Home > Pulpwood Queen Blog > Archives > 2006 > June > 23 > Entry
Flying the unfriendly skies
I had been invited to speak at the first ever book club convention in San Jose, California, Book Group Expo. My author friend, Kathi Kamen Goldmark of “And These Shoes Keep Walking Back to You” had been commissioned along with author, Susanne Pari to put together this book convention.
As Kathi knew I was doing the exact same thing here in Texas, she invited me in to speak on my book club, The Pulpwood Queens that is now the largest “meeting and discussing” book club in the world. I also would be moderating a panel of southern authors on Sunday of which were also all Pulpwood Queen Book Club Selection Authors, so I was thrilled to go on this book adventure.
Margie Dilday, Head Queen of my Squire Creek Country Club chapter was going to be traveling with me. She arrived at my shop on Thursday afternoon and we were off to Dallas. We would spend the night and then the hotel shuttle would take us to the airport at the crack of dawn on Friday. We would arrive in San Jose and be able to have a luxurious afternoon free to relax before the evening festivities of an author reception.
I knew we were in trouble when we called the hotel for directions on our way and the young girl who answered could not tell us where the hotel was located.
“It is right by the Whataburger.” She exclaimed sure that would help us find our destination. I don’t know about you, but I do believe that there is more than one Whataburger in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area.
One hour and ten minutes later after multiple calls to the hotel Ifinally stopped to ask for real directions from a kind tattooed man on a motorcycle who actually had us follow him to our destination. There it was, just like she said. Right by the Whataburger. Funny we only passed at least twelve as we were driving around.
As we checked in a little chagrined by our experience, we informed the young clerk that we would need a 4:30 a.m. wake up call and then a shuttle to the airport.
“Our shuttles are all full in the morning for trips to the airport.” She announced sheepishly. “How could this be?” we cried. “We always stay here and particularly as you give free shuttles to the airport.”
“Well, if you had arrived earlier I am sure we could have made those arrangements.”
I could see the Dallas Morning News headlines now, “Irate East Texan Murders Hotel Clerk in Cold Blood.”
I gritted my teeth, as I wanted to strangle this mere child. I grabbed our plastic passport to our room, checked my temper, and wheeled my leopard suitcase to the elevator.
When we arrived at our room, the air conditioning was off. It was hotter than Hades. I called the front desk biting my tongue to tell this clueless Generation Xer that we needed a 4:30 a.m. wake up call and would she please arrange for a taxi to take us to the airport. She complied.
Crack of dawn we were up and ready to go. Hailed the taxi to the airport and thought, a ha, now we are on our way. We had a layover in Las Vegas. As I had never been to Vegas, I thought this would be interesting. I was not disappointed. Slot machines were everywhere and I picked up some kitschy souvenirs for my girls as we grabbed some Starbucks for breakfast. Our plane was going to be delayed. Evidently, there was some kind of mechanical failure.
Now it does not matter where I go with Margie, she instantly makes friends. When the plane landed, Margie had introduced herself to our fellow passengers and within minutes knew and had met the flight attendants and woman pilot that were to be ours when we departed. A slight glitch occurred.
Our pilot told us our planes windshield has developed a break in its seal and the plane in landing had began to lose cabin pressure. This minor detail seems to make an aircraft lose altitude, fast. Sure enough, our plane was going to need a new windshield. The one it had was coming off. I recalled that Murphy was my maiden name. Murphy’s Law?
Now I speculated, do they call in the mobile units that replace windshields like those that you see on television for cars? Much to my dismay, that was not to be the case. They announced the flight was cancelled. We would have to go back to the American West/U.S. Airways ticket counter and rebook a new flight.
An American West employee announced, “Follow me.” She took off like a rocket leaving half the intended flight’s passengers scrambled for their bags including Margie and me. As we ran to try to catch up with the mass of stranded passengers, we lost them in the terminal. One Japanese couple and another elderly couple latched on to Margie and me crying, “Me don’t understand, you help us.” to “Where do we go, I don’t know what to do.”
Margie and I forged the way down the escalator to the American West crowd of lines to the counter. One of their employees told us we could go in either line. We were at least 100 yards from the counter as we slowly snaked through the maze to the counter.
Upon arriving, the man informed us, “You are in the wrong line. All passengers for Flight blah, blah, blah, that was cancelled should be in that line.”
He pointed to a line that was at least a mile long to the far right.
Margie proceeded to have a hissy fit.
“Young man, I beg your pardon, but the woman at the end of the line told us either line.”
He pointed to the far line that faded off into the distant cavernous airport, “Go to that line ma’am or you will not be able to rebook your flight.”
As we went back, like rats back through the maze of travelers, Margie went into full tilt hissy fit. The women who told us to either line took charge listened silently to Margie ranting. “Follow me,” she motioned as we proceeded straight to the front of the counter with the Japanese and elderly couple in tow.
M’Lisa and Lisa helped us get our new tickets but there was no way we were going to make the author party that evening at our hotel. In fact, we were not even scheduled to fly to San Jose now but San Francisco.
“What?” we cried. “Our destination is San Jose not San Francisco.”
Not to worry as they were going to put us on a shuttle bus to San Jose when we arrived. Now I had not ridden a bus since my mother put me on one to go back to Kansas State University one weekend when the roads were bad and she didn’t want to drive me back to school. It took me twelve hours to go what was normally a two and a half hour drive. In Junction City, Kansas, our driver had sideswiped five cars and never even hit the brake. I vowed to never ride a bus again. I was wrong. Our flight was scheduled to leave at 6:30 p.m., which means we would arrive in San Jose at around 10:00 p.m. It was now 11:00 something in the morning.
“We also have put you on standby for all American West flights to San Francisco,” M’Lisa and Lisa announced. “Just got back through clearance and to gate blah, blah, blah, and each flight that comes in if someone does not show, we will let you board that flight.”
As we went back through the metal detectors, sensing my growing anger, I was taken aside for a full search of luggage and carryon. I was ready for full body cavity search as they spread eagled me and did the wand. I was not a happy America West/U.S. flyer. As the cute airline luggage and body search guy studied my driver’s license I thought of the hymn, “Why Me Lord.” What had I ever done to deserve, well you get the picture.
As flight after flight took off overbooked, I gazed out at Mandalay Bay, the Sphinx in front of the Pyramid and other architectural wonders of the Las Vegas Strip. I thought to myself, “Here I am in Vegas and I am stuck at the airport in a mind sucking day of standby.”
“I am sorry, but this flight too is overbooked.” They exclaimed over and over, each and every hour. As we finally boarded our 6:30 p.m. flight with our Japanese friends and elderly entourage, I read the sign on the counter that stated, “American West, no lower rates in the friendly skies.” I reached for my black magic marker and wrote in the white space underneath those auspicious words, “There is a reason.”
To be continued… Tiara wearing, Book and Author sharing, Kathy L. Patrick Founder of the NOW International Book Club, The Pulpwood Queens
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