Gigantor Gets Stuck in an Airport...Again.

There are some people who should simply not be allowed to travel…or maybe it’s just me. The point is: me + airport = disaster.

First, Grinnell decided that the first real day of winter weather for the season should be on the day everyone flies home for Thanksgiving...or maybe it was targeting me specifically (I’m not paranoid, I’m just seeing the pattern). I wasn’t even planning to go home for Thanksgiving, but then during fall bread I found out David would be coming home. I didn’t want to be the one family member left out, but also, we haven’t had Thanksgiving as a whole family for approximately 10 years. Anywho, it was raining ice, so I decided to leave for the airport super early (and even skip my last class) to drive before the roads became truly treacherous. Well, I had no trouble driving…so that’s good…

When I arrived at the Des Moines Airport I decided to treat myself to a massage, since I had so long to wait (longer than I thought). A calm massage to start off my calm uneventful travels…no Universe? Ok then.

Long story—and severe depression—short, my flight was delayed for 1.5 hours. We ended up taking off after 8pm, which didn’t really fit with my 9pm connection time at Chicago O’Hare. As the aircraft was jostled by the choppy air, I hoped against hope that the same things that delayed my flight to Chicago would delay my connection flight. My flights are always late anyway, why couldn’t this time be any different? The one time I actively wished for one of my flights to be late the universe could not frickin oblige me. My connection was right on time and left promptly at 9pm. As soon as my plane landed, and before I knew the truth, I listened to my voice mail and heard my lovely mother telling me something about getting an automatic message about me being rebooked on another flight—yay!—leaving at 6:55 am—%$$%$!!! ####@@!!! *((@*#@!!!!

As soon as I deplaned I ran to the departure screens and sure enough my flight had left right on time. So logically I went to the United customer service center where I could be comforted and reassured by a nice, warm airline worker whose mission in life is to please the customer. Instead I found a cold, hard, self-help touch-screen computer monitor that spit me out a new boarding pass and sent me on my way, presumably to sleep on a cold, hard airport floor, desperately clutching my belongings to prevent a tragic theft of the only belongings I currently had. For some crazy reason, I decided instead I wanted to stay at a hotel. However since I had no United person to talk to, I called David.

Mom (who was monitoring the call along with Emily—the family all together, comfortably at home) gave me a customer support number for United Airlines, which turned out to be a great help, in that it made relieving sardonic laughter protrude from my mouth. The four options first presented to me by a computerized voice from the 1-800 number mentioned nothing of a hotel, so I said rather rudely into the telephone ‘more options’. These options were equally useless, so I decided I would try as many as possible in an attempt to TALK TO A REAL LIFE PERSON FOR $#%^$ SAKE. I thought the best option was to say clearly “Customer Relations”. That has got to get you to a real person right? You can’t complain to a computer. I was greeted by this message:

“If you would like to make a complaint or give a compliment about our service you can email United Airlines @blahblah. If you prefer to write a letter, you can reach us at…” Perfect! I’ll write a letter—so useful!

Dear United Airlines,

Please give me a voucher for a hotel. I’m ever so tired.

Ever yours,

Abigail.

“We’ll try to get back to you within 5 business days”, computer voice concluded and I resisted the urge to throw my cell phone against the wall.

I decided to wander further in hopes of human contact, and somehow found a customer service station with real people…and a real long line of weary, frustrated travelers. While in line I received a call from David. He had managed to talk to a real person at the customer service phone number. How, I wondered? Was I merely being thick headed when I couldn’t reach a real person? Apparently not. David had discovered (I assume through trial and error) that the way to talk to a person was to yell ‘operator, operator, help’ into the phone with desperation. However, the person had said he couldn’t do anything about a hotel.

The line for customer service was located right next to a McDonalds. So I thought to myself, after I get this hotel funny business figured out, I can drown my sorrows in saturated fat and sugar water. I looked at the service station for a second, and when I looked back at the McDonalds there was a metal grate blocking me from comfort. It was at this point that my spirit died. By the time I was finally called up for my turn, I discovered I could no longer speak coherently. Somehow I asked for a voucher for a hotel and she said “well that depends on why you missed your flight”. After some typing on her evil technology she decided weather was not United’s fault. Well it certainly wasn’t mine. She gave me a tiny discount they give everyone, and I decided to take my Mom up on her offer to put me up in the Airport’s Hilton for the night…so I could be stranded in style!

I eventually got to the hotel, slept for a couple of hours, staggered to security, boarded my right-on-time 6:55am flight, arrived at National and was picked up by David who took me home. I didn’t break my 31-hour record for time it takes to return home, but whatevs.

THE END

Oh, and Thanksgiving was nice.