Adventures in airports

I've never had to deal with a communist government but I suspect that doing business with a bankrupt airline that has a monopoly on the airport you're trying to reach is a reasonable simulation. There is absolutely no incentive for them to try to please you and plenty of reasons not to. By the end of our trip back to see Carol in Ithaca we began to wonder if US Airways was using Saturday Night Live "b-bye" skits as training films.

The first leg of our voyage sends us from St. Louis to Philadelphia. This part of the trip goes smoothly. Of course, this part of the journey is also offered by several other airlines that are not bankrupt including some "discount" carriers that have built surprisingly sound business models around the premise that getting you and your luggage to a given point at a scheduled time is more important than offering assigned seats or a special lounge for frequent flyers to hang out in while waiting for their delayed flights.

We have a couple hours until we board the plane to Ithaca, so we grab a bite to eat. After we finish, we check the monitors and see that our flight has been delayed. The explanation given is "crew problems" which is most likely a euphemism for "our employees are all calling in sick while they interview for new jobs and we can't get contract subs because, since we're bankrupt, we're under no particular obligation to pay our bills."

There is an earlier flight, so we hustle to the gate to see if we can get on that. There is only one gate agent for eight gates and by the time we get to the front of the line, the plane is gone. We spend the next few hours watching Baby-O wander around F-concourse until finally our plane arrives.

The pilot opens up the throttle to Ithaca, no doubt valuing his own sleep more than jet fuel that US Airways may or may not eventually pay for. Just when it looks like we'll only be an hour late, he executes a missed approach and we spend another 15 minutes circling around and trying the landing again. Mom and Dad are there to greet us (I feel bad making them drive out at 1 AM) but our luggage is nowhere to be found. This situation is not unique to us, so we have to stand in line some more waiting to file a luggage claim. We get back to the house at 2 AM, which means we've been traveling for 11 hours. Another 3 and we could have driven it faster (and had our luggage).

Our luggage arrives the following night, but not before we drop a couple hundred bucks at Target and Old Navy replacing the essential items. We could just return the stuff, but once Kate has purchased an outfit for Baby-O, there's no turning back. So now Olivia has n+2 shirts, m+1 pairs of pants, and p+2 pairs of socks, where the variables are very large integers that I no longer track for fear of developing a nervous tick.

The return trip starts at the only ticket counter at the Ithaca airport. Upon learning that we are on the 12:15 to Philly, the agent cheerfully announces that, "We'll fix that." We were not aware that by making such a reservation we were breaking anything. She explains that the earlier flight is delayed, probably due to weather, so our flight will likely be delayed as well. She rebooks us on the earlier flight. When it becomes obvious that the earlier flight is actually a victim of more "crew problems," we are moved back onto our original flight, except we're now given the two worst seats on the aircraft.

We're seated in the very back row of a "Dash-100" whatever that is. Most flight safety cards at least tell you which third world country produced the turbo-prop to which you are entrusting your life, but this one gives no clues as to origin. The rear seats are flush against the cargo compartment so they don't recline. It's hard to get Olivia into a comfortable resting position and she fusses a bit while we are delayed for takeoff. Once airborne (only half an hour late), the prop noise helps put her to sleep.

Upon arriving in Philly, we immediately check the flight status of our final leg so we can reschedule if needed. We are relieved to see it listed as "On Time" and find a place to eat. We hole up in the back corner of a bar and enjoy a couple of good, albeit overpriced, burgers served to us by a waitress wearing an Eagles jersey. I find this detail somewhat amusing as she is so thin that just the breeze from a passing NFL player would likely knock her off her feet. I wonder if this incongruity is obvious to her as well and that she would be just as happy if the Eagles had lost yesterday. I imagine that her counterparts in St. Louis are happily hanging up their Rams jerseys for the year and donning their normal tight-fitting ensembles.

Upon leaving the bar we walk by the departures monitors again to see that our gate is still F7, but the status has changed to "Cancelled." Crew problems, no doubt. As there is no one at gate F7, it's not clear how we are supposed to respond to this news. I leave Kate with Baby-O and hunt around until I find a gate with a US Airways employee. They abdicate all responsibility, claiming that our flight is operated by Mid Atlantic Express which, while being a wholly owned subsidiary of US Airways, operates on a different "contract," so I'll have to find a Mid Atlantic Express gate with an attendant.

This would be easier if they weren't cleverly disguised by US Airways logos. The only way to know it's a Mid Atlantic Express gate is to look out the window and see what's written on the plane. However, Mid Atlantic Express seems to be suffering a shortage of both planes and attendants. After some fruitless searching, I stop in at the "Special Requests" desk, even though I'm sure that requests relating to cancelled flights are quite routine. The desk is manned by no less than three Mid Atlantic Express employees all embroiled in a heated exchange with a would-be passenger who missed a plane that left early. One of them spots me and, perhaps simply wanting to do one thing today that doesn't involve shouting, books us on the next flight to St. Louis, leaving from F24.

I return to F7 to find that a Mid Atlantic Express employee has been dispatched to deal with a small crowd of people whose faces register varying degrees of displeasure. He is explaining that the next flight to St. Louis is now overbooked and they'll have to reroute on other airlines. I don't take any comfort in this news, as only one of my new tickets actually has a seat assignment, but 1/2 in the hand is better than joining an angry mob, so I turn my attention to Kate and Baby-O.

This turns out to be rather bad timing as Baby-O has just unleashed her bowels in a manner that would encourage a strongly worded report from Hans Blix. The immediate problem is dealt with in due course, but another now looms: we are out of diapers.

I return to the Special Requests Desk to inquire about replenishing our supply. I take Baby-O both as evidence of the problem and to grease the skids as even annoyed people often manage to smile when they see her. They send me to the baggage claim. At the baggage claim, the suggestion that a cancelled flight might generate the need for diapers is taken with a look of surprise and then followed by a suggestion to check with the ticketing counter.

At the ticketing counter, an equally bewildered representative asks to see my tickets (perhaps they have a problem with vagrants coming to the airport for free diapers under the guise of cancelled flights). He taps a few keys and then asks why I need my flight changed since it's listed as "On Time." I snatch the tickets from him before he can cancel our reservation and explain that I don't want him to change the flight, just give me some diapers. At this point he gives up and calls over a manager. She politely refers me back to baggage claim.

I'm a bit more assertive this time and do get the baggage claim rep to confess that they should have diapers, but are out because so many flights have been cancelled. This has clearly become a non-trivial task, so I go back through security and drop Baby-O with Kate.

I try the Special Requests Desk again, explaining that baggage is out of diapers. The agent suggests that I could take a cab to K-Mart. When I suggest that a US Airways employee might do the same thing she begins to sense that this conversation could quickly degenerate into one of the shouting matches she has been trying to avoid. I try a different tack, asking if perhaps there is a way to procure diapers within the confines of the airport. At this, her manner brightens considerably and she produces a $5 meal voucher that I can use to buy diapers at one of the airport stores. It's not until after I leave that I realize the cheap con that I've fallen for.

First, there isn't much of a market for diapers in airports because most airlines are happy to supply them. It certainly beats cleaning feces off the carpet. When I do finally locate a package, it is the wrong size and triple market price. My $5 voucher is woefully insufficient. But the voucher might as well have been for $5,000. A voucher from a bankrupt company has as much chance of being honored as a Czar bond. The cashier gives me the smile normally reserved for a four year old who tries to buy a candy bar using the deed to Baltic Avenue and explains that my options are cash or charge.

Back at F7, Olivia is holding up remarkably well despite being way overdue for a nap. The Mid Atlantic Express employee is still surrounded by the same group of malcontents. I contemplate the humor value of joining the group with Olivia in my arms as there's no situation that can't be made more stressful by adding a tired baby. After a bit, a US Airways employee takes over (in an apparent breach of the "contract") and manages to disperse the group in less than half the time they spent arguing with her predecessor.

Despite a pleasant demeanor, she strikes me as the sort of grizzled veteran that has long ago learned that lying and stonewalling only make the situation worse. I approach her with my ticket and inquire as to my chances of getting on the plane without a seat assignment. She checks and notes that I'm at the top of the list so my chances are pretty good. With nothing left to do but wait, we wander over to F24 for our new flight.

About half an hour before departure time, the same US Airways employee presents me with a new ticket, this one having a seat assignment. It seems that even the most destitute organizations always have one or two people hanging around who actually know how to do their jobs. I expect that she has no official duties other than to roam the airport and deal with crises as they arise. As this is the first time our fortunes have improved during the entire trip, I'm cautious about getting my hopes too high.

Aside from being an hour late (for a total of 12 hours traveling), the final leg is anticlimactic. Kate asks the person sitting next to her if he'd like to switch with me. He only has to look at Baby-O's tired face once to decide. Olivia fusses for a bit, but soon passes out and doesn't awake until just before landing. The flight crew announces that they don't have much to serve us because the late flight meant they didn't get their galley replenished. Many of the passengers opt to pay $5 for a can of beer. Had I had my wits about me, I would have offered them my US Airways voucher.