Tales From the Northwest

It’s Christmas Eve, and I am in Detroit, waiting for the last leg of my journey home to be over. It began yesterday with an airline agent informing me that my ticket (bought months ago) was “no good” because my credit card didn’t go through. I was completely ignored when I said, “What the fuck?, Why would you guys send me an e-ticket if this was true?” I had to write a check out to get my boarding pass for which they required 3 different kinds of government-issued ID. I had only one. “In this country, we require identification when you write a check”, the woman tells me. Because apparently in other countries, we simply scratch out I-Owe-U’s in bamboo leaves. She further asked me if I had my immigration papers or passport with me. The unmitigated gall. She tapped and clicked on her keyboard and suddenly it was okay for me to board the plane.

Not only did I have extra special security checks for reasons best explained in person with hands thrown up in air, but my flight got overbooked (for which they put me up in a ratty hotel) and the subsequent flight next day got delayed for close to an hour causing me to miss my connection. Right now, I feel much gratitude that I don’t have to face the horror of spending Christmas Eve in Detroit in yet another grody hotel room. It must bite to be an airline agent this time of year. I have witnessed and participated in much snapping, yelling and cursing out of these reps. The one time I felt bad for them (along with myself) was when this poor agent had to tell me that my boarding pass was no good, and that “they” had overbooked the flights. She looked ready to cry. Every now and again, a green-and-red-santa-hat-wearing elf-wannabe would board the plan and happily greet us, “Merry Christmas!” And everyone would wince.