Oh, let me tell you, Intertubes...
Jan. 6th, 2009 08:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beccastareyesLet's play a game. Guess where I spent my night last night? If you said, 'Well, Becky was supposed to fly back yesterday, so she should haven been in her apartment', then you are pretty wrong. If you said 'Becky was sitting in an airport hotel in the general vicinity of New York City', then you are right -- and quit stalking me, by the way*.
* Obligatory disclaimer -- if you happen to be my mother, you know this because I told you. On that other hand, she doesn't know this blog exists.
So, my sister dropped me off at the Omaha airport. I get on the flight, embarrass myself in finding a place for my Little Blue Suitcase, and think that the biggest drama will be that the couple seated by me is in a panic because the flight attendant checked the bag with her heart medication in it.
So, I get off in Chicago, enjoy a pleasant lunch and meander my way back towards my gate. I board the plane to New York, take out a book, sit down, and wait.
And wait some more. Then the pilot comes on the intercom and tells us that two of the toilets are backed up from when the techs tried to flush the system. Apparently someone jammed too much paper into one. Regulations prevented the plane from flying with jammed toilets, so we had to wait for special suction machinery to come out. In the mean time, the flight attendants could try to get people on close connections on standby for the next flight to New York. I wait, since my connection is two hours, and I figure the plane I'm on will probably take off sometime before the next flight. Kudos to the flight crew here, by the way, who were also my flight crew from Omaha to Chicago. The pilot even bought us pizza out of his own money while we waited.
For the record, I was one hundred percent wrong about getting to New York in time to make my connection. Anyway, they can't fix the toilets since the special suction machine they need is not in the airport, and they can't find another free plane, so they cancel the flight. We all get off the plane, about an hour and a half after the plane was supposed to take off, and walk towards Customer Service. After a frustrating attempt to use the computer, I speak to a human being who books me on the next flight to New York, but informs me that it will get in after the last flight to Ithaca leaves, so I will have to overnight in New York. I ask about having United pay my hotel bills since 'mechanics can't fix clogged toilets' has nothing to do with either me or Acts of God, and they tell me to bug customer service in New York about it.
Keep in mind, I am wandering between concourses through this -- I got off in the C, went to the B for my flight, went to the C for customer service and back to the B for the flight out. I am damn sick of the underground tunnel with the neon lights that connects them.
Anyway, I get to the gate and find out that plane is having mechanical problems -- nothing specific beyond 'too broke to fly'. The techs swarm it for a bit, and we all sit and stew (many of my friends from the previous flight are there), and then we all get told that this plane is a lost cause, but they found a plane coming in from Tampa that they can use. Problem is that it is getting there ten minutes after we were supposed to leave, so the flight is delayed by forty minutes. Which isn't nearly enough time as they should have delayed it, but oh, well.
So, I arrive in New York, and the place is closing down. I manage to find an airline person and tell her my story, and she tells me that Customer Service is closed. She tries to work her magic on the computers, but gives up and tells me to find the Ticket Desk. I leave security and head to the ticket desk, which is closed, because no one is flying out at 9:00 at night. I confuse a couple of staffers trying to figure out what to do next, then actually find a United person who tells me that the baggage office is still open and they will help me.
By this time, I am getting close to full-blown autistic style meltdown, which is usually what happens to me when I don't know what the hell is going on and what I can do to fix a problem I have, and is commonly marked by me starting to cry uncontrollably. Let me tell you, I'm pretty sure no one knows how to deal with a twenty-something woman crying her eyes out in a panic. I'm way too young to blame it on senility, and too old to blame it on being a kid, and I refuse to blame it on 'woman problems'.
I try to keep my cool, only partially succeed, and may my way to the baggage office. Here I get to listen to a young couple from Australia complain about how their baggage is two hours late and say they'd like some kind of compensation. The clerk nicely tells them that United doesn't care if their bags made it on a later flight as long as they get undamaged to the right people within 48 hours, and the best he can do is guarantee delivery when they show up. They couple decides to wait. The same clerks help me get a room and give me vouchers to pay for it and for something to eat, and direct me to where the hotel shuttle is supposed to pick me up.
Shuttle never shows -- I stand outside in the cold for fifty minutes before deciding that I am through with this nonsense and get a cab. Hotel is fine, but the wireless doesn't even work, and I am too tired to investigate, or even cash in the coupon the airline gave me for a free dinner. Thankfully, I have my Blue Bag, which has a change of clothing and my meds, because my mother taught me to always travel with stuff you need to overnight.
The next day, I make it to the airport fine, with the only hitch being that I only figured out where the continental breakfast was when I was leaving. Oh, well. I get to the check-ibn counter, confuse the computer again, and have a nice ticket lady tell me I was supposed to fly in yesterday. No kidding. Apparently my booking wasn't showing up (Chicago customer service fails again), so a brief summary of the story (I am getting better at telling it), and the fact that I either didn't get on the plane, or I did, then took the overnight bus back to New York to try to get another trip out of US Airway (for reference: I ain't crazy). Anyway, she booked me on the flight anyway, and away I went.
This flight was delayed for mechanical problems, or at least the crew going over the plane with a fine tooth comb. There were also some interesting conversations between the pilot and co-pilot that I probably should have paid attention to about the plane, but I was half asleep. Anyway, the plane was the smallest airborne thing I have ever flown on, and this comes from someone who is used to the prop planes that everyone uses in the Northeast to small airports. It had 25 seats, pretty much set in rows of two (that is, every seat was both an aisle and a window, except for the back three), and it was so small it didn't have a bathroom or a flight attendant -- the safety announcement was recorded and the co-pilot had to stand outside the cockpit to talk to us. Needless to say, there was no drinks service.
Anyway, I land, and by some miracle of miracles, my luggage was on the plane with me. Probably because I took the quickest route to Ithaca that I could, and spending the night in New York let it catch up with me. Good, because at that time I was sick of speaking to Customer Service people. Bad because I tried to get it home on the bus.
There's something ironic about the fact I've flown twice on standby after missing flights through my own forgetfulness without having to overnight on the way, but then I get stuck due to a mechanical problem that I had nothing to do with. (I don't even use airplane bathrooms except on international flights.)
The moral of this story is that if you ever clog an airline toilet, I will HUNT YOU DOWN!
* Obligatory disclaimer -- if you happen to be my mother, you know this because I told you. On that other hand, she doesn't know this blog exists.
So, my sister dropped me off at the Omaha airport. I get on the flight, embarrass myself in finding a place for my Little Blue Suitcase, and think that the biggest drama will be that the couple seated by me is in a panic because the flight attendant checked the bag with her heart medication in it.
So, I get off in Chicago, enjoy a pleasant lunch and meander my way back towards my gate. I board the plane to New York, take out a book, sit down, and wait.
And wait some more. Then the pilot comes on the intercom and tells us that two of the toilets are backed up from when the techs tried to flush the system. Apparently someone jammed too much paper into one. Regulations prevented the plane from flying with jammed toilets, so we had to wait for special suction machinery to come out. In the mean time, the flight attendants could try to get people on close connections on standby for the next flight to New York. I wait, since my connection is two hours, and I figure the plane I'm on will probably take off sometime before the next flight. Kudos to the flight crew here, by the way, who were also my flight crew from Omaha to Chicago. The pilot even bought us pizza out of his own money while we waited.
For the record, I was one hundred percent wrong about getting to New York in time to make my connection. Anyway, they can't fix the toilets since the special suction machine they need is not in the airport, and they can't find another free plane, so they cancel the flight. We all get off the plane, about an hour and a half after the plane was supposed to take off, and walk towards Customer Service. After a frustrating attempt to use the computer, I speak to a human being who books me on the next flight to New York, but informs me that it will get in after the last flight to Ithaca leaves, so I will have to overnight in New York. I ask about having United pay my hotel bills since 'mechanics can't fix clogged toilets' has nothing to do with either me or Acts of God, and they tell me to bug customer service in New York about it.
Keep in mind, I am wandering between concourses through this -- I got off in the C, went to the B for my flight, went to the C for customer service and back to the B for the flight out. I am damn sick of the underground tunnel with the neon lights that connects them.
Anyway, I get to the gate and find out that plane is having mechanical problems -- nothing specific beyond 'too broke to fly'. The techs swarm it for a bit, and we all sit and stew (many of my friends from the previous flight are there), and then we all get told that this plane is a lost cause, but they found a plane coming in from Tampa that they can use. Problem is that it is getting there ten minutes after we were supposed to leave, so the flight is delayed by forty minutes. Which isn't nearly enough time as they should have delayed it, but oh, well.
So, I arrive in New York, and the place is closing down. I manage to find an airline person and tell her my story, and she tells me that Customer Service is closed. She tries to work her magic on the computers, but gives up and tells me to find the Ticket Desk. I leave security and head to the ticket desk, which is closed, because no one is flying out at 9:00 at night. I confuse a couple of staffers trying to figure out what to do next, then actually find a United person who tells me that the baggage office is still open and they will help me.
By this time, I am getting close to full-blown autistic style meltdown, which is usually what happens to me when I don't know what the hell is going on and what I can do to fix a problem I have, and is commonly marked by me starting to cry uncontrollably. Let me tell you, I'm pretty sure no one knows how to deal with a twenty-something woman crying her eyes out in a panic. I'm way too young to blame it on senility, and too old to blame it on being a kid, and I refuse to blame it on 'woman problems'.
I try to keep my cool, only partially succeed, and may my way to the baggage office. Here I get to listen to a young couple from Australia complain about how their baggage is two hours late and say they'd like some kind of compensation. The clerk nicely tells them that United doesn't care if their bags made it on a later flight as long as they get undamaged to the right people within 48 hours, and the best he can do is guarantee delivery when they show up. They couple decides to wait. The same clerks help me get a room and give me vouchers to pay for it and for something to eat, and direct me to where the hotel shuttle is supposed to pick me up.
Shuttle never shows -- I stand outside in the cold for fifty minutes before deciding that I am through with this nonsense and get a cab. Hotel is fine, but the wireless doesn't even work, and I am too tired to investigate, or even cash in the coupon the airline gave me for a free dinner. Thankfully, I have my Blue Bag, which has a change of clothing and my meds, because my mother taught me to always travel with stuff you need to overnight.
The next day, I make it to the airport fine, with the only hitch being that I only figured out where the continental breakfast was when I was leaving. Oh, well. I get to the check-ibn counter, confuse the computer again, and have a nice ticket lady tell me I was supposed to fly in yesterday. No kidding. Apparently my booking wasn't showing up (Chicago customer service fails again), so a brief summary of the story (I am getting better at telling it), and the fact that I either didn't get on the plane, or I did, then took the overnight bus back to New York to try to get another trip out of US Airway (for reference: I ain't crazy). Anyway, she booked me on the flight anyway, and away I went.
This flight was delayed for mechanical problems, or at least the crew going over the plane with a fine tooth comb. There were also some interesting conversations between the pilot and co-pilot that I probably should have paid attention to about the plane, but I was half asleep. Anyway, the plane was the smallest airborne thing I have ever flown on, and this comes from someone who is used to the prop planes that everyone uses in the Northeast to small airports. It had 25 seats, pretty much set in rows of two (that is, every seat was both an aisle and a window, except for the back three), and it was so small it didn't have a bathroom or a flight attendant -- the safety announcement was recorded and the co-pilot had to stand outside the cockpit to talk to us. Needless to say, there was no drinks service.
Anyway, I land, and by some miracle of miracles, my luggage was on the plane with me. Probably because I took the quickest route to Ithaca that I could, and spending the night in New York let it catch up with me. Good, because at that time I was sick of speaking to Customer Service people. Bad because I tried to get it home on the bus.
There's something ironic about the fact I've flown twice on standby after missing flights through my own forgetfulness without having to overnight on the way, but then I get stuck due to a mechanical problem that I had nothing to do with. (I don't even use airplane bathrooms except on international flights.)
The moral of this story is that if you ever clog an airline toilet, I will HUNT YOU DOWN!
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no subject
Date: 2009-01-06 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-07 07:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-07 08:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-07 09:25 am (UTC)Still -- this is the second time I've been to La Guardia after gate people have left. And I don't fly through La Guardia all that often.