agent if they found AirPods. He said no, but suggested I use the Find My app.
I flipped to the app. The signal was weak. But the app found them.
Distance: 30 feet
Distance: 20 feet
Distance: 10 feet
It had taken a loopy carousel ride on the belt.
My screen turned green. There they were in the bin.
“That’s lucky,” Klara said. “Someone could have taken it.”
The flight wasn’t memorable, which is exactly what you want a flight to be. It’s the memorable ones that are a problem. “And that’s about when the wing came off…”
We landed at JFK, legged it to the baggage carousel—and waited 45 minutes for our luggage to be properly digested and deposited onto the moving belt. Luggage in hand, we raced to the AirTrain. By the time we arrived to check our bags, we were making solid time. We had over an hour and a half until the plane took off.
It was that airline again (I won’t say the name of the airline out of respect, something they could learn); they were a total mess. We tagged our bags—only after the machine broke in the middle of printing a tag—and had to wait in line to hand the bag to an associate to deposit onto the conveyer belt.
The line was longer than the one we waited in at the start of our untrip—that’s what I’ll call this, an untrip.
Untrip. Noun. Similar to what an unbirthday is to a birthday, except without tea, cake, or any food or water because you haven’t got time to breathe because you’re busy running to a flight you are about to miss. (Usually experienced during air travel, specifically at the airport). Example. Our trip to the Bahamas became an untrip when we missed our flight there, lost our luggage and had to bribe our way onto another flight with sticks of gum. Syn. disaster, trial, labor, ordeal. Ant. a successful trip.
It took 45 minutes to get to the end of the line. All we did was hand our luggage to the associate. That was it. 45 minutes. The line was explicitly for this terse interaction. However, because people need to ask questions—and get into needless arguments with airplane staff—it took 45 minutes!
Security was another huge line. We made it this far! We can’t miss the plane now; who would be on the other side to pick up our luggage?
There was the priority line. We don’t fly priority because we are losers. But Klara asked the priority agent policing the line if we could skip ahead because our flight was leaving in a few short minutes.
We must have looked like a total mess. She gave us a once over, and with a pitying look, waved us through. This time, I did not lose my AirPods; only my sanity (what was left of it).
After security, the new Herculean labor appeared before us.
We were supposed to go to gate 37… we were at gate 20. The doors to our flight were going to close soon and we had about a mile ahead of us. A sign on a wall said 15 minutes to the gate! There was no time to walk, let alone run.
I spotted a lifeline. It was one of those awkward and amusing golf carts that drive people to gates. I flagged it down. The driver smiled with a mustache that had large white teeth. He happily picked us up, whisked us through the airport, pressing the horn whenever some unsuspecting, oblivious air traveler stood in our way.
A few things I observed when carted through like airport royalty:
People do not pay attention to their surroundings
The golf cart driver had steely patience, but was firm on the horn
The driver stopped only once, when it was necessary, however, he expertly floored the thing, dodging people here and there
It literally was a mile to the gate
At last, we made it. The headaches. The fear of missing the flight. It was all over. We were exhausted. Drained. But we had arrived just in time. The last people boarding the plane. We were those people.
We sat down triumphantly. Tired. Worn. Thirsty. Accomplished.
We were ready to go!
Except...
The plane needed repairs.