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Apr. 2nd, 2007 08:33 pmI made it to San Francisco, by the by.
It took some doing. I got to LaGuardia with more than enough time to spare, but I checked in using the machine and found that my flight from New York was delayed to the point where it would be leaving only ten minutes before my connecting leg in Chicago. This was a problem necessitating an hour and a half wait in the line to go talk to a lady at the desk. While waiting on the line, I found out that storms in Dallas (my carrier's hub) were causing problems. And, apparently, mechanical failures were rampant; a lady standing next to me around the bend in the line had been trying to get to Miami from Newark since 9 am. I let her cut ahead (her rescheduling would have meant she'd miss the check-in otherwise), and she kindly gave me money for Wendy's for dinner after I got through the line. Sweet lady.
Not so sweet: the representative who told me I was proper fucked for making it to San Francisco. Also, I wasn't alone--I made friends with another girl making the same connection. Basically, the connecting flight was late, too, so there should be a slight chance we could make it, but she couldn't promise they would hold the flight for us or put us up in Chicago if we got stuck. When we wanted to know why they wouldn't hold the flight (at least six people were making the same connection as we discovered in Chicago), she said that if it were going anywhere after SF, that leg would be made late, too, which was Not Acceptable. I wanted to wring her neck--really, lady, where the F was a flight already not getting to SF until well after 11 pm going to go from SF when it was already an hour late? Nowhere, that's where.
We got on the plane--as we'd be on standby in New York or Chicago, closer to goal was preferable (oh yeah, other fun stuff: no flights available because it was a "holiday" weekend)--and my new friend and I spent the entire last half hour freaking the fuck out about whether we'd make it. The pilot kindly informed us that, yes, anyone missing connections would be housed at the airline's expense, and then we got gate info on our connection. We booked it, made it to the desk only to be told we'd been double-booked and therefore were obligated to take another flight because we were supposed to have missed the connection. No, actually, it was just the poor girl who got there before us, but they yelled at us for a while to sure make it seem like it.
So, despite the Mistress Negativity of LaGuardia, we did make it across the country, ultimately only 45 minutes later than expected. We didn't bother waiting for luggage, we went straight to the lost luggage desk to see about getting our luggage delivered. The guy had no record of a problem, told us to go and check the carousel, and if it wasn't there, to come back.
Ten minutes later, I was giggling hysterically. My bag MADE it to San Francisco. The stress of running like crazy and freaking out about missing spending Saturday with my sister and brother-in-law (who are both working and thus less available for hanging out during Monday and Tuesday) left me just a mess. My new best friend in the midst of disaster had a wedding to go to Saturday. Her bag made it, too (they were probably on an earlier flight; by the time ours left NY, the flight originally scheduled to leave later than ours had left twenty minutes before). We bonded, said farewell and good luck and went about our vacations.
Oh, and there's a baby here. It's cute. Luckily, as just about any excretion she makes is fairly hideous. And I'm more exhausted after one day spent watching her with help than I was trying to get out here in the first place.
It took some doing. I got to LaGuardia with more than enough time to spare, but I checked in using the machine and found that my flight from New York was delayed to the point where it would be leaving only ten minutes before my connecting leg in Chicago. This was a problem necessitating an hour and a half wait in the line to go talk to a lady at the desk. While waiting on the line, I found out that storms in Dallas (my carrier's hub) were causing problems. And, apparently, mechanical failures were rampant; a lady standing next to me around the bend in the line had been trying to get to Miami from Newark since 9 am. I let her cut ahead (her rescheduling would have meant she'd miss the check-in otherwise), and she kindly gave me money for Wendy's for dinner after I got through the line. Sweet lady.
Not so sweet: the representative who told me I was proper fucked for making it to San Francisco. Also, I wasn't alone--I made friends with another girl making the same connection. Basically, the connecting flight was late, too, so there should be a slight chance we could make it, but she couldn't promise they would hold the flight for us or put us up in Chicago if we got stuck. When we wanted to know why they wouldn't hold the flight (at least six people were making the same connection as we discovered in Chicago), she said that if it were going anywhere after SF, that leg would be made late, too, which was Not Acceptable. I wanted to wring her neck--really, lady, where the F was a flight already not getting to SF until well after 11 pm going to go from SF when it was already an hour late? Nowhere, that's where.
We got on the plane--as we'd be on standby in New York or Chicago, closer to goal was preferable (oh yeah, other fun stuff: no flights available because it was a "holiday" weekend)--and my new friend and I spent the entire last half hour freaking the fuck out about whether we'd make it. The pilot kindly informed us that, yes, anyone missing connections would be housed at the airline's expense, and then we got gate info on our connection. We booked it, made it to the desk only to be told we'd been double-booked and therefore were obligated to take another flight because we were supposed to have missed the connection. No, actually, it was just the poor girl who got there before us, but they yelled at us for a while to sure make it seem like it.
So, despite the Mistress Negativity of LaGuardia, we did make it across the country, ultimately only 45 minutes later than expected. We didn't bother waiting for luggage, we went straight to the lost luggage desk to see about getting our luggage delivered. The guy had no record of a problem, told us to go and check the carousel, and if it wasn't there, to come back.
Ten minutes later, I was giggling hysterically. My bag MADE it to San Francisco. The stress of running like crazy and freaking out about missing spending Saturday with my sister and brother-in-law (who are both working and thus less available for hanging out during Monday and Tuesday) left me just a mess. My new best friend in the midst of disaster had a wedding to go to Saturday. Her bag made it, too (they were probably on an earlier flight; by the time ours left NY, the flight originally scheduled to leave later than ours had left twenty minutes before). We bonded, said farewell and good luck and went about our vacations.
Oh, and there's a baby here. It's cute. Luckily, as just about any excretion she makes is fairly hideous. And I'm more exhausted after one day spent watching her with help than I was trying to get out here in the first place.
