Stretching out this cup of coffee so that we can still use the free wi-fi

Dad and I are currently sitting in a coffeeshop called the Ugly Mug, reminiscing about all the glorious hours that we have spent in airports all across this great land. The most enchanting of those glorious hours, not so coincidentally, occurred between 3pm on Sunday and noon on Monday, as we were desperately trying to get to my new home in Oregon. But what should have been a routine journey through the friendly skies swiftly turned into a harrowing odyssey into the very heart of despair. At every turn we were met by airline employees whose faces betrayed every subtle emotion between bemusement and belligerence, with stops along the way at fury, resentment and existential numbness. But at the very memory of our sojourn I am choking up with emotion, so Dad will pen the next paragraph as I dab at my eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

Just so you all know ... it really wasn't that bad. True I did need to grab a beer to write this as it was not the most pleasant experience still we came through well and looking back I believe it shows why the airline industry is where it is... The drive to the airport was filled with anticipation and excitment. we parked easily enough and there the clouds of despair started rolling in. The line to check into the airline was as long as the road to heaven. By that I mean it takes a lifetime and being good all the time can be so boring that it feels like eternity. Kind of like doing volunteerism in a soup kitchen; it's wonderful to do but the hours there are interminable and frought with the danger of you screaming at people to stop their destructive behaviour and move on with life! But I digress: Needless to say I skipped to the head of the line by making u pa fictional frequent flier number (I know some long road to heaven right but as I said it's not as much fun being good as not being good) there was only two people in front of us and it still took 20 minutes. Blessedly security was distracted by the boredom and we danced merrily through. The clouds turned darker and started to gather thicker still blue was seen... at the gate they were oversold and looking for volunteers to delay their trip. Seeing the distraught faces of the other travelers mostly women and children we sacrificed ourselves to the gods for their expedient trip to wherever it was they needed to go. (OK so we would get free tickets too. Sometimes doing the right thing is easy :-) So we waited patiently in yet another line to tell the harried agents that we would submit oursleves to sacrifice to the gods of the air. Of course the line was long... and there were two agents: one dealing with customers and the other on the phone complianing to her friend about how inconsiderate people are when attempting to travel by air. The audacity of folks who give money to the charity known as "Air Travel" and actually expect to go somewhere for there goodwill. What is the world coming to? so naturally we tried to persuade the people in front of us to actually go and talk to the whining agent. and of course no-one wanted to attempt to deal with her fearing her wrath and possibly not getting on the flight. So we went up and put in our names because we figured that if we said we want off first she really would have no choice. There was a flaw in our logic however. Becuase we wanted off she was inclined to keep us on which is exactly what happened. They boarded the plane and we then all waited for 40 minutes which would make us miss our connecting flight. So we attempted to get off the plane but they would not give us our bags and so stranding us becuase the car keys were in my bag in the hold. they made the announcement that they were going to take off and that many flights were delayed anyways and we might still make our connection. With the flight leaving immediately we jumped back on and found ourselves waiting another 25 minutes on the tarmac. we eventually lifted off and landed without much stir. So we are in Charlotte without a connection. My turn to cry in my beer and Matt will continue on.

Great was our woe as we debarked in Charlotte, which apparently all the major airlines had decided to use as a landfill for their undesired customers. Wading through crowds up to our chests (like something out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting), we heard rumors that bad weather had paralyzed air travel all along the Eastern Seaboard, but we alone among the bleary-eyed multitude knew the truth: that US Airways just enjoys screwing with people, and were dabbling with doing it on a large scale (the economic situation being what it is, efficiency is the name of the game). Regardless, or as the customer courtesy agent at the gate would say, irregardless, of the sheer meanness of spirit that had resulted in so many hundreds attending sleepaway camp at Fort Baggage Claim 6, we plowed onward to the "Special Services Desk" to rebook our flights and perhaps demand the head of some peon. It was not hard to find this desk, as it was surrounded by a mob of defeated-looking travelers, and anyway you could hear the distinct sounds of weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth even before the line came into view. A mere 75 minutes later, and after the greater part of the airline employees behind the desk rather pointedly declared that their shifts had ended and evaporated like steam into the night air, or like my remaining patience also into the night air, we were standing in front of the reinforcement...one hapless peon that was told to go to the frontlines of the eastern front probably for some perceived threat. Unfortunately, he had not been told that the threat he should have perceived was us, battle-hardened like a steel blade. A look of relief passed over his face as he saw that we had already been rebooked on a flight departing at 8:40pm on the following day, and it was with supemely misplaced confidence that he alerted us to the good news. When we indicated that this solution was not acceptable to us, he looked a man stricken, then called our attention to the still-expanding line of unsatisfied customers behind us. "Have you seen the length of that line?" he queried us, with a total lack of irony. "Yes, from every angle" came a rather sharp reply, and we all failed to share a hearty laugh. The ice broken, the man staring across the counter at us swore a terrible oath that he would do his level best (a promise that is anathema to most airline customer service employees) to get us an earlier flight, and indeed he delivered as he said, though it took no small amount of sweat, creativity, hustling, dodging, and calling in favors to book us on the first flight out of Charlotte with Northwest. In the end, at about midnight we found ourselves in possession of a Flight Interruption Manifest (basically a handwritten note to Northwest begging them to let us on the plane, and also to excuse us from gym class), phone numbers for a hotel and a taxi service, and a heart full of thanks for our gracious benefactor, James Brown of the US Airways Special Services Desk, Charlotte. Sleep came a mere hour later, tucked into our cozy beds of the airport hotel, where so many exausted and disappointed people had laid their heads before us.

Stardate 20070730400. Four AM comes quietly. Like a lamb walks to a cowslip on a hot summer day then bites it's headoff. Blearily we sleepwalked through the first 20 minutes getting ready to resume the battle. Our stead was a checkered yellow war-horse that blared the AC~DC war cry 'Hell's Bells' all the way to the airport. We arrived with new hope. Our check in process was so smooth we were lulled into a sense of elation akin to spiritual rebirth. All is right with the world. Peace will come to the world. God smiles a benvolent smile. or maybe it was sarcastic? It was then we met the battle. a uniform strained to to retain the bulk of our next foe. Her name will remain forever lost to time (stella croft of gate 6 in the Northwest) We had boarding tickets in hand and when our zhone was called we gleefully skipped to the line only to be BITCH SLAPPED: "Where is your ticket? you can't board the plane with this." a small smile crossed hert lips as my eyebrows raised and I said "Excuse me?"
"You best check your attitude. Stand over there."
"You should check yours madame. We have a boarding pass entitling us passage on this plane." Good soul that Matthew is he stalks off saying "Of course: Out of sight. Out of Mind." The good cop/bad cop game is set.
"You don't have a ticket."
after another round of unh-huh, nunh-huh I suggested she call the agent that check us in for handwritten note allowing us to get on board. she grunted and called complianing about new agents and that the paper work should have have been stapled to the tickets. (Note to self: When attempting air travel I need to remember that the gate agents that start off with biliegerence are generally inflicted with a need to prove dominance over unsuspecting prey. Refusing to comply irritates them. But like our first gate agent if you do not stand infront of them and demandc service you will not recive service. It is best to try and defuse the situation but remain fimr in your right to get on board a plane if you should get on the plane.) I strain to see her hidden identification and jot it down, at which point she says with a mixture of intrepidation and exasperation "My name is Stella if that's what you're looking for."
My response was smooth and oilly as cod-liver oil; "thank you Miss Croft id numer 285153. I have it already" Once Stella realizes that she has come up against someone as bullheaded as she things accelerate. Now that we are irritated enough to report her we are allowed to board. I thought that we had settled the matter but low and behold we had exactly the same experience when we arrived at Detroit. I felt better in that Gate agents are very Eqaul Opportunity abusers. In detorit the agent pulled the same thing to a family with small children. It made me laugh. Out Loud. Everyone looked at me funny. It is amazing what only three hours of sleep will do to a person. I thought that we would be exhausted. Intead I felt as though I was ready for another battle of wits. I hoped that the gate agent or Mother would respond to me. I think they saw a blood lust in my eye though. rather than risk an all out confrontation we were all very quickly allowed on the plane by a Veteran gate agent. And so we arrive in Protland finally!

Of course, the same could not be said for our luggage, and no-one at the airport was terribly sure how our checked bags were supposed to have gotten to Portland, or indeed whether they had arrived already. The experience was akin to watching a very irresponsible magician: presto change-o, I have made all your stuff disappear, and now I myself will take my leave in a puff of non-apologetic smoke! So we bounced between US Airways and Northwest for a while, pinball-like, and amused ourselves by watching their highly involved game of "Pass the Buck," before giving up and hailing a taxi to my waiting apartment. Our bags were later found, but US Airways did not find it necessary to so inform us until we called them later that evening. At long last, our luggage was on its way to us by a courtesy delivery service. We could finally expect that this hellacious epsiode was soon to end. At about 2:30am, when the bags arrived at our doorstep, cutting short a second consecutive night of sleep. But the blankets packed in those late-arriving suitcases were a welcome respite from the unadorned floor of the apartment (the novelty of inspecting my new carpeting up close had worn off pretty quickly). And thus ended our travel saga, with a whimper rather than a bang, but still I was left challenging the assumption that those hardy pioneers who originally took the Oregon Trail really had it so much worse than we, their intrepid descendants. More to come on Portland and what we've been up to in the days since, but right now our first and only cup of coffee is long gone and the barista is looking at us askance as we continue to monopolize the sofa at the Ugly Mug, so for now, farewell.