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| Now that's ironic. |
With certain exceptions,
I’ve always been a pretty good traveller. I can keep myself entertained and
enjoy noticing local trends. I tend to have more time to write when I’m away
from home and get inspired by new surroundings. When you travel, you are, by definition,
on a break from your normal life. It can be the pause that refreshes. It can
also be so harrowing, so isolating and so incredibly expensive that you scurry
back to your front porch swing vowing to never leave it again.
The pain of traveling is
akin to the pain of childbirth. You forget how much it hurts. I must have
forgotten that pain. I birthed three babies. It hurts so much while it’s
happening, but what you can achieve through the process can be indescribably life
changing. You are not the same after you’ve given birth, and you are not the
same person you were before you’ve taken a trip. I would even venture to say
that most any trip will change you in some way. Prejudices can be obliterated
and, just as quickly, they can be formed.
I am on my way home from an
interesting trip. At this moment, I am on a US Airways flight. Since yesterday,
the day I was supposed to be home, I have been developing a serious prejudice
against, if not a complete hatred for, this particular airline. This airline,
which is merging with American Airlines to become the largest carrier in the
world, could not get me home because of a few sprinkles in Boston. This
“weather related” delay (read Act of God) caused me to miss a tight connection
in Philadelphia.
It became obvious, while
still in Boston, that I would not make a flight that was supposed to depart 35
minutes after arrival in a perfect world. US Airways is not a perfect world.
It’s a perfect storm. These days, with passenger planes being shot out of the
sky, we are lucky travelers if we land safely. I know that. It’s always top of
mind, yet logistical realities abound and passengers are people, too.
Option number one was to
remain in Boston and take an early morning flight, which would then connect
somewhere because US Airways is not fond of direct flights. I’m rather fond of
them, myself, but since this was a ticket I could not use to go to my stepmother’s
memorial service in March, I’m stuck with it. Huge concert and Red Sox game in
Boston so the word came back there were no hotel rooms.
I decided to forge ahead to
Philly and take my chances. My flight to San Francisco, was, of course, on time
and was long gone when I landed. I got in the “customer service” line at ten
after nine and by 10:15 pm I had a flight for today and a hotel voucher, which
was worthless. When I called the number they said all the distressed rooms in
Philadelphia were gone. They suggested I call the hotel directly and book a
room, but I’d have to pay full freight.
I called the Airport
Marriott, which I could see out the window. They told me I could have a room
for $189. Ugh. I seriously contemplated just staying in the airport but when I
really thought about it I couldn’t stand the idea. Imagining that eerie time of
night after all the red eyes left and nobody was around just propelled me to
the hotel.
When I got to the desk the
guy was arrogant and imperious. He had me and he knew it and wouldn’t honor the
rate I was quoted on the phone, or a distressed rate or a Triple A rate. Those
rooms were all gone. There were rooms but not any bargain rooms. He offered to
give me a list of other hotels but admitted they’d be just as expensive, if not
more. He suggested I take a shuttle out of town to a Quality Inn. By this point
it was 10:30 pm and I’d had no dinner. The Marriott Hotel Bar was closing in 30
minutes.
I caved and checked in and
no, the rate did not include breakfast. The bill slipped under my door totaled
$264.50. What bothered me most was that the two nights before I’d paid under $250
a night to stay at the historic Colony Hotel in Kennebunkport, Maine. I’d
rather have just stayed there! The hotel is located right on the Atlantic! And
it included a full buffet breakfast, a private beach and a huge saltwater pool.
Admittedly, I had one of the noisiest, low rent rooms, located right by the
stairwell and the veranda, but come on. The location is magical, mystical,
spiritual.
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| The Colony Hotel. |
Since I couldn’t see my
friends, had no plans and nowhere to go, I decided to go home early. I have a
real estate listing that needs attention as well as some other projects. But I
didn’t go home. I ended up in the Marriott. I have flown many times but never
once missed a connection. My room smelled like mildew so I asked to be moved.
Mr. Imperious Himself came up and escorted me to the 15th floor.
That room was almost as bad but I turned off the air conditioner and the musty
smell got better. They must need to clean their air filters.
This morning I stumbled to
the bathroom, grabbed something in my makeup bag and gashed my right thumb on a
razor. It began bleeding profusely, dripping down my arm. I started to feel
sick from the pain and the sight of the blood and broke out in a sweat. Naked,
near panic, I imagined the likely scenario of needing to get stitches, missing
my plane again (this time my fault), staying overnight again at the smelly
Philly Marriott. Alone. I gave myself a very firm talking to. I willed myself
to keep it together and prioritize. First, get dressed.
When I left Marblehead my
suitcase was packed with precision. I’d stopped in some roadside antique stores
in Maine. I bought a sweet white cake stand for $10 and a little pitcher. It
was all I could fit. The weathervanes wouldn’t fit in the carry-on. Because of
the layover I had exploded the suitcase. Still bleeding, I had to dress myself
with my right wrapped in a towel held up. I had to shove the clothes (and
everything else) back into the suitcase with one hand. It wasn’t even to close
to closing. I sat on it and heard the crunch of the cake stand breaking. Oh
well. More room for everything else!
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| The cake stand. |
Somehow I made it
downstairs, through security and to my gate. All this time I kept pressure on
the wound with a washcloth. Whenever I stopped it started to bleed again. I saw
a TSA agent and asked him if he knew where First Aid was located. He told me he
had no idea and I commented that he wasn’t the guy to call if somebody was
hurt. Not really appreciating my attempt at humor, he told me that if there
were an emergency he’d just call 911. Thanks, pal. That’s why you have to work
for the TSA and I get to be an unpaid, self-appointed, yet terribly glamorous,
travel writer.
A lovely woman at the
Information Booth fixed me up with a bunch of bandages and lots of folks were
kind enough to offer to lift my bag into the overhead compartment. While we’ve
been flying across country I’ve been mentally adding up the costs of the delay.
In addition to $264.50 for the room (I didn’t even take a shower there), my
dinner last night was $36 (quinoa salad with chicken and one glass of wine),
Starbucks this morning was almost $9 for breakfast and then we got to buy
ourselves lunch on the plane. Lucky us! For $8.39 you get four crackers, one
strawberry, eight grapes, a few walnut crumbles and several blobs of cheese.
Yummy!
It’s not just me. When the
delays occurred, many folks were inconvenienced, some to a far greater extent.
We’ve already had a horrible experience with this airline. When Eric was
returning from Scotland, after almost three weeks abroad, he flew US Airways
from Dublin to Philadelphia. There was a weather related delay (read Act of
God) and somehow he ended up in Las Vegas. I went to SFO to get him and he never
arrived. I went home and he finally called saying he was in Las Vegas and that
he had to stay there. US Airways would go no further. We were so disgusted by
that point that I booked him a hotel room and a flight home the next morning on
another carrier.
Of course we ate the
expense, but at that juncture we just needed to get him home. He was exhausted,
traumatized and severely pissed off. I can relate. He kept saying he just
wanted to go home and sit on the porch and never leave. That was three years
ago. I think he’s still there.
When you travel by US
Airways these days you must buy your own food, pay to check a bag, pay a fee
for priority boarding fee AND listen to sales pitches by flight attendants for
credit cards. I could deal with the aforementioned if the airline gets me where
I am supposed to go. And if they don’t, give me some compensation such as a
free flight or a night in a hotel. No such luck.
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| The view from the Airport Marriott. |
My boarding pass has a
lovely message on the back. It says “Thanks for traveling with us today. All of
us at US Airways are committed to providing the best customer service and your
feedback will help us continue to improve! Please let us hear from you at the
address below. Thank you for taking the time to contact us and for your
business. Mailing address: Customer Relations
4000 E. Sky Harbor Blvd. Phoenix, AZ
85034
They will hear from me. If you’ve
had a similar problem, I hope they hear from you, too.
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| My worthless hotel voucher. |
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