Travel tales I

Some may recall the tragicomic tale of my second-last return journey from the Land of the Free, and this latest one was another nightmare.

When I left San Diego Friday at 9.30 am, there'd been 5 days of rain on the eastern seaboard and Newark, JFK and La Guardia airports all seized up the day I left. My first connection for a Newark-bound flight arrived late, and once boarded (3 hrs late) sat for a further thirsty and hungry hour on the tarmac, having missed its take-off slot. For many like me, this was our second leg and we'd had nothing but coffee or water and salted peanuts for our breakfast flight. The cabin staff had only a nasty hot sandwich to serve for the trans-continental flight, which took off 4 hrs late. It took an hour after boarding for just water to reach my row. The poor cabin staff we reduced to broadcasting a plea for passengers to be patient and calm, and not to blame cabin staff for circumstances beyond their control. By the time we reached Newark at 12.40 am the next day, many of us having missed onward connections, there was a swelling of mutinous mutterings amongst the passengers. The captain assured us that airline helpstaff would be greeting the plane on arrival, and that arrangements were in hand for those with missed connections. 'This rain is a tragedy' cried the old Jewish lady in the seat next to me, but the promised representatives did not greet the flight and the helpdesk was unmanned when we disembarked. It was a ghost airport.

My connection was the last to leave that night from Newark, delayed till 12.45 am by the weather. I ran a kilometre of airport concourse in a record 3 mins, to make the connection's gate at 12.42 am. The gate's display was still calling the Edinburgh flight, but the desk was unstaffed and the embarcation door closed. Not a soul was in sight.

All the shops and plastic food outlets had pulled down their gates. Over the kilometre of concourse I ran I saw only two stranded passengers, yoof sleeping off a night's clubbing in LA on airport benches, waiting for the next flight to San Jose or Eureka.

I'm a big girl now and I started to get a little pissed (in the American sense of the word) that first the airline fucks me up, and then they lie to me. I hate that worst of all. I found the one customer service desk on the floor still staffed, and stated my problem. The deadened assistant heard my brief explanation, and told me I'd be lucky to get a hotel that night at that hour what with the number of missed connections that day. Anyway, she'd way past finished her shift, and the only staff left were in the baggage hall. There was mistaking the assertion in her voice.

Down in the baggage hall a stream of passengers, some in wheelchairs, some with lost baggage and some stranded, snaked through and out the baggage services room. A panel of three low-paid African-American women manned the desks, looking exhausted, bored and stressed at the same time...

to be continued