Juggernaut: A massive inexorable force that seems to crush everything in its way.
1638, “huge wagon bearing an image of the god Krishna,” especially that at the town of Puri, drawn annually in procession in which (apocryphally) devotees allowed themselves to be crushed under its wheels in sacrifice.
Yeah, well in this case, the “massive inexorable force” is the incredible sucking airport-inertia that is created when you have a combination of Standby Travel and Canceled Flights. Which equals BlogHer Not.
And I have been crushed under its wheels in sacrifice.
Everything was going so smoothly this morning as I packed and got ready to go, which should have been a tipoff. Alerted last night that I’d have to wear something suitable for potential first-class travel (first! class! which I’ve only ever flown once in a long history of involvement with the airline industry, because I was always the one in the back with all the children and was trained to just be Grateful To Be On The Plane At All), which meant no jeans! No yoga pants! What else do I have??
I made a nice outfit of a short black linen skirt from 1997 and a linen jacket from 2001. With bare legs in white and black-and-blue. Pretty! And new black sandals with heels bought to wear tomorrow night, which I won’t be doing. And that were thankfully and surprisingly comfortable.
Can I say a word about shoes here?
I’m, evidently, not a Shoe Girl. In the winter I wear a pair of shoes I bought in about 2001. And a pair of Ugg’s bought to wear in arctic Finland in 2002. In summer, sandals from about 2004, and now, Crocs. Heels disappeared when the job-need for them did too, though I bought a pair last year for court appearances. I like shoes but they’re just not a priority. It’s all about comfort and whatever works.
So shopping for shoes to go with the dresses I won’t be wearing this week was weird. Who knew there were SO many choices? Each very similar to the next? How does one choose?
After trying on about six different pairs, I chose comfort over sparkly. Probably a good choice, but it would have been nice to have sparkly for once. When I was a kid and pored over the annual Sears Catalog I used to look at all the fancy ruffly dresses, wishing I could have one. But my dresses were always plaid. Or navy. So my current simple choices in clothes aren’t a huge surprise. But sparkly would have been nice.
The weird thing was the shoe size itself. I measure a 7.5, always have. I used to wear a 7.5. But in my search for comfort, my shoe sizes have crept up a bit. I wear probably an 8.5 in my day-to-day shoes. In a running shoe, an astounding 9.5. Ooh! Skis! But in the heeled sandals? Every pair I tried? 7.5. And the expert shoe lady, wearing a pair of flip-flops with her suit from Forever 21, so you KNOW she knows about shoes and comfort and fit and all, swore up and down that I’m a 7.5 and that they fit me better. And you know, they did.
So, there I am in my nice outfit and the shoes and all, having packed my liquids into tiny wee bottles in a clear plastic zip bag, lugging my laptop and my camera and all my cords and paraphernalia, going through security, taking off the shoes and putting them on, and then I get to the gate. Where there is a line of about 20 people waiting to talk to an agent.
I dutifully get in line and wait, because I don’t have a actual seat assignment yet. This is the beauty of non-revenue standby travel: flexibility! surprises! You never know where you’re going, or if!
So I stand in line maybe 15-20 minutes, and then I notice that the flight being displayed at the gate is not my flight. Oops. I could be in the wrong place. Damn. I get out of line and go to the other gates operated by that airline. Can’t find my flight. I look at the monitor: CANCELED.
Great. And the next flight going to Chicago is at the gate with the line. That I left my place in. That has tripled since then.
I get back in line.
After an hour, during which time I have advanced in the line perhaps a total of 8 feet toward the podium, I get out my laptop and balance it on the handle of my bag and check my emails. The other people in line probably wondered at my private chuckling to some of the comments left here, and the email exchange made by the people I am not meeting and not having drinks with right now.
Toward the end of the second hour, they decided to board the flight. People in line were freaking out; one Young Earnest Entitled Couple behind me in line was apparently from my canceled flight and still didn’t have seat assignments, yet someone somewhere promised them that they were “confirmed” and their bags were on the plane. Other people were making phone calls to make alternative arrangements.
The flight continued to board. The gate agent had already announced that it was full, so I knew I had little chance to getting on it, but I at least wanted to know where I stood, what my chances were of getting to Chicago today. So I continued to wait.
Young Earnest Entitled Couple got quite anxious when they started calling “final boarding” for the flight. The gate agent was sweating, typing furiously and printing out yards of paper and then counting things. Second Gate Agent tried to look busy but he clearly was doing absolutely nothing.
People started swarming the podium, bypassing the line protocol. Young Earnest Entitled Couple had words with one man and shamed him into subservience behind them. Five minutes later they were standing in front of me, shouting at the gate agent.
People don’t understand the power of the gate agent. The gate agent is god. The gate agent decides whether you get on a plane or not, it doesn’t matter if you have a TICKET, you insect, because if Gate Agent doesn’t like you, YOU DON’T FLY.
I kind of wanted to see Gate Agent take his anxious wrath out on Young Earnest Entitled Couple, but he didn’t, and they walked down the jet bridge and didn’t return, so either Gate Agent threw them out the door onto the tarmac or they got on the plane.
After they closed the door, which means No One Else Is Getting On This Plane No Matter What, I was finally at the head of the line. At which time Gate Agent looked up in no particular direction and announced testily that he was done. No more. Go somewhere else.
So I sat down with my laptop and something to eat and pondered my possibilities. There was I think one more, maybe two more flights left and they were both full.
And so I decided to go home. Waiting another 3 hours to not get on a flight didn’t sound like fun, and all of a sudden I was very, very tired.
On the bright side: Wi-fi in the airport! And an $8 sandwich!
But being crushed under the wheels of Krishna’s cart has given me quite a headache.
[tags] BlogHer, airports, standby travel, travel[/tags]
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