As an aside, I know that most travel pros eschew checked luggage in favor of giant, overstuffed “carry ons” that must be wedged into the overhead with a crowbar.  Only for all our safety, no one can bring crow bars onto a plane anymore.  [Wistful sigh.]  So they push, shove and — more importantly — delay us all as they shoehorn their “carry on” into my overhead space.   I aspire to have a pleasant and quick boarding process, without any pulled muscles, so I check a bag.  Besides, it doesn’t cost me anything.  Cos I’m Preferred, bitches!

Anyways…my original aircraft apparently had a mechanical issue and luckily they had a spare lying around, so they switched out our plane.  Only the spare plane didn’t have the same number of seats, so they asked for volunteers to travel a bit later.  Feeling generous and slightly tempted by the treasures they were offering to re-book, I stepped up.  The new flight had a different connection, through a slightly smaller airport*.   When I inquired about my luggage, the gate agent assured me:

Having faith that all would be well, I set off to my new gate to wait for my new flight.  (I did mention that this was early in my travel career and therefore I didn’t have the life lessons I do now?)   Got on the first leg of my journey and arrived at the tiny connecting airport on time.  So far, so good.

So, I go from the Grown Up section of the airport, to the gate where my connecting flight is due to depart from, apparently the Kiddie Section.  Where all the cute little toy planes sit and wait to be played with – um — boarded.   Our flight is called and a gate agent marches us to the tarmac where we will all climb into our lawnmower with wings.  Except, we get word that we have to hold up, just as we are about to walk outside.   Another airport employee relays to the gate agent that we have to wait because the radar is out in the tower.

Let me repeat that.  THE RADAR.  IS OUT.  IN THE TOWER.

Apparently, the employee didn’t think that might be worrisome for the line of passengers to overhear.  The same apprehensive, grouchy and confused passengers who are looking at boarding a lawnmower with wings.  Luckily the gate agent realized the gravity of the message to the untrained ear, and was quick to reassure us:

“Don’t worry.  This happens all the time.”

Let me repeat that.   THIS. HAPPENS. ALL. THE. TIME.

Oh OK, I feel much better now, thanks.  Good news, though!  We didn’t have much time to let that sink in because, lo and behold!  Someone must’ve rapped on the side of it and the radar came back and we were cleared to board.  So, we all climbed aboard, got rearranged based on who ate too much that day  and off we flew!  Right into what looked like a really nasty storm.  An end-of-days kind of storm that looked like it was cooked up by Hollywood special effects geniuses.   Somehow, though, we managed to arrive safely at our destination.  Big kudos to that flight crew, flying a lawnmower with wings, with or without radar, into an end-of-the-world-type thunderstorm, filled with apprehensive/grouchy and/or confused passengers who were recently let in on a little secret about air travel that no one should have to bear.

Happy to see terra firma again, I headed to baggage claim to be reunited with my luggage, which “would be waiting for me at my destination.”   Only, you can see what’s gonna happen here.  No luggage of course.  So I looked for an airline baggage employee and, oddly enough, there were none to be found.  No one from my airline, anywhere.  I asked the only person around with a uniform and after the nice Army officer pointed me to the only other person in uniform, a baggage handler told me that I needed to see someone at the airline check-in counter.  Since this was also a small airport, that counter was within 50 feet and I could already see I was in trouble:  there was no one at the ticket counter either.   The baggage handler, having done his duty putting up with a clueless, annoying Travel Snob from the north, left to unload baggage from some other flights, whose fortunate passengers weren’t stupid enough to volunteer to travel later when their spare planes were too small.

I walked to the ticket counter and see another airline’s employee at the next station.  He informed me that I should go to the white telephone and page someone from my airline to help me.  Now, I have never been important enough to use those mysterious telephones before or since, but since I was desperate, I did just that.

Next thing I know, an announcement over the public address system goes a little something like this:

“To the woman who paged for assistance with lost luggage, please wait at the ticket counter for your airline.  The crew is working the incoming flight and will be with you shortly.”

Let me repeat that.  THE CREW IS WORKING THE INCOMING FLIGHT.

Now, to this day, I still do not know if the crew was working the gate, on the tarmac, or actually on the inbound flight, but I could see that these employees were significantly overworked.   Luckily, my wait wasn’t long, which was the important thing.  I soon learned that my luggage (somehow) got routed through my original connecting city, but didn’t get loaded on the connecting flight, because I didn’t get loaded on the connecting flight.  (Poor choice of words, perhaps, but in retrospect, I wish I had.)  It would arrive sometime later.  They’ll let me know.  Go away.  (That last part:  not explicitly stated, but I could see it in the overworked employee’s eyes.)

Fast forward to the next morning.  No luggage, but it’s at least in the same city.  On its way, they assure me.   But not in time for the meeting that I have to depart for at 8:30 am.   So I shower and step back into the clothes that brought me there.  Luckily, you know from my rules above, I always travel in business casual, so I didn’t embarrass myself too much by showing up to an important meeting wearing a concert T and yoga pants.   But as for the rest of me…you can probably gather, if you’ve read any of this blog, that I’m kinda high maintenance.  That’s why I check a bag.  I bring too much stuff and I know this, but that will probably never change.  So, left without my normal accouterments, I had to be creative.  I slapped on some lipstick and put my hair up using my luggage tag and off I went to take on the world.

Of course, I opened my presentation with an abbreviated version of this story and immediately had the audience on my side.  (I choose to believe this over the possibility that the audience believed I was an idiot for volunteering for a later flight in the first place.)    ‘Finished things up and scurried back to my hotel, only to meet up with my luggage being delivered at the front desk.  I packed it back into my rental car, drove off and checked it again back to PHL.  The rest of the trip was blissfully uneventful, a fact you’re probably all grateful for.

That short trip was the strangest travel experience of my life.   But, I arrived safely, and that, really, is what’s important.   A safe journey is a good one, no matter how delayed, inconvenient or far back in the plane you’re sitting.

The next time we’re all sitting together at the gate and we hear that our flight is cancelled, or there’s a ground stop because of the weather, let’s all try and be a bit more human to one another.  Remember, things could always be worse.  You could be wearing your luggage tags or you could be working the incoming flight, in addition to your regular job.  It’s always good to walk a concourse in someone’s slip-on shoes before we judge another on our journey.

Travel ho’s of the world unite!