Its 5:30 in the morning, I dont need this. Since disembarking from the metro at Ronald Reagan International airport I had wandered aimlessly in search of the baggage checksomething that should not be this hard to find. The metro exits to the middle floor of the airport. A floor that seems to only contain security checkpoints and direction markers to the various gates concealed snugly behind those security checkpoints. Evidently, the baggage claim, not the baggage check, occupies the bottom floor. I curse under my breath as I find myself, once again, on the middle floor. Seriously, it should not be this hard. I had visited this airport before to pick up friends, but never as a potential passenger. I was tired, it was early, and I was lost. In the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of an older gentleman struggling to maneuver a large piece of luggage up an unmarked escalator. He still has his luggage! I follow him.
The top floor (previously unknown to me), only accessible from the middle floor by an unmarked escalator, did indeed contain the baggage checks for the various airlines. I wander through the masses of holiday travelers eventually queuing up at the check in line of my airline of choice. The man who piles into the line behind me is arguing with a customer service rep on his cell phone. Cursing under his breath between answering the reps numerous questions. I smile as he mumbles something about missing his flight. I am obviously listening to the more animated side of the conversation. The phone exchange is entertaining enough that before I know it I arrive at a check in terminal with the phone guy arriving at the terminal to my right. He starts arguing with his live attendant. My attendant gives a sharp look his way and asks him to settle down. I chuckle under my breath but quickly catch myself and quiet down hoping he didnt notice my amusement at his expense. Five minutes later my luggage is checked and I am heading toward the plane.
Ive been through security checkpoints beforeand maybe its the two hours of sleep I got last nightbut they are more obnoxious than ever. Taking off my shoes, belt, and sweatshirt was bad enough without having to pull out all my electronics, unpack my laptop, and separate everything into different bins. The lady in front of me cant seem to grasp the concept of pushing the bins onto the x-ray machine either, which I would normally find humorous, but currently find annoying. When the lady finally does figure out the mystery with the bins (with the help of a security guard) and the line starts moving again I get stopped because the security lady doesnt believe I resemble the picture on my photo ID. I take off my hat, angle my head, and smilemimicking my pose from the photo. She reluctantly lets me through. Sadly, I have the same problem on the other side of the metal detector when they re-check my boarding, as if something has changed in the 15 feet since it was last checked. I guess it might be time for a new picture though.
I toss my bag into the overhead compartment and settle into my window seat. The seat was small but manageable since another guy grabbed the aisle seat and a tiny little girl occupied the middle seat allowing me to soak up both arm rests and stretch my legs into the middle seating area (as much as you can in coach). The situation even looked to improve a bit more when a flight attendant collects the little girl in order to move her closer to her mom. Now I can really stretch out. My elation proves short lived however when a giant of a manwho was nice enough to switch places with the little girlabsorbs the middle seat and spills over into mine. I cower in the corner in an attempt to claim some me-space. It is going to be a long flight.
My current seating situation forces me to remember the idealistic days of my youth when I thought that if I was ever rich I would still fly coach because I didnt want to be one of those people that wasted their wealth on such extravagances as first class. Thenafter numerous uncomfortable flights the summer I backpacked EuropeI decided I would definitely fly first class if I could afford it since coach seats seem to get a little bit smaller with each passing flight. Now Im thinking private jets all the way. The money means nothing over the chance to skip security checks and be comfortable on a plane for once.
I dont understand why getting off a plane takes so long. I sit there gawking at the people standing in the aisle holding their bags in the most insane of positions, like mannequins awkwardly posed by a lunatic designer in a store front window. Get up, get your bag, and get off. Five minutes pass and no one has moved. I smile as I watch these statues in the aisle continuously shift their weight in an attempt to be comfortable. I'm in no a rush with that three hour layover and all.
Off the plane, I find myself incapable of locating terminal A. Can't airports effectively mark anything? Terminal A, B, D that way. Check. Terminal A, B, D that way. Check. Terminal B, D that way. What the hell! Where did terminal A go? I feel like I am in one of those science fiction movies where everyone has forgotten something except me. Terminal A exists, but the signs dont seem aware of this fact. An hour of my three hour layover is gone and I am still lost. I guess I will have to break down and ask someone.
Finally arriving at terminal A, and more importantly my gate, I curl up in the waiting area with a good book to pass the remaining layover time. The plain arrives late due to bad weather and I hear the employees mention something about carrying extra fuel in case the plane is rerouted to another airport. They seem worried the plane will be too heavy since the flight is completely booked and everyone but me seems to have maxed out the luggage limits.
After I had checked in, found my seat, stowed my luggage, and settled in for the flight, the stewardess asks for volunteers to give up their seat so the plane, like a wrestler trying to qualify for a lower weight class, can make weight. What makes my travel plans more important than other peoples plans? Everyone on the plane wants to get home just as much as me. I raise my hand and volunteer to step off the plane. A random act of Christmas kindness that would haunt me for the rest of the day.
In total there were eight of us bumped. We could have come straight out of a movie. There was the loud guy, who not only tried to wrangle tickets to another destination upon exiting the plane, but also was the only one yelling when we were bumped the second time. There was the ex-drunk who was constantly commenting that this was almost enough to make him throw away 10 years of sobriety and kept eyeing the duty-free station and asking if anyone knew when it closed. There was the young coupleshe was from Mexico and didn't speak any English, he was from the states and was constantly translating various conversations into Spanish for her. There were the three young Christian missionaries who were going home to their families for the first time in a few years. They joked they were asked to leave the plane because they were the least likely to put up a fight. And then there was me, the innocent protagonist who only wanted to get home to his family before Christmas. Together we were the unfortunate eight.
The four oclock flight was also late. I read to pass the time. When the plane finally did start boarding my seven new friends and I gathered around the front waiting for our chance to board. We must be the last to get on. Worry settles over the eight of us when the desk attendants don't acknowledge our presence and repeatedly brush off our questions. Reality hits us when the door is closed and we watch the plane move away from the platform.
Despite their best attempts, the desk attendants couldn't ignore all eight of us at once. One attendant explains that since we had already been bumped and bribed, it was easier for the airline to continually bump us than other passengers. We were each given a half-promise we would be on some flight tomorrowthough all the planes are full through Christmas dayand hotel and food vouchers for the night. Sobriety guy leaves defeated, hoping to find better luck tomorrow. The rest of us opt to wait for the last flight of the night, scheduled to come in at 6pm, but running about four hours late. Hopefully the tardiness of the plane will allow us to sneak into the seats of the passengers that decide not to wait it out. Mr. Vocal scores an actual ticket on the flight in order to shut him up. The rest of us score standby tickets. The squeaky wheel does indeed get the grease.
We pass the time by using our meal vouchers at one of the airport cafeterias outside the security checkpoint since we crossed the security line at the checkpoint exit before realizing our food vouchers were good anywhere in the airport. Despite being mere inches over the line our arguments with the security guard fall on deaf ears. Consigning ourselves to another round of security checks, we decide to venture out and see if there are better eating areas outside the safety line.
The plane arrives around ten and is quickly prepared for boarding. Before the planes arrival we had counted the people in the waiting area and were optimistic there would be at least six free seats. As boarding commences we notice more potentialuncountedpassengers converging on our gate from every direction and corner to claim their spot on the plane. Where have these people been all night?
The airport feels abandoned now with only the six of us (the Christians, the couple, and me) and the desk attendant left. The attendant calls the Christians names and they, reinvigorated after the long day of waiting, quickly run through the gate and onto the plane. After typing on the keyboard for what seems like an eternity, the attendant waves me through also but breaks the news to the couple that they werent going home tonight. I turn and offer my seat if there is another seat free so the couple can go home instead. The attendant smiles, says Im sweet, then shakes her head in the negative and waves me on. Relief comes over me when I tighten my seatbelt, lean back into my seat, and close my eyes. I am finally going home.
