An Open Letter the the Airlines

Dear Every-Terrible-Airline-I-Have-Dealt-With (and that's most of them):

We are your customers.  We pay you money, and you provide us with a service.  That service is getting us safely and comfortably to our destinations.  Being that we always provide you with the bill you are owed, you really need to step up to the plate to remember what your purpose is and do it well.

One way you may try to accomplish this is through some improved training of your flight attendants.  I believe in being extremely kind and polite with everyone I encounter in public, assuming they treat me the same way.  So I cannot imagine why a flight attendant would ever give me a hard time about anything.  And yet they do.  I'm sure they encounter some very difficult passengers, but is it not their job to handle these folks with class and grace?  I've dealt with snark, ineptitude, and outright rudeness too many times to count.  The days of cute stewardesses in blue Pan-Am dresses may be long behind us now, but the need for friendliness is not.

As you know, when a human being is traveling to a new destination for business or pleasure, it is only natural that they should want to bring clothes and incidentals with them.  I think that your customers are paying enough and giving up enough that they should be provided with planes that can accommodate two suitcases, provided they are not too heavy.  And I know the liquids thing is a TSA requirement, but in my opinion, it amounts to discrimination.  I am a woman with thick, long hair and I need a lot of products to tame it.  If I check them, my bag could (and often does) get lost.  If my bags get lost, I don't always even get a toiletry kit (as if those contents would be helpful to me), an apology, or money to buy new clothes or incidentals- even if my bag doesn't come back to me until the next day.  I feel you should invest in technologies that do exist that would allow better screening and the ability to bring liquids on the planes.  Now, maybe this in turn would raise our rates.  I think passengers would either like really cheap rates and then would be more forgiving of everything they deal with, or are willing to pay more to not have to suffer so many indignities.  Air travel economics is indeed complicated, but the basic tenets of capitalism should hold- and consumers need better choices.

In closing, I would like to address the issue of missed flights due to lay-overs.  I have seen flights close their doors and sit at their gates not allowing people in who were late to due to the airline's lateness of a prior flight.  I have seen flight attendants totally unwilling to say anything to help a worried passenger who knows the flight they're on is going to screw them over.  I have seen airline personnel be extremely rude to be people who have tried desperately to make their layover, accepting no responsibility whatsoever and not even offering ADVICE on where to stay in their layover city or how to get there.  It's deplorable.

For all of the awfulness out there, there are definitely kind and capable airline personnel, and even entire airlines that seem to try to go that extra mile (I've been almost always impressed by the way jetBlue handles everything).  I thank them.  And I appreciate that most of the time, we all reach our destinations safely.  If the trip could be more enjoyable, that would be nice too.

Love,

GirlFriday

Cruise Journal

My husband and I went on a cruise a while back. This week as I was thinking about what to write for “travel” I suddenly remembered that I had been journaling during the entire cruise trip. I looked through some old files on my hard drive and finally found the entire 7-day detailed description of the trip! It was 10 pages long, so I won’t force you to read through the entire trip. However, I think the story of how we got to Florida from Idaho is pretty entertaining. Here is (almost verbatim) my description of the trip (I will warn you in advance – this blog is a little long).

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February 2007
We were flying Delta airlines and one of our friends dropped us off at the airport at 7:30pm. There were many funny things that happened on this flight. We had arrived early and were at the terminal waiting for our plane to depart. We still had about 30 minutes until the plane was scheduled to leave. All of the sudden, this sweaty, plump little guy (resembling a blend of George Costanza and Newman from Seinfeld) wearing an Indiana Jones hat and camo pants comes RUNNING down the corridor. He was SO afraid he was going to miss his flight! It was really funny to watch him once he realized he was early and indeed had not missed his flight. He then proceeded to take off his over-shirt because he was so hot and only had this little, tiny wifebeater undershirt on. Sheridan and I were trying to stifle our laughter (ironically this guy ended up flying on the same flights as us all the way to Atlanta).

I forgot to mention, on this first flight we were directly across from the airplane bathroom, and on all the other flights we were VERY close to it. Thanks Orbitz. We soon arrived in Salt Lake where we had a four hour layover. I was going to have some family come visit us, maybe go out to dinner, but it didn’t really work out because they all had prior arrangements and my 16-year old sister was too afraid to drive on the freeway (she had just gotten her license and wasn’t yet comfortable on the highway). But, it ended up working out better, because I had a 12-page paper due in one of my classes by 5:00pm on Monday (but I wanted to get it done as soon as possible so I could enjoy my vacation). So, in SLC I worked on the paper (with a lot of Sheridan’s help). Oh yes, I forgot to mention that the whole week before this I had strep throat with a temperature of up to 105 degrees and was still recovering from my sickness. Luckily, Sheridan hadn’t caught it and was able to take care of me all of last week. I was still a little weak, but the antibiotics were making me feel much better. We departed SLC at 11:45 pm (MST) and landed in Atlanta, GA at 5:05 am (EST)!!! Talk about a long trip! Sheridan has a hard time sleeping on planes so he let me lay down on his lap (we didn’t have a third person to fill the seat next to us) and I was able to sleep while he watched some movie about Robin Williams running for president.

Day Two – Sunday February 18, 2007
So, technically this is already day two, although we never really got a chance to sleep after day one. We get to Georgia and have about a two-hour layover and I only have about half my paper done. Although I am completely exhausted, I plugged in my laptop and started working on my paper relentlessly (one again, with much of Sheridan’s help organizing my tired ideas). At 7:20 am we leave Georgia for Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. Keep in mind we had been traveling for more than 24 hours straight at this point.

This is where the story gets interesting.

We land in Ft. Lauderdale at around 9:00ish (AM Eastern Time). I still have to put the final page on my paper. Luckily, in Ft. Lauderdale, the wireless internet is free at the airport! We had plopped down on one of the airport chairs and I worked to finalize the paper. I get my paper done (nearly 12 full pages) and email it to Dr. Kim. Yay! What a relief! My paper is all done.
So, it is now probably about 10:00 am and we have to get from Ft. Lauderdale to Miami (about 30 miles) and don’t know how we are going to get there. We could have taken a shuttle through the cruise line, but that was going to cost $40 per person, and we didn’t want to waste $80 and figured we could find a better way there. HusbandThursday (then BoyfriendThursday) thinks he is being smart, and decides to ask the old bum sitting on the corner the cheapest way to get to Miami. He gave the bum a dollar for the directions. The bum tells us that you can catch the 1 and then the 12 and that will get you to Miami for $1.50. So, we decide, why not?? We still have about 6 hours until the boat leaves, let’s try the bus!! So, we get on the first bus at the airport (remember we have ALL of our luggage for the cruise: my huge, enormous bag, Sheridan’s bag, our scuba gear bag, Sheridan’s suit bag, and my big old honkin’ purse). We get on the bus and ask the bus driver, “Can you get us to Miami?” He smiles, laughs, and says he will tell us when we need to get off.

We ride the bus through some really sketchy parts of town, we are both trying not to make eye contact with anyone – the people on the bus were really shady. Keep in mind we are two innocent little white people from Idaho. I have never ridden a public bus in my entire life!! However, Florida is really pretty! I’ve never seen real live palm trees before. Turns out, halfway, we have to switch busses because Miami is in a different county than Ft. Lauderdale. So, we get on a different bus with even ghettoer people than the bus before.

This was the trip from hell. The bus stopped EVERY block. The whole bus ride took us two very long hours! You must also remember - neither Sheridan nor I had really gotten any sleep the night before. Picture this. We are sitting on this bus, trying to hold ALL of our luggage either between our legs or on our laps. We are both nodding off occasionally because we are so incredibly tired. In an attempt to stay awake, we ended up talking to the lady beside us. She was really friendly and told us where we could get off in Miami that would be closest to the cruise ports.

If we would have realized how far away from the ports we were, we probably would have taken a taxi. But, what we didn’t realize is that we were on the completely opposite side of the port! We had to walk around for about 30 minutes before we finally realized we were even on the wrong side!! Then we decided we could just walk across the bridge to the correct side of the port (about 3/4 mile). We had been trudging around our entire luggage (switching off, because my luggage had rollers, but the two other bags were so heavy). I swear, people probably would have thought we had been evicted from our homes if they had seen us rolling around these massive amounts of luggage in downtown Miami!

Finally we arrived at the ship! Both Sheridan and I are sweating at this point, my hair looks like crap because it is so windy outside, but we finally made it to the ship! There were about 5 ships leaving today, and ours was the very last one – so we had to walk about an extra mile or more just to get to our ship. But, we made it in time, which was all that mattered. We showed our passports and driver’s licenses and got on the ship. We check into our room and are pleasantly surprised that our room has a window! We didn’t pay the extra fee for that, so it was nice. I am really just exhausted at this point (my body is still really weak from being sick the week before). After we explore the boat a little, we decided to take a quick nap to rejuvenate our spirits. What an interesting start to our trip!! I hope isn't a sign that the rest of the trip will be hectic and crazy! We will see from here....

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Genf

My first attempt at international travel could not have gone any worse. It started out okay. My parents dropped me off at the train station and sent me on my way to Newark. I check in, got on to the plane, and prepared myself to sleep the entire way to Frankfurt. I ordered a few cocktails, and proceeded to stare at the ceiling for the next 8 hours, incapable of sleep. It was torturous.

Speaking little French or German, I disembarked my first flight, and rushed to the next gate that was written on my boarding pass. I’d missed my connection, and would have to go find the next departing plane. The only trouble was, I couldn’t find Geneva listed anywhere on the departures screen. I sat there staring at it for nearly 15 minutes before it finally clicked that “Genf” was Geneva in German. Gate located—now I just had to explain that I’d missed my connection to the nice german-speaking gate attendant. That process took a mere 45 minutes to resolve.

Frustrated by my unexpected layover, I decided to try calling home, only to discover that the calling card my mother had purchased for me didn’t work. At all. So I spent $15 dollars to use my credit card to call the states and let them know I was still alive, albeit stuck in Germany for the next two hours. . . My father assured me that my day would only get better.

Oh how wrong he was.

My luggage arrived safely with me in Geneva, and I was able to locate my railpass, get it validated at the ticket counter, and hop on the train into town. Success! When I arrived at the station, my goal was to do two things—first, buy a calling card that actually worked. I found one easily at the Migro market in the station. Second, I thought I’d better get some cash out of an ATM to supplement the 100 Swiss Francs I’d brought will me from home. I tried three different machines, and NONE of them would take my PNC atm card. Hmm. Well, I’ll figure this out later, I thought, and headed out to find the bus to my dorm.

I walked out on the curb, and realized that I needed to actually go across the street to get to my bus. The only problem was you had to go UNDER the street to get across, so I proceeded back into the station, towing both of my large suitcases, and ventured across the street. It was at this point that I started to wonder if it wouldn’t have been smarter to mail my clothes across the ocean for the summer. But I was a big girl, I could do this on my own, I thought to myself as I heaved the larger of the two suitcases ahead of me on the escalator.

I don’t know if it was exhaustion, stupidity, or the fact that Europeans are much better at packing lightly, but halfway up the escalator the weight of my suitcase gave in, and it came tumbling backwards, and I went along with it, head over heals backward into a poor, unsuspecting French-speaking man. He caught me and kept me from a much worse fate, but I couldn’t even muster a mere merci; what came out of my mouth was some combination of gracias, I’m so sorry, and a dumbfounded look of sheer shock and embarrassment. I didn’t know an escalator ride could feel so long.

At the top of the escalator, after my tumble, I was convinced that I needed to get away from that station as fast as possible. Having determined that, I flagged a taxi, rather than try to find my bus stop. Only problem was, I couldn’t, for the life of me, explain how it was that I needed to get to my dorm. I gave the driver my address, and he didn’t know where it was. I wrote it down, and he still wasn’t sure. “Cite Universitaire” I said. He finally understood. Thank GOD.

I can’t even remember how long I’d been traveling by the time I arrived at the back door of the dorm where he dropped me off. I dragged my godforsaken bags through the restaurant that connected the two towers of my dorm and finally found the check in counter. I introduced myself in broken French, completed the necessary paperwork, and looked down to realize that my pen had exploded all over my hands. Not just a little bit, like when you get a spot or two on your index finger. I’m talking a full-fledged black mess, everywhere. Including on the skirt I had worn for my travels.

This is just getting laughable, I thought to myself.

The woman behind the desk took pity on me and brought me into the office to wash my hands. I tried, but the cheap soap and lack of paper towels left me soggy, ink stained, and desperately seeking the comfort of my own bed. I grabbed my key from her with a soggy hand, collected my belongings, found my room, called home briefly to say I was still alive, and got into bed for the next three hours.

I awoke, groggy and confused, and went to open the door and venture out in search of my friends who should have arrived by now. Only I couldn’t get the door to open. I tried locking and unlocking it. I tried kicking, pulling, pushing, and screaming. Nothing worked. Finally, I resorted to panic, and began pounding, desperately, until a neighbor came by. I shoved my key under the door and asked him to unlock it for me, please. He looked at me like I had lost my mind when he got me out. This time I was able to say merci, but entirely unable to explain to him that I had thought I’d locked my self in. I say thought because the well-rested version of myself later realized that if you turned the lock too far it would go slack, and I simply needed to tighten it in order to unlock the door and leave on my own accord. . .

I never did get my ATM card to work; I tried every ATM on the east and west banks of the city, and finally resorted to having my dad wire me cash and then fed-ex me a Wachovia ATM from a new account that he opened on my behalf. On my way home at the end of the summer, I watched a robot explode a bag someone had left behind, and the airline lost my largest piece of luggage. I arrived home with a small suitcase full of dirty laundry and flip flops, and a new sense of independence. I didn’t get a chance to properly thank the man who saved me from breaking my neck on the escalator, and I didn’t make it to at least two or three of the cities I’d hoped. But I did manage to survive the single worst first 24 hours out of the country that I could have imagined. And I can’t wait to go back.

Travelin’ Light

It seems only appropriate that this week’s topic is travel, and I find myself out of town for a very long weekend. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, I love to travel. I used to be a big fan of road trips but since I’ve bought a new set of wheels it’s just not the same. So I fly.

For probably close to 80% of my adult life I’ve been in a long-distance relationship (where I find myself again these days and the reason for my current out-of-townness). Everyone I know likes to give me a hard time about always finding myself in a situation where I’m removed from the one I love. They seem to think there’s a reason for it. (Am I afraid of commitment? Do I like my independence too much? Am I really *that* hard to live with? Yes.) Regardless of why it keeps happening, and as much as I’d love to live in the same city as a boyfriend for more than a few months, I *do* love to go visitin’.

My house has never really felt like home and a lot of that probably has to do with the fact I spend all of my furniture money on getting out of town. And my renovation money. And since I’m never around to make it feel homey, why should it? My sturdy blue Samsonite, that is waaaay bigger than those little metal boxes that they put by the gate for you to (theoretically) check the size of your carry-on, feels more like home anyway. I know the exact dimensions, the sizing of the pockets, and precisely how I can organize it to maximize space potential (winter is much tougher than summer, sweaters are thick!). I know the biggest purse I can bring and how to attach my water bottle (empty of course!) and tennis shoes to the outside to add even more items to my load. I’m an expert packing and repacking my laptop and quart-sized Zippie from my suitcase, and I think I can put any pair of shoes back on in a matter of seconds. And don’t even get me started on people who check a bag. I’m not sure why someone would ever do that (given the wait on the other end and the chance of loss), especially now that there’s a fee. Egads.

So, to make this short and sweet (it’s 3 am, and I still have two full days of Mardi Gras left), I am a huge fan of getting on a plane and gettin’ out of town. Boston: yep, I’ll do it, Go Sox. DC: Sign me up! New Orleans: Hey mister throw me some beads. Florida: Move out of my way, you’re blocking the sun.