Booking a 7:24am flight was kind of an insane move for a non-morning person like myself to make in the first place. Especially since I knew it would be coming after several super busy weeks. But that was the plan I made for a week ago today. I was lured by the thought of stepping off the plane in Oakland (where rental cars are 10 times cheaper than at SFO) at 9:30am, driving 30 minutes into the city and having nearly a full day on my own before BlogHer Pro to do awesome San Franciscoey things without having to worry about anyone else’s preferences or schedule.
I would get all packed way ahead of time. I’d check in for my flight the day before and get an e-boarding pass. Phillip could drop me off at the airport. We could leave the house at 6am, be there at 6:15, and, while that’s not the recommended 2 hours before the flight, it would be plenty of time on an uncrowded Monday morning to get through security and to my gate.
Only I wasn’t all packed ahead of time. The airline, for some reason, could not send my e-boarding pass. And, at 6am, I’m still scrambling to get my stuff together and get out the door.
I keep thinking of my cousin Allison’s post about rushing to make her flight for the World Parkinson’s Congress and wondering if airport drama could be genetic. (Her post should actually be prerequisite reading for this one. Check it out.)
Phillip used to work at the airport. So I go over my battle plan with him while he drives me there. At this point, it’s less than an hour before my flight. I am freaking out a bit.
Me: I don’t even remember where to go to print a boarding pass. There’s a kiosk, right? Where is the kiosk?
P: You know, maybe you should just go to the luggage counter, even though you’re not checking any bags. That way, you can talk to an actual human, and they can radio the gate to tell them you’re on your way.
Me: What if there’s a line for the counter? What if it makes me miss my flight? One thing at a time. Let’s discuss the kiosk scenario and get back to that.
But we never get back to it. He tells me which direction to go once I get inside and which security line to go through. And then we’re there. I hop out of the car, remind him to pop the back hatch for my suticase, and give him a big ol’ goodbye kiss.
I find my kiosk and pull up my info. But somehow my boarding pass still doesn’t print. The woman pre-checking people before the security line kindly but firmly sends me back to try again. This time it works.
Boarding pass in hand, she lets me through. I’m relieved. Until I see the security line wrapping around and around like it’s a new ride at Disneyland. Except you know there are no singing animals at the end. Just shoeless indignity. Woohoo.
What are all these people doing here anyway? Hey, don’t you guys know it’s early on a Monday morning, and I’m supposed to have this place to myself? Couldn’t you just let me cut to the front? I have a plane to catch! Oh. Right. So do you.
The TSA agent okays me to proceed to the x-ray line, and I am whipping off my shoes and my jacket, and throwing it all into bins before I even get up to the conveyor belt. I stand in the body scanner thing with my hands up (again – woo.hoo.) and try not to think about how detailed of a picture they’re getting of me. (Yes, TSA, I’ve gained a few pounds since last time. I stress eat, okay?!)
They clear me. I grab my stuff and run through the terminal, putting on my shoes and stuffing my laptop back into its bag as I go.
Then all of the sudden, I’m at my gate. I try to catch my breath and double check the screen: Nonstop to Oakland. On time for 7:24am. It was 7:08am. They aren’t even boarding yet. I made it.
People are already kind of starting to gather into a haphazard line. Why do people do that so early? We have assigned seats. Seriously, you guys, relax. I sit down just across from the gate counter and wait for them to announce boarding for my flight.
They keep calling this flight for Long Beach, which is not where I am going. No one around me moves or seems concerned. They must know something I don’t. I realize that the airline could have been sending email notifications about the flight status, and they could have been failing, just like my boarding pass. Finally, I ask someone sitting nearby if she’s going to Oakland. “Nope. San Antonio.” So I go ask the gate agent about my flight.
“Oakland?” Her voice is soft and unsarcastic, as she clarifies, “You mean the one that left 8 minutes ago?”
I try to wrap my mind around what has happened. The plane left. And I wasn’t on it. I point to the spot where I had been sitting, just 10 or 15 feet away, and choke back tears, as the stress of the whole morning – the whole month – washes over me. “I was sitting right there the whole time.”
She shrugs. “I made all my announcements. You’re the only one who didn’t hear them.” Super.
She calmly rebooks me for a flight 2 hours later and tries to tell me it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. My whole day of San Francisco awesomeness has vaporized.
They must have known I was around that airport somewhere. I had to physically print my boarding pass just down the hall. I’ve seen casual dining restaurants try harder to track down someone about to spend $30 on dinner and appeteasers than the airline that had issued my $300 ticket. I mean, they already know what I look like. Thanks to those body scanners, they even have my measurements. Really, they couldn’t take a quick glance around and ask “Liebold, party of 1?”
I felt stupid and angry and cheated. I got up early. My husband got up early. We rushed. I panicked. I ran to the gate. And for what? For San Francisco. Not for Sky Harbor airport. I wanted a do-over that I knew I wouldn’t get. It all seemed like such a waste.
I called Phillip. I was worried he’d be angry, but he was sweet and sympathetic. He didn’t even mention being right about the luggage counter. He listened. He commiserated. Finally, he said, “I know you have some work you wanted to get done today. Why don’t you get some coffee and get it done now so you don’t have to worry about it later?” He was right. (Again.) That’s all I could really do.
I headed for my second gate. When I saw a coffee shop ahead of me, I think I heard angels sing. I ordered some kind of maple-flavored sugartastic concoction, opened my email, and got some work done.
Once again, I was at the gate before boarding started. But this time, I got in that haphazard line and kept an eye on the gate agent. This time, I was getting on that plane.
