Flight Plan

When the baggage agent motioned to me to follow him after he shut down the conveyer belt at baggage claim without any suitcases coming down the ramp, I didn’t even flinch: I had resigned myself to the fact that either I or my bags would not make it home. The trip to Canada could best be described as difficult.

When I left the local airport at 6 AM Thursday on a flight to Denver, I was optimistic and excited about traveling to a destination I had never been, especially since the destination was the town where my son and his wife would live following their weekend wedding. I took the time to water the horses in Denver, to eat another in what would become an endless string of Glucerna bars, to sit patiently and wait for the next leg on the journey, leaving the USA for Canada—the east coast of Canada.

Two and a half hours after boarding the AirCanada flight, during which all passengers were treated to a tympanic drum solo from an engine on the left side of the plane, it became apparent that we were going to have to deplane. The airline agent aboard the plane assured the passengers that other agents inside the terminal were busy rebooking our flights and that there were seats available. I was relieved that I would make the final leg of my journey, even though I would be late, as I was traveling to my son’s wedding and couldn’t wait to join the festivities.

No use getting upset as I had allowed more than adequate time for this trip, leaving on Thursday for the rehearsal on Friday and the wedding Saturday. I had a new Harlan Coben novel, as well as several skeins of cotton yarn and a plastic crochet hook, so no big deal.

And it wasn’t a big deal until 3 PM, 45 minutes prior to what I believed was going to be my departure for Toronto, where I would make my connecting flight to my final destination. When the agent told me and another half-dozen passengers at my gate that there were no more seats available and we would all be spending the night in Denver, I replied, “That’s not acceptable.” It was only 3 PM in Denver, one of the USA’s largest airports, so find another way to get me to my destination prior to 5 PM the following day, at which time I would attend the rehearsal and the dinner to follow. How hard is that?

Impossible.

I was handed a small packet of papers, told to “go find a cab,” and sent to an ExtendAmerica hotel 20 miles from the airport. Included were food vouchers for dinner that night, as well as breakfast the following morning, but the hotel was in a business park and there were no food facilities within the hotel or anywhere around it. More Glucerna bars and a good, long cry.

I slept a bit, but by 3 AM was really pissed and ready for war, so I dialed the 1-800 number for AirCanada, a call answered by a nice woman who spent an hour with me trying to find an alternative. I used the map of the USA in the phone book, and we literally crossed the US trying to find another route/connection that would get me to anywhere from which I could then travel to my destination.

Nothing.

I returned to Denver, joined what actually totaled a dozen passengers from the original flight, and waited for the 11 AM connection to Toronto, which left on time, packed to the gills. We stayed on time until the announcement that a runway was shut down in Toronto and we were going to circle until availability for landing was cleared. My connecting flight was leaving for my final destination at 5:20 PM, which was precisely the time we finally made the arrival gate.

In an airport that employs perhaps a thousand people at any given time, one would think that one of them would be willing and able to answer a simple question: has my connecting flight departed? I had no luggage, I had not cleared customs; I had not re-entered the airport and made it through security; and, more importantly, I had not peed since we began the endless circling more than 2 hours ago. It was going to be close on all counts, but I was not going to punish myself to make it through a process I had never done before if the flight had already left the airport.

I waited and waited for my luggage, grabbed the bag when it flew out of the black hole at the carousel, and then didn’t know where to go/what to do: the sign for “connections” was turned off or malfunctioning, so I tried to find someone, anyone to tell me where to go next. I eventually found Customs and cleared that leg, then headed in the direction that should have taken me to Security, but the escalator went nowhere. I rode it back down and asked another person for directions, went back up and found the same dead end, so went back down. This time, someone told me about a small corner office where I might be able to get information whether the flight had departed and if a later flight was available.

I entered that office and yes, the woman apologized as she explained that my connecting flight had been delayed—I had about 20 minutes to make the gate and be on my way. Hallelujah! I took off at a fast clip and made it in time to use the bathroom, eat another Glucerna bar, find my boarding pass, and settle in.

I arrived at my final destination at 9:30 PM Friday, a mere 39.5 hours after I began the journey. I’m glad that no one told me the borrowed vehicle used to pick me up at the airport and deposit me at the hotel broke down almost immediately after they left my hotel! I guess my horrendous travel karma is not limited to planes.

The wedding was wonderful; however, my appearance is something I really didn’t want documented by photos, but, oh, well, that’s the way it turned out. Lots and lots of photos. The lovely Friday I had planned to share with my daughter was supposed to include a manicure and hair appointment, neither of which happened, and I’m not handy with hair. Enough said.

The trip back was very long, but only involved 3 legs. I flew in the largest plane I’ve ever been in, and then in the smallest to the local airport, where a friend arrived to bring my car so I could go home and begin the recovery process. I was home about 2 PM, and my bag arrived about 9 PM.

If I go back to Canada to visit my son and daughter-in-law, I will probably opt to drive or, perhaps, take a train. If I do fly, I can assure you that (1) I will not fly through Denver and (2) I will not hear the “thank you for choosing AirCanada” message in either English or French!