and yet I'm still not at my destination.
I was excited about this trip. A visit to a city and country I've never been to; Cartagena, Colombia. Eric has been there for a week now and I was to meet him there this afternoon. My flight out of Logan was at an ungodly hour of 5:30 this morning, but Dad was kind enough to drive me in. There was a line at the Spirit Airlines counter. About 30 people ahead of me. I didn't think much of it because of the early hour and my early arrival to the check-in. It soon became clear however that the women behind the counter took acid that left them convinced they were doing their job while swimming in tar (or as my mom wondered later - perhaps they were on strike?).
They moved at a snail's pace, taking an average (and I'm not even exaggerating) of fifteen to twenty minutes checking each person in. The line finally got down to about fifteen people and it was quite obvious we would not make our flight (we were all going to Myrtle Beach and then on to various places from there). A few people that the women had checked in even returned from the gate after being missing the plane.
We stood there for much longer, waiting for our turn to see what they could do to rectify the situation. When it was my turn, I stood there for fifteen minutes in silence (the woman, too) before I finally said, "What's going on?" She told me that they were waiting for their manager to return their call and tell them what to do. Really? You need to be
told what to do? I thought to myself that the answer seemed obvious. I stood around for another twenty minutes before she said, very quietly, "We can get you there tomorrow" I told her that there was a United flight (everyone was on their PDAs and iPhones checking other flight options) leaving in a few hours that would get me there this evening. After mumbling something to me, she ambled over to the on-site manager to ask if she could do this, then returned, shaking her head (slowly of course) reporting back to me that she could not.
I turned to the manager a few stations down and did something I don't recall ever doing in public to a stranger before. FLIPPED. MY. LID. "That's completely unacceptable." I told him. He told me they are not authorized to buy flights with another airline.
"That's completely unacceptable! Your inability to be efficient is not our fault! I'm not going to arrive in Colombia tomorrow afternoon so that I can be there less than 48 hours and then turn around and come right back again!" In truth, I would be there more than 48 hours, but not much and I was tired and my math sucks even when I'm not tired.
"Maybe you can extend your vacation." he suggested hopefully.
"I have to go back to work on Monday. You need to provide me an alternate flight!" I told him I should at least be getting a refund. He said there was nothing more he could do. He could give me a refund (if I didn't take the trip).
After I stopped yelling, I had of course upset myself worse so I started to cry. (Not, like, flailing hiccuping crying, but crying just the same. Sheesh) And the woman behind the counter just kept looking at her screen silently, hitting some buttons, etc. I think maybe she was playing Farmville. About fifteen minutes later, she gave me my info for the flight I would be on tomorrow. A few stations down, a man trying to deal with the flight of his wife and their 2 year old got pissed, "Are you even going to apologize for this? Are you even going to apologize to her!" he pointed at me as I blubbered (quietly and stoically, I said!), "You need to at least have some communication! You need to at least look at your passengers and tell them what is going on. No one has said anything to any of us in this process!" All I could think was that I don't care so much about an apology as much as I cared about getting to Colombia today.
Don't apologize. Just fix it.
So then I waited. I sent my dad an email asking if he could pick me back up and to call me when he got the email. I waited seemingly forever while the turtle-ladies finished up torturing the last few unlucky (non-traveling)passengers (the woman trying to get to Bogota with her two-year old now would not be flying out til the 5th!). When the manager was done with all the rest, I took my turn. I apologized for raising my voice to him and I asked if any kind of compensation could be made. Throw me a bone here, man.
He gave me a refund for my baggage and roomier seats on the way there and on the way back. And he moved Eric to the roomier seats with me (we weren't going to be sitting next to each other initially on our return flight). Not that I'm not grateful to sit next to Eric, that is, if I ever make it there to begin with, but whoo-hoo. Baggage reimbursement? Lame.
I asked him how I could be sure this wouldn't happen tomorrow morning, too. He told me that as long as he's worked there, this has never happened, but that basically I should come in even earlier. When he told me that he now has to report to his boss what happened, the woman behind the counter, standing next to him mumbled something to him about the computer not letting them assign the seats.
Really, lady? And it didn't occur to you to have the courtesy to lift your head from your mesmerizing screen-saver to say to all of us in line, 'I'm sorry, but we're having problems with our computers. We're doing the best we can'?
Yes, I know there are policies about delaying flights and yadda yadda. I don't care. Not my problem. If I'd shown up late or something this would all be much easier to stomach. But I, and my dad who is very sick with a cold and kindly got up at a crazy hour to haul my ass here, was not late.
When I was done at the kiosk it came to me that my best bet was to take the subway home. It was still so early and even if Dad was available to come get me, he would now be getting into rush hour traffic. So, I hopped a bus which took me to a subway which switched onto another subway. I checked train departures on my phone, but the timing wasn't right and I'd have to wait over an hour for another one from North Station to Wakefield. So, I went to Oak Grove, just missed the bus to Wakefield and again would have to wait an hour for the next one. So, I asked the cartoonish cab-driver with fire-engine red hair in his jalopy how much it would cost to get to Wakefield, and I got in.
It reeked of cigarette smoke and there were three warning lights glowing on the dashboard.
It was kind of perfect. Oh, and did I mention that I had on lightweight pants and a lightweight sweatshirt because I was supposed to be tropics-bound and not traveling around Boston on the subway in winter?
So, my point is that I would not recommend Spirit Airways. Just sayin'.
