This is a translation of an article I posted on July 30, 2010. Although written so long ago, it’s still pretty funny today. Please enjoy and, why not, share your own crazy airport/travel stories.
We returned to NY yesterday after a week of wandering around (in chronological order) Atlanta (Georgia) – Montgomery (Alabama) – Panama City (Florida) – Montgomery – Atlanta. I promised loads of pictures and stories, so people will stop complaining that I’ve abandoned the blog. For now, I’ll delight you with a fresh story.
Yesterday.
I wake up at around 5:50 a.m. M.’s dog, our host’s brother (and, of course, friend) in NY, also wakes up.
Griffin is a black Labrador mixed with some other random breed. A large dog, almost my size and I suspect equally heavy. He was super relaxed and friendly, so I “allowed” him to sleep in the room with us in his own house.
Atlanta enjoys temperatures that we Romanians haven’t yet endured, although our summer also tends to mess with the thermometer. So, out of pity for the barking fellow, I decided that since we were given the master bedroom, we’d also accept the tenant.
As a big “dog mom,” I was happy with the new sleeping partner. Griffin slept peacefully in his bed, and around 5:50, he gave signs that he needed to “relieve his bladder.”
Since I’ve been falling asleep like a well-behaved child around 9-10 PM for a week, I had no problem sensing it. Usually, when I sleep, a marching band could play in my ears without waking me.
I barely managed to open the door to the yard and avoid getting my toes crushed by the 40 kilos of a dog when I heard M. whispering that we needed to wake up so we wouldn’t miss the flight to Akron. After that, we had another flight to LaGuardia, New York.
Everything was great; we arrived early at the airport and headed to Security.
I put my laptop on the belt, the camera, the sandals (because Americans are so freaked out by attacks that they think sandals can carry deadly stuff), and the trolley. I picked them up after passing through the scanner and discovered with great delight that my sandals (which I bought for an unreasonably high price 2 years ago) were broken.
They probably got caught between those circular things and one of the metal links snapped. That meant I spent yesterday in “flip-flops” (the back strap was unusable) and, if I don’t manage to repair them somewhere, I’ll be left barefoot.
I checked out the Ecco website yesterday and 1. this model is no longer available, and 2. I can’t find anything under $130. That means I’d have to spend as much as I’d do for 3 pairs of sneakers.
After the mandatory frustration, we prepared to board the flight to Akron. M. was so thrown off by my misfortune that he forgot to give us the “cosmetics” he had passed through security (my perfume, toothbrushes, and toothpaste).
So for now, I’m without my perfume too; but we’ll meet again soon, thankfully.
Feeling it would be a bad day, I boarded the plane to Akron (Ohio). We were “lucky” not to sit together, but since the seats were standby, we were grateful we even got on the plane.
However, that sliver of luck in Ohio evaporated because we didn’t get seats on the 12-something flight. That meant we had to spend 4 hours in the airport for the 4:27 PM flight, which we had a good chance of catching.
I took advantage of the fact that the checking officers were at their posts and rechecked our standby tickets. The lady was very kind, reassured me that we had seats on that flight, even changed the boarding pass details, and gave us seats 29A and C.
Good.
With the new papers in hand, I returned to my seat and told, “Sunshine” we had seats.
After that, I got down to organizational stuff like eating something and opening the laptop to organize the photos. Like any self-respecting American airport, the Akron’s shed didn’t have free internet, which reminded me that even our poor Timisoara airport has had free Wi-Fi for at least two years.
Since my love adores Heroes III and I happened to have it installed, I lent him my laptop for a while and wandered around the airport. I returned to Arby’s (where we ate half an hour ago) and spotted a Sudoku magazine.
During the previous flight, I ended up between two 70-year-old ladies who were completely uninterested in chatting. Since I had already read that plane magazine, I figured a Sudoku would be a nice change. It cost 9 dollars there.
I walked downstairs and saw a bar with a “press” section. I spotted a magazine there for about 5 bucks. It was good, much better. But since you can’t write in a magazine with your finger, I asked where I could buy a pen. “Go straight and then left.”
Alright, straight, and then left I went.
“Sunshine” swears there was a big green sign that said Exit. Honestly, I didn’t see anything at “eye level.” There was no sign like in LaGuardia, for example, that says “from here, you can’t return,” marking the exit from the security area.
After passing two policemen, I had a strange feeling, but the truth is, it’s the US, there are police everywhere. I found the kiosk and bought a pen and a magazine for 5 dollars—both.
Excited by my personal victory, tickled with joy, thinking about flexing my neurons counting from 1 to 9, I returned to the abandoned sector and saw a big sign saying “do not enter.”
And that’s when it hit me: I had left the security zone.
To avoid sprinting 100 meters with the police chasing me, I went straight to one of them and explained that I had left the security area, being as distracted as I am, I had a ticket for flight 207 to LaGuardia at 16:27, etc.
My obsession with being extra-polite, plus my fluency in Yank-speak, seemed to please the officer.
He asked if I was with someone; I explained what “Sunshine” looked like and that he had my passport and boarding pass. I thanked him for his help and patiently waited to get my documents, wondering how my poor companion would react when airport police approached him.
The officer returned with my documents; I thanked him again and got in line with the Akronian crowd at security, where I had to go through the joy of taking off my shoes again.
Well, at least they were already broken.
I handed over my passport and tickets, and the officer looked at the boarding pass as if I were Osama and asked who M.N. and M.J. were.
Our friend (who didn’t make it on the flight from Atlanta) and my “gem” of a boyfriend. So, the kind lady upstairs at the checking kiosk gave me boarding passes for my companions, but not mine.
Naturally, it didn’t click then, so I turned back to bother the officer again with a trip upstairs to gate 9.
He was extremely kind and did the extra workout, but he returned with bad news “your boyfriend said he cannot find your boarding pass.”
Great. Now I was convinced that I was having a genuinely crappy day and that the broken sandal was nothing. I asked how to fix the problem and was told to go to the airline kiosk and request another boarding pass.
I stood in line there for about 10 minutes, calm because I still had about 3 hours left to escape, and anyway, I had Sudoku, right?
I learned with great delight at the counter that I wasn’t on the list.
That’s when the earlier realization hit me: they had listed M. but forgotten me.
I poured a kilo of sugar into my voice and explained in detail that I came from Atlanta on flight X, that I missed the 12-something flight to NY, that I was with “Sunshine” (I even gave a superb spelling of his 3-letter name), that M. didn’t get on the flight, and that this was probably where the “mix-up” occurred.
The lady gave me a boarding pass and reminded me that I’d need to arrange my seat at the gate because she couldn’t assign one. I thanked her kindly, mentioning that I needed enough paperwork for security.
Meanwhile, “Sunshine” had already come down and was chatting with one of the security officers. He saw me, looking as fabulous as I was in that 1950s dress, without any luggage, just holding a magazine, a passport, and a pen.
They let me go ahead of the others; I put the sandals on the belt (luckily without breaking any more straps) and was greeted by “Sunshine,” who, surprisingly, was laughing heartily at how “smart” his lady was.
Naturally, a few minutes later, he gravely explained the severity of my stupidity. This prompted me to shut it down very quickly by reminding him that he had done far worse things than me.
We then made nice in front of a supervisor, whom I informed about the boarding pass mix-up. In 30 seconds, I had a seat.
A few hours later, we dragged our trolleys down “our” street in NY. If I were religious, I would have said some prayers, but instead, I just thought, “Thank goodness we’re home.” Even if it’s someone else’s house, that’s a minor detail.
OK, your turn now. What crazy stuff happened during your travels?
