Back in India IV, Barely

Well this trip is off to a crazy start. 

M & I got to the airport on time. I got multiple body scans, as usual, and we were off... except not quite. While we were sitting at Tim’s our flight was delayed and rescheduled to leave Ottawa until after our connecting flight left Toronto. We got in line with everyone else whose flights were delayed or cancelled and watched while the one customer service rep argued with one woman for 20 minutes. Meanwhile there was another flight for Toronto leaving momentarily from the next gate and we wanted to see if they had room. Uh uh, nope, our line wasn’t moving so M. tried to talk to the agent at that gate. She wouldn’t even speak to her and pointed for her to get back in line. The line that wasn’t moving. Then “our” agent started to leave. “Where are you going?” asked anxious people under serious time constraints. “I’m not a machine,” she screamed, “I have to go to the bathroom.” And the line watched their only hope to get somewhere walk away.

I had my eye on someone else. An agent who just arrived at a gate where a crew was deplaning. She looked tired but didn’t have that throat-punchy look the other agents were wearing. I wandered over to explain our situation, stressing the one daily connecting flight we would miss. She took pity and tried adding us to the standby list at the next gate, but Pointy again refused to speak with us even after we were sent there. 

The kindly Winnipeger behind us mentioned there was another flight to Toronto leaving right now from yet another gate. Back to our saint I marched. “Yes, you’re on standby for both flights, run to gate 27!” Which, I hasten to add, was at the far opposite side from the gate we were at. We piss cut through the airport, dodging old people in wheelchairs and leapfrogging those who drag their suitcases too far behind them. We arrived to learn she had bumped us reasonably high up the queue and we had a shot. We crossed fingers and held our breath while the agents called out names of passengers not yet boarded. There were 6 names - we knew we were standbys 7 and 8. Then they started calling standby names. We were 2 of the last 3 boarded and got preferred seats no less. 

 One hurdle down. Now this plane was running almost an hour late and our connection time was short. Like super short. De-icing seemed to take an eternity. By the time we were airborne the fella beside me had resigned himself to missing his flight to Vegas. Nobody on that flight made it to Vegas. Whether we would make our connection was touch and go. We made good time and it was looking good for us, but then the plane started to circle the airport. “Are you shitting me?” was the collective cry. 

Finally made it to the ground and had to run to the international section with no idea if we would make it on our flight. We had to fight through the throng of Vegas-goers arguing with the agent at the international terminal. He was telling them that US customs were done for the night and no one was going to Vegas. All non-US fliers could go - providing they could get through the crowd. I broke through, with M at my heels, and ran and ran and then fucking ran. I thought I would cough up a lung and my ankles swore profusely. Those terminals are way too far away from one another. 

But we made it! We found K who came in on that earlier flight but initially went to the wrong terminal, and finally got into our shitty economy seats and were ecstatic. I was so relieved that I didn’t even mind too much that the old Indian lady behind me put her bare feet up on both my arm rests. Well, maybe I did bring my elbows down on her toes a bit sharply, but come on lady!

Now it should all be sunshine and rose kulfi...