Odds & Ends
TRAVELERS ARE ON THEIR OWNI had a direct flight on Delta out of JFK to go see my mother on her birthday. I got to the airport 1.5 hours prior to departure to ensure that I would be able to get my ticket and get on a plane with plenty of time to spare. I hate to rush. When I went to the e-ticket kiosk, I was informed that I would have to go to an agent to get my ticket. The line for the agent desk was out the door - there were about 3 agents to help maybe 60 people. I stood patiently in line as the time ticked away. Some years ago I had missed a flight, and the agents had simply rebooked me onto the next one. As I stood in the slow-moving line, and the departure time for my flight neared, I felt confident that I would be rebooked this time as well with no hassle.
I finally arrived at the desk about 20 minutes before my flight departed. The agent gruffly told me that I missed the check-in window and told me to go to the customer service phone to rebook. I turned and saw another long line (all the people who had missed their flights like me) at a panel of 6 black phones. I started to get a bad feeling.
I stood in line for the black phones for about 45 minutes, feeling an increasing sense of panic. People in the line with me were angry, and justly so. I finally got on the black phone and picked it up. A cheery woman came on the line. I told her I needed to rebook my flight, and she said she could put me on the next plane out of JFK for $600. I asked her why I was being charged this money; she told me it was because I hadn't checked in in time. I could tell people around me were receiving similar messages, as they were yelling into the phone for managers to get on the line. I asked her if she could find me a different flight out of one of the other area airports (LaGuardia or Newark). She looked, and told me she could put me on a flight out of Newark that departed in about 6 hours. Total cost: $50. I took it.
Taking various train systems, I made it to Newark in time for my departure. I arrived in Seattle about 10 hours late.
For my return trip, I attempted to check in online the night before, but was told I couldn't. I called customer service, and the nice lady said it was a simple technical issue that could be resolved by a person at the gate. I got to SeaTac airport 3 hours early to give me plenty of time should I need it. I should interject at this time that my return flight was on another airline, but my ticket was issued through Delta.
I got to the airline agent desk, and the agent told me he couldn't issue me a boarding pass because I needed a voucher from Delta. I walked over to the Delta desk, and stood in line for an agent. When I explained my story to the agent, I was told that it didn't make sense, that the other airline should issue the boarding pass. I walked back over to the other airline desk and told the agent that. He sent me back to the Delta desk, saying he couldn't do anything for me. The Delta agent walked back over with me, but we were ignored and the agent left to return to his own desk. I started to get panicky, because about 2 hours had passed and I was beginning to fear that I would miss my return flight.
I saw the dreaded black customer service phones for Delta that I had used back at JFK. This time there was no line. I got on the phone. After a period of muzak, someone came on the line, but they were breaking up and I couldn't hear them. I hung up and got on another phone. Time was ticking by. It was now 40 minutes until my flight departed. I waited again, wondering if this was the right step, or if there was something else I should be doing. A customer service agent came on the line. I was in tears now, sobbing into the phone. I explained to her what was going on, and she said she didn't understand why the airline wouldn't let me on, but she agreed to print out some document for me anyway. It printed at the Delta agent desk and I ran over and grabbed it. I ran back to the other airline desk and up the agent I had been working with all this time. He exclaimed that that was all he needed. He checked me in, I grabbed my boarding pass and ran to the gate. The plane was already boarding as I arrived. I sat down in my seat and breathed a sigh of relief.
I continue to fly regularly for work and personal life (I live on the opposite U.S. coast from my family). But this one experience taught me irrevocably that customer service is nonexistent in the airline industry. You are truly on your own as a traveler, and have little to no recourse if something goes wrong. Every time I travel now, I do everything I can to leave as little to chance as possible. The only thing I rely on the airline for is to physically transport me from Point A to Point B. 8/08 | <<Latest Stories
REFUSAL TO BOARD
Monday, June 23, 2008, O'Hare, American Airlines: The gate agent asked to check my boarding pass, then told me that she was not allowing me to board the plane and that she had the authority to do so because I had booked my flight June 22 ($847) the day before. The gate agent said she was arranging a bus ticket for me from O'Hare to Milwaukee. I informed the gate agent that no, hell no, I was not accepting a bus ticket. The gate agent then canceled my flight - my travel agent looked up the reservation and was aghast that my itinerary had been canceled. The gate agent eventually processed a ticket after I told her that if I did not have a valid ticket and boarding pass, why did I just see my luggage loaded onto the plane. During the ranting and raving at the gate counter I overheard the two women gate representatives discussing their 'friend' that didn't show up. I am very glad that he didn't make the flight and that the old gal from Tulsa was not the pushover they thought she was. I sincerely hope that American Airlines does not let this slide. I have always had great service from American and this is a huge disappointment. 6/08
PHOTOGRAPHER'S PHANTASMAGORICAL FLIGHT
On July 1, 2007, I was on American Airlines flight 2200 from Seattle-Tacoma to Dallas/Fort Worth on a Boeing 757. As we boarded the flight, I looked forward to taking some good pictures. My sister and mom decided to switch with me and my dad, which would prove consequential. I objected, but all three disagreed, and the plane was packing up as it is. My window (which was assigned to my sister) had a large scratch on it, smack dab in the middle. I knew from then on that my photography efforts were going to be a nightmare. I was barely able to take any pictures at the gate, and feared the worst as airlines such as Korean Air, Air France, and other nice airlines began to arrive and depart within my view.
We backed up from the gate, only to receive an announcement that we would be delayed on the ground for 15 minutes due to storms and gate shortages from diverted planes at our destination. I had no problem with it as I understood the situation.
Then, as he said, we took off 15 minutes late. I struggled to take pictures of Mt. Rainier, but was somewhat successful. The flight attendant told us that they would play the movie "Wild Hogs" on the in-flight entertainment systems (IFES). However, for an hour and a half we watched dozens of commercials and an episode of "How I Met Your Mother" until the movie finally started. Then, 15 minutes into it, the screens went black and they folded up into the ceiling. The flight attendants made an announcement that there was a short circuit in the IFES and that they would attempt to restart it. Then it started working again and it picked up where we left off....for five minutes. Then it happened again, and they announced that they would leave it off for the rest of the flight for safety reasons. I was a little agitated over the no movie thing, but in the line of safety I knew AA was doing their job.
Also, it was an ex-TWA plane with the old less comfortable seats, and since the IFES wouldn't work neither did the headphone jacks for the radio in the armrests. My dad loves those and was listening to his laptop, yes, laptop, for a few minutes until the guy at the end of our row started talking to him. He was this overweight guy who took up my dad's right armrest. He just kept talking about stuff my dad wasn't interested in, and this went on for maybe 2 hours of non-stop explaining about his own stuff and barely let my dad talk. Of course, I don't like my dad, at that but one moment I felt sorry for the guy.
For the rest of the flight I listened to my iPod and attempted to look past the huge mark on my window. On approach I caught some beautiful photos of the storm that we passed. We were at about 20,000 feet and the storm was directly to the right of our plane in the sunset. It was very beautiful. When we passed the storm it went from beautiful - to ugly. Sudden turbulence caused me to hit my armrest, resulting in a bruise to my arm. But unlike most people, I love turbulence. Then we kept descending and, yes, the man was still talking to my dad.
At around 2000 feet, nearing our final descent, the pilot quickly made evasive maneuvers to the left and right at a slow speed which made me nervous; it felt like we were gonna stall. Then he touched it down; it was not a good or a bad landing. As soon as we taxied off the runway I thought, "Good, now I can get home at a good time and get on the computer after nearly a week without internet."
That's when the pilot made another announcement stating that we will be delayed on the ground at DFW for 45 minutes. I was the ONLY ONE in the cabin who didn't sigh, as I laughed when I looked back and saw everybody's faces. But then my eyes enlarged in happiness when he said that people are allowed to visit the cockpit until the delay is up. I got out from the row and just kept walking down the aisle, trying to resist smiling for the cheesiness of it. I'm a BIG aviation guy, so I pretty much know everything there is to commercial air travel.
I waited in line behind a couple of screaming preppy teenage girls who just wouldn't shut up. After about 3 minutes I entered the cockpit; the pilot was amazed at how much I knew about everything on the flight deck.
Then I went back to my seat and waited to move. We then started to taxi and sat by a gate which was occupied. The captain said there was another 20 minute delay in which the entire cabin did a repeat of their complaining. After 30 minutes the plane at the gate didn't hadn't moved. The pilot finally came on the intercom telling us that the plane we were waiting on had a mechanical problem. And the cabin did you-know-what once again.
Then, 15 minutes later, he came on the intercom telling us that we finally had a gate opportunity. We taxied near the gate and waited for 5 minutes as an American 777 started to depart for London Gatwick. We got into the gate but when we parked, for some reason, we didn't get off until 10 or 15 minutes later. I could finally stretch my legs when we deplaned, but the thought came into my head when I passed passengers in the terminal - they have been there all that time waiting for their flight to Baltimore-Washington to arrive.
A few months later I got an email from AA providing an apology for the inconvenience. I forgave them, but I'm not sure if my father ever did... 6/08
SCARE LINE LAMENTWe just flew from Anchorage to Atlanta to Savannah via Delta Scare Lines. We had to sit on the floor of the terminal in Anchorage because there were not enough seats. I saw about 50 people on the floor. It was also hot in the terminal. (yes Delta that is your fault). We flew 6 and a half hours to Atlanta with the seats jammed so close together it was hard to breath. Several of the Delta flight attendants had huge butts that brushed everyone as they passed. Next time Continental or Frontier for me. 6/08
THE MEETING IN BISHKEK
The annual Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) meeting took place during the week of August 16, 2007. The Presidents of the SCO met in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan for the week. The Presidents of India, Pakistan and Iran want to gain entrance into the Eastern powerhouse. The SCO is represented by the countries China, Russia and the Central Asian Republics including Afghanistan. The presidents of India, Pakistan and Iran were in attendance during the 2007 SCO annual meeting in Bishkek as "observers." This is 65 percent of the world's population.
I was set to arrive in Kyrgyzstan the first day of the festivities on August 16th, 2007. Earlier that morning the visiting presidents touched down at Manas Airport in Fruenze, Kyrgyzstan.
During my four-hour red-eye from Moscow to Bishkek - I was seated next to Vladimir, the Deputy Member of Parliament overseeing exporting for the country of Kyrgyzstan. He was extremely talkative and was insistent in pulling information out of me. Deputy Vlad wanted to know who I, as an American, represented.
Well, I was visiting my family in Bishkek. I worked to reassure him over the many shots of Kyrgyz Cognac. Rest easy France, they spell cognac in the Kyrgyz language and yes, it's in the same caliber of Hennessy so don't rest too easy. I played one more card to reassure Vlad that I wasn't in the business of espionage. I told Vlad about my grandfather's Apache thorn-less blackberries that are now surfacing in the open air markets of Kyrgyzstan some five years after we introduced just seven shoots. We began discussing the trade potential of his country, Kyrgyzstan.
Halfway between Moscow and Kyrgyzstan, a strange man approached me from the back row of the plane. I was seated in the middle seat sandwiched between Deputy Vlad and my wife. This man reached over Vlad and introduced himself to me. After the obvious miscue, Vlad formerly introduced us. This man's name was Hassan, an Iranian businessman. I thought this was odd. Here I was seated in coach next to a deputy member of the Kyrgyz parliament and being introduced to a successful Iranian businessman who has no current businesses in the country of Kyrgyzstan. All three of us drank to positive relations between Kyrgyzstan, Iran and America.
Hassan, "the businessman", spoke flawless Russian and English. Vlad's English wasn't great so we slurred our conversation between Russian and English thanks to the cognac. Red-flags began to amplify my paranoid condition when Vlad and Hassan insisted we continue our conversation in the president's lounge at Manas airport. They also made another grandiose proposal - they wanted to give us a ride from the airport to the city of Bishkek afterwards.
Here it is in the middle of the night, I'm on the other side of the world - the worst scenarios were playing on my paranoia. I then did what all Americans know how to do politely when they'd like break away from visiting company - I began to yawn and played a game of heavy eyelids. I had been awake for thirty-five straight hours so this act wasn't difficult.
I couldn't sleep - my paranoia kicked into full force - the sleep deprivation, a Russian tourist accusing me of being a spy when I left the club room in Moscow Sheremetyevo, the Aeroflot representative at the departure gate whispering to her coworker "here are the Greene's" when she didn't know I understood Russian, and now Deputy Vlad and Hassan.
The squeaky wheels struck my ears and the scents of the dining cart hit my stomach. Flying Aeroflot between the former Soviet Union counties used to be an experience, the clucking of chickens and ba-a-ing of goats. I've been flying within the former USSR since 1998, but I haven't noticed any farm animal passengers since 2001. Aeroflot has some of the best food in air travel with complementary vino and pivo, wine and beer. The flight attendant was now leaning over Vlad asking me what I wanted. I was starving, but told her "nechevo" - nothing. I had already been accused, in so many words, of international espionage on multiple occasions during my trip. My paranoia morphed into sheer fear - this suppressed my hunger.
We arrived safely at Manas airport in Kyrgyzstan and were making our way to the border patrol station when I noticed that Vlad and Hassan were waiting at the club's express entrance. I made an attempt to ditch them when we landed, walking slowly until they got out of sight. They were now waiting for us. I was on my feet, but yawned again. I told them I was too tired and lied about our friends waiting. The fact is I didn't want them to know of my family in Bishkek. I had already stupidly told Deputy Vlad that we had family in his country, but I immediately stopped discussing my relatives after my paranoia began to erase my reasoning.
The next morning I was awakened by the blaring television broadcast of the SCO festivities. The faces of the presidents were everywhere, banners hanging over the streets from Bishkek to Osh. The live weeklong coverage showed constant images of Presidents Putin of Russia, Hu of China, Patil of India, Karzi of Afghanistan, Musharraf of Pakistan, Ahmadinejad of Iran and Presidents from the Central Asian Republics. Images of them sitting together in concert audiences and riding together in limos.
After the weeklong coverage on the Kyrgyz and Russian news, I wanted to see what was being reported back home. I initiated the dial-up and keyed up Yahoo - nothing, CNN - nothing, New York Times - nothing. I then Googled the top stories of the week - the Utah miners was all that was being covered, Natalie Holloway is still near the top some three years later. At that time, the Utah miners was certainly news worthy of the top spot, but not even a single printed word on the Presidents from China and Russia in weeklong meetings with the Afghani, Iranian, Indian and Pakistani Presidents.
My paranoia is no longer aimed at Deputy Vlad and Hassan. They may have been suspicious of me, but they did me no harm - they gave me free cognac. Now, that I'm back in the US - I'm repeatedly awakened by a blaring television glorifying the weddings and DUI felonies of celebrities. It's good to be home. 4/18/08 Signed, RIG
ONE IN 300 MILLION OUT OF SEVEN BILLION
Moscow, Russia
The narrow corridors of shops within the transit area offers thousands of copper cylinders on the ceiling peering down with constant video surveillance – the bustling and shuffling of designer footwear resurrects cigarette ashes into the air from the concrete surface. A twelve-hour layover in Moscow’s Sheremetyevo transit area has few advantages. You may choose to make your way to the Irish Bar for draft stouts or to the upstairs cafes where they serve the original Czech Budweis Budvar.
Shopping for perfumes, doing lines of Nescafe, chewing salmon caviar – trims fragments off the layover. On this day, en route to Bishkek on Aeroflot Russian Airlines, time seemed to slip away. Tourists usually stretch their legs or nervously smoke openly throughout this vast transit area. The stress of potentially lost passports creep into the tourist’s psyche; border agents hold passports until two hours from departure.
On this day, I noticed a young American couple arguing with a pear shaped female border guard – in an olive green uniform. They argued back and forth as they had done for hours; these two Americans chose not to enjoy the beer served on a faucet.
Neither American trusted their passports in the hands of the Russian. Their disgust for the Russian system and the childish squabbling is combating my boredom. The two Americans didn’t have a visa to enter Russia. They were en route back to America, but timing or weather held them in transit for two days straight. Another problem for them - their e-ticket wasn’t in the system. The Americans had no proof of a reservation and were facing another night in transit.
“No photo,” the border agent kept ordering. I’d heard this order to the young American couple as I passed by the station a few times. By the tone of their voices, I felt the show would soon be underway.
I just finished Sherman Alexie’s "The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven", so I chose to drop my bags and exercise. Nine hours into my layover I needed a little action. “No photo;” silence overcame the bustling transit area as I heard the click of a camera phone.
As I glance over, the bullfaced border guard charged from behind the enclosed space to grab the American woman. “Now, you go to police,” as she snatched the camera and the American by her forearm.
A slight struggle ensued as the young American woman belts out this faux pas, “Don’t touch me, I’m American.” “You’re not in America, you’re in Russia now” snapped the border guard.
The American man came running to the woman’s defense. This hero tried to diffuse the situation as the Russian border guard hooked them both in a sumo wrestler style then pulled them both off their feet. All three heads hit the concrete floor; all I could hear was screaming and…“you crazy ----- (well, it rhymes with witch).”
The border guard released the woman and latched onto the man’s throat with both hands while simultaneously scissor holding the man’s flailing arms between her thick thighs. The American woman slowly took to her feet and pleaded for the onlooker’s help. Gurgling and wheezing from the man didn’t seem to alarm the bystanders. The hold was effective - the female border guard disabled the man from moving.
The struggle continued as a few minutes passed then a short stocky policeman ran over to the scene. “Ought pusti te yevo,” the policeman ordered. The border guard released her grip and rolled off the American man.
The American woman continued to walk around frantically asking the bystanders for help. The man eventually took to his knees – coughed. He wobbled to his feet – like he just stepped off a rollercoaster. The glaze cleared from behind the man’s eyes, when the policeman approached with his club drawn “problem, problem…!”
“No, no problem,” the American man replied. Two more Russians approached in navy business suits, first speaking with the border agent and then with the two Americans. All four Russians shot looks around the area; like the other bystanders, I didn’t keep eye contact. I continued my exercise stretches as both well dressed worldly men consoled the hysterical American couple.
The American woman kept looking at me while pointing in my direction and mentioning “he saw everything.” I was completely unfazed by her claims that I would come to her defense. I didn’t even have my own passport in my possession.
After almost ten hours of transit in Sheremetyevo, I had endangered the phony ideal of an American. I’m only one in three-hundred million out of seven billion. Simply being born in America doesn’t automatically make me a hero. My only goal was to get the hell out of Moscow.
DING-DING THRONGUE – "Ladies and Gentlemen Aeroflot flight 182 Moscow to Bishkek is now boarding at gate number seven.” 4/16/08
Signed, RIG
THE UNFRIENDLY COUNTRY
A few years ago I was on a business trip to the Orient visiting Hong Kong, Tokyo, Taipei and Seoul. This story tells of the frightening experience I had during my visit to Seoul, Korea and the problems encountered one week later when I was due to leave for Hong Kong.
I was arriving in Seoul on a flight from Tokyo approaching Kimpo airport from the east - the sky was so clear you could see all the way across the peninsula to the Yellow Sea. As we began our approach to the airfield and were reducing altitude, an announcement was made in several languages that all window shades were to be pulled down, they were to be kept down from that moment, and were not to be raised so we could see outside. Needless to say, many passengers, myself included, raised the shades a little until the voice, again in several languages, told us to remove our hands from the shades and keep them pulled down.
In the short amount of time in which I looked out, I could see machine gun posts at every intersection of the waterways running through the rice paddies. Every gun was pointed towards the north. We gracefully touched down onto the runway. A few minutes into the flight every passenger had been given an immigration form to be completed prior to landing giving details of nationality, how long we intended staying in Korea and the purpose of the visit. At that moment there was a high degree of turbulence. My handwriting is not very clear at the best of times (except to me), and because of the movement of the plane my signature was not very legible.
The aircraft taxied to the terminal where everyone disembarked via a portable staircase that had been wheeled to the exit door. We were screamed at by a military office to look only straight ahead. The entire atmosphere was very unpleasant and it appeared as though we had arrived in a country that expected war to break out at any time - something they had always worried about since the end of the fighting in the middle of the 1950's. The terminal windows were all covered by a wall of sandbags and large anti-aircraft guns with crews were sited around the terminal and on the roof - all pointed towards the north - the militaristic atmosphere was frightening. Inside the terminal armed guards were everywhere. One arriving passenger was being frog marched by two guards screaming at the top of his voice as he was dragged through a small doorway.
I cleared customs and immigration and met the import merchant who was to accompany me during my stay in Korea and travel with me to Hong Kong. We took a taxi to the "Lotte", a fairly new beautiful hotel in the center of Seoul. I cannot say I enjoyed my visit to Seoul where everywhere one went there was so much of a military presence - also the smell of the national dish, "Kimshe", was everywhere and overpowering. While I was there the city was "buzzed" by the North Korean air force and we were forced to exit our taxi and shelter in a nearby building. When the authorities decided it was just another false alarm, green banners were lowered from the tops of all the major buildings showing it was "all clear", replacing the red banners that had been lowered at the approach of the aircraft.
I concluded my business after several days, and with the import agent accompanying me, arrived at Kimpo for our flight to Hong Kong. As I presented my passport and exit papers at the departure desk, the trouble began. As I have written, my handwriting is bad and the officer at the desk could not match my signature on the entry form to the signature on my passport. I tried explaining that the poor writing on the entry form was caused by turbulence on the aircraft. He then, in a very loud voice, screamed at me "This not your passport" - a ridiculous statement as the photograph of me had been taken just two months ago when I renewed my passport. I was yelled at in broken English and was taken to a room where there were several other officers. I was made to take every piece of paper out of my wallet and briefcase while I was questioned about every item. My paper money was counted to make sure I had less than shown on my entry form to ensure I was not smuggling money out of the country.
While all this was going on for about half an hour, I wondered what had become of my import agent. He was a citizen of Hong Kong and I had no idea where he was. I had visions of being locked up in a Korean jail even though I had broken no laws. Finally I was told I could go and asked them to return my travel documents. I was told I was to have another interview with a senior officer who would return my papers to me if he saw fit to do so.
I was led to the gate area by two soldiers who gave my papers to the senior official. He glared at me, threw my wallet and papers across the gate area and yelled, " GET OUT - GO NOW ". Believe me, I have never moved as fast as I did that morning. I picked up everything and stuffed it into my briefcase. I could hear a lot of shouting coming from the end of the tunnel that I had to take to reach the aircraft. As I ran towards the plane I could see and hear the cause of the disturbance. The airport people and the aircrew were attempting to close the door but my agent was standing in the doorway with arms outstretched stopping them. As he saw me he called out to me to hurry as the plane, because of him, was late in leaving.
I was never so pleased in my life to leave anywhere - I doubt if I would ever return to Korea - a country with most unpleasant memories. I never knew if the incident was real or if they were having fun at my expense. So totally different to my other travels where I always felt I was welcome. 3/20/08 Signed, Lawrence Bently
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