I don't fly much. It's not that I've got any problems flying, it's just that I don't have much reason to fly. Most of our vacations have been driving trips (Dani loves to road trip) and I seldom have to fly for work. But Dani's mom moved to Seattle earlier this year, so I knew more flying was definitely in my future.
Just my luck, then, that the first flight I take in over two years comes just a couple of weeks after the latest terror plot is revealed and airline security gets ratcheted up to "orange".
I'm only going up to Seattle for the weekend to house/dog sit which, under any other circumstances would mean shove a pair of jeans, a couple of shirts and changes of underwear in a carry-on, grab a couple of books to keep me busy and I'm on my way. But, since we can't carry on anything that is, in any way/shape/form liquid, I decide "to hell with it" and pack a bag to check. Better that, I think, than to have to worry about buying toiletries for the weekend. Silly me.
Problems start when I discover, late Friday morning, that the bag I have doesn't have a luggage tag. Since I've never had any real luggage issues, I figure it's no big deal… I know what my bag looks like and I'll just check the airline's tag to make sure I've got the right one before I walk away from the luggage carousel. Again, silly me.
I've done the web check-in thing, so all I need to do is check my bag, then go sit and wait for my flight. Since Dani's giving me a ride to the airport, and I have NO idea how long the lines are on Friday morning (and have heard the horror stories on the news all week) I somehow end up at LAX three hours early. Good thing I brought a couple of books.
I end up standing in the wrong line to check my bags (apparently there was an express line for those that have checked in online, but I missed the signs… assuming there were any, of course). But hey, I've got three hours to kill, so it's no problem standing in the regular check-in line to check my bag.
I hand the counter person my boarding pass (which is when I learn that I didn't need to stand in that long line), she scans it, pulls the tickets from the machine after scanning the boarding pass, and tags my bags. (This is all important info, so bear with me.) She then directs me to the security screening line, so my checked bag can get its special x-ray treatment. I hand the bag to the TSA guy who tosses it on a conveyor and that's the last I see of my bag. For the next three days.
Now it's off to the gate for my flight, and the joys of the screening line for carry-on baggage. After another wondrously long line, I drop my backpack onto the conveyor for the x-ray machine, and then empty my pockets (discovering that I've got ridiculous amounts of change in my jeans) and taking off my shoes (fortunately, I've remembered to wear slip-ons for this flight). Just my luck, as my bags go through the machine, but one of the bags ahead of mine has to be resent for a second pass through the machine. So the annoying family I've had to stand behind for this whole process now has to stress over their teenage son's backpack, which is on the belt right behind me and clearly visible, and they nearly trample over me and my belongings to get the backpack as it slides into view. Fortunately, I survived and they were not going my way, so I didn't have to deal with them any longer. But their brief visit to my life still managed to be truly annoying.
With hours to kill, I spend some time trying to decide what mediocre fast food to indulge in for lunch, then find a relatively quiet spot to sit with my headphones on and read my book while I wait for my flight.
Finally comes boarding time. I hang back towards the end, in no hurry to pack myself onto the plane only to have to sit and wait for the rest of the flight to shuffle in and stuff their bags in the overhead rack above me. As the line winds down and I head to the boarding ramp, I find that we've got one more gauntlet to pass through, as LAX has National Guard and TSA at the gate, giving everyone's carry-on a "thorough" once over before boarding. (Since the guy checking my bag missed the very obvious zippered pouch on the back of my bag, I don't have much hope for the thoroughness of this whole process. And I have to admit that, while I'm gratified and relieved that the British managed to foil another airline terror plot, I sincerely have to wonder how much these extra security measures—no liquids in your carry-on; extra searches prior to boarding—have to do with actually hoping to impede terrorism, and how much they only serve to give people the illusion that we're actually doing something productive, and not just stumbling in the dark in the hopes we'll get lucky.)
Through the last checkpoint, I board the plane and give my boarding pass one last glance before I put it in my backpack. This is when I notice that the luggage ticket on my boarding pass has "Vancouver" for its destination. And, apparently, someone else's name, though I didn't realize that at the time. I look at it, wonder if that means my bag is on its way to Vancouver, or if that simply indicates the flight's final destination for today. Realizing there's not a damn thing I can do about either option at this point, I put the boarding pass away, dig out my book and turn up the iPod.
Flash forward a few hours later and I'm on the ground in Seattle, waiting for my bag to come sliding down to the luggage carousel. 15 minutes later, I'm at the baggage claim desk, asking them where my bag is. Of course, it's in Vancouver… may even have beat me up North, and is merely awaiting someone to claim it. I'm assured that they'll have my bag on the next flight down… I should have it in a few hours. They're even going to deliver it for me! Just in case, here's the number to call if I haven't heard from anyone by about 7 or 8 that night.
Come 8 PM, I call up and am told by the automated voice that there's a 9 minute wait to speak to someone. 27 minutes later, I finally get to speak to a real person. (This was not an aberration… I'm convinced that their machinery simply spits out a random hold-time, knowing that no-one's ever going to accomplish anything by complaining about the inaccuracy of that estimate.) Real person #1 informs me that my bag is still in Vancouver, probably going through customs, but they'll have it down to Seattle as soon as they can. I should probably have it in the morning.
Saturday morning, and no word on my luggage. After another 20 or 30 minutes on hold ("your estimate hold time is… 4 minutes"), I'm told that 'no, my bag hasn't been checked in yet' but the person I'm talking to is all alone at the desk. She can run over to their holding area once she gets some help and check to see if it's arrived. She'll call back as soon as possible. I hang up the phone and realize that my cell phone charge is low, and the charger is in my bag in Vancouver. I go out to run around Redmond and Issaquah (a couple of towns just outside Seattle).
That afternoon, I call the airport back. Another half-hour on hold, and I'm told that my bag still hasn't arrived. When I complain and ask what's taking so long, I'm told they're probably concerned about load balancing, but they'll have my bag back on the next possible flight. My natural tendency to avoid pointless conflict forces me to refrain from pointing out that, if my 20-lb canvas duffel can be a "load balancing concern", then I most likely don't ever want to fly Alaska again, and I hang up. I go out to find the nearest Target for toiletries and a change of clothes. And a charger for my cell phone.
Sunday morning. No phone call from the airline. Another half-hour on hold. This time, I'm told that they can't find my bag. I tell the person I've reached that they seemed to know where it was on Saturday and ask what happened. She says that they checked the name on the bag and it wasn't mine. I point out that the name on the bag is wrong because their ticket agent in LA tagged it with the wrong luggage tag, and that they need to look at the bag again. Fortunately, I had thrown my work ID in the bag just before I checked it, and I told the agent this. She put me on hold and called Vancouver. 5 minutes later, she was back and told me that it was, indeed, my bag and that they'd have it on the next flight down… should be in Seattle by noon at the latest. Since I was planning on going into town anyway, maybe I'd stop by the airport and pick it up. She said they'd call when it arrived.
4 PM. I get back from my day in Seattle and I call the airline. Oh, happy day… they've GOT my bag and they're just getting ready to drive it out to me. I point out that I'm leaving in the morning and I ask them to simply hold the bag there. I'll pick it up before my flight. I leave to go buy day-glo yellow luggage tags at the nearest Walgreens.
In the morning, I arrive at the airport and wait for twenty minutes while they search for my bag. Finally, the counter person asks me to come into their holding area to see if I can find my bag and, of course, I almost trip over it coming through the door. I leave with my bag, slap the new luggage tags on it, stuff the new clothes I've purchased into the bag and head over to check in for the flight back.
(One interesting note here… while I still had to dump the bottle of water I had inadvertently left in my backpack when I went through the security check, there were no additional screening checks between there and the flight gate. Guess they handle that whole security thing differently in Seattle. More fuel to the flames that this is all simply done for show.)
Back in LA, I grab my bag the moment it slides off the luggage chute and I'm out of the building and on to the shuttle station as fast as I can go, apparently convinced that, somehow, Alaska will find a way to misplace my bag again, even if they have to rip it out of my hands to do it.
Just my luck, then, that the first flight I take in over two years comes just a couple of weeks after the latest terror plot is revealed and airline security gets ratcheted up to "orange".
I'm only going up to Seattle for the weekend to house/dog sit which, under any other circumstances would mean shove a pair of jeans, a couple of shirts and changes of underwear in a carry-on, grab a couple of books to keep me busy and I'm on my way. But, since we can't carry on anything that is, in any way/shape/form liquid, I decide "to hell with it" and pack a bag to check. Better that, I think, than to have to worry about buying toiletries for the weekend. Silly me.
Problems start when I discover, late Friday morning, that the bag I have doesn't have a luggage tag. Since I've never had any real luggage issues, I figure it's no big deal… I know what my bag looks like and I'll just check the airline's tag to make sure I've got the right one before I walk away from the luggage carousel. Again, silly me.
I've done the web check-in thing, so all I need to do is check my bag, then go sit and wait for my flight. Since Dani's giving me a ride to the airport, and I have NO idea how long the lines are on Friday morning (and have heard the horror stories on the news all week) I somehow end up at LAX three hours early. Good thing I brought a couple of books.
I end up standing in the wrong line to check my bags (apparently there was an express line for those that have checked in online, but I missed the signs… assuming there were any, of course). But hey, I've got three hours to kill, so it's no problem standing in the regular check-in line to check my bag.
I hand the counter person my boarding pass (which is when I learn that I didn't need to stand in that long line), she scans it, pulls the tickets from the machine after scanning the boarding pass, and tags my bags. (This is all important info, so bear with me.) She then directs me to the security screening line, so my checked bag can get its special x-ray treatment. I hand the bag to the TSA guy who tosses it on a conveyor and that's the last I see of my bag. For the next three days.
Now it's off to the gate for my flight, and the joys of the screening line for carry-on baggage. After another wondrously long line, I drop my backpack onto the conveyor for the x-ray machine, and then empty my pockets (discovering that I've got ridiculous amounts of change in my jeans) and taking off my shoes (fortunately, I've remembered to wear slip-ons for this flight). Just my luck, as my bags go through the machine, but one of the bags ahead of mine has to be resent for a second pass through the machine. So the annoying family I've had to stand behind for this whole process now has to stress over their teenage son's backpack, which is on the belt right behind me and clearly visible, and they nearly trample over me and my belongings to get the backpack as it slides into view. Fortunately, I survived and they were not going my way, so I didn't have to deal with them any longer. But their brief visit to my life still managed to be truly annoying.
With hours to kill, I spend some time trying to decide what mediocre fast food to indulge in for lunch, then find a relatively quiet spot to sit with my headphones on and read my book while I wait for my flight.
Finally comes boarding time. I hang back towards the end, in no hurry to pack myself onto the plane only to have to sit and wait for the rest of the flight to shuffle in and stuff their bags in the overhead rack above me. As the line winds down and I head to the boarding ramp, I find that we've got one more gauntlet to pass through, as LAX has National Guard and TSA at the gate, giving everyone's carry-on a "thorough" once over before boarding. (Since the guy checking my bag missed the very obvious zippered pouch on the back of my bag, I don't have much hope for the thoroughness of this whole process. And I have to admit that, while I'm gratified and relieved that the British managed to foil another airline terror plot, I sincerely have to wonder how much these extra security measures—no liquids in your carry-on; extra searches prior to boarding—have to do with actually hoping to impede terrorism, and how much they only serve to give people the illusion that we're actually doing something productive, and not just stumbling in the dark in the hopes we'll get lucky.)
Through the last checkpoint, I board the plane and give my boarding pass one last glance before I put it in my backpack. This is when I notice that the luggage ticket on my boarding pass has "Vancouver" for its destination. And, apparently, someone else's name, though I didn't realize that at the time. I look at it, wonder if that means my bag is on its way to Vancouver, or if that simply indicates the flight's final destination for today. Realizing there's not a damn thing I can do about either option at this point, I put the boarding pass away, dig out my book and turn up the iPod.
Flash forward a few hours later and I'm on the ground in Seattle, waiting for my bag to come sliding down to the luggage carousel. 15 minutes later, I'm at the baggage claim desk, asking them where my bag is. Of course, it's in Vancouver… may even have beat me up North, and is merely awaiting someone to claim it. I'm assured that they'll have my bag on the next flight down… I should have it in a few hours. They're even going to deliver it for me! Just in case, here's the number to call if I haven't heard from anyone by about 7 or 8 that night.
Come 8 PM, I call up and am told by the automated voice that there's a 9 minute wait to speak to someone. 27 minutes later, I finally get to speak to a real person. (This was not an aberration… I'm convinced that their machinery simply spits out a random hold-time, knowing that no-one's ever going to accomplish anything by complaining about the inaccuracy of that estimate.) Real person #1 informs me that my bag is still in Vancouver, probably going through customs, but they'll have it down to Seattle as soon as they can. I should probably have it in the morning.
Saturday morning, and no word on my luggage. After another 20 or 30 minutes on hold ("your estimate hold time is… 4 minutes"), I'm told that 'no, my bag hasn't been checked in yet' but the person I'm talking to is all alone at the desk. She can run over to their holding area once she gets some help and check to see if it's arrived. She'll call back as soon as possible. I hang up the phone and realize that my cell phone charge is low, and the charger is in my bag in Vancouver. I go out to run around Redmond and Issaquah (a couple of towns just outside Seattle).
That afternoon, I call the airport back. Another half-hour on hold, and I'm told that my bag still hasn't arrived. When I complain and ask what's taking so long, I'm told they're probably concerned about load balancing, but they'll have my bag back on the next possible flight. My natural tendency to avoid pointless conflict forces me to refrain from pointing out that, if my 20-lb canvas duffel can be a "load balancing concern", then I most likely don't ever want to fly Alaska again, and I hang up. I go out to find the nearest Target for toiletries and a change of clothes. And a charger for my cell phone.
Sunday morning. No phone call from the airline. Another half-hour on hold. This time, I'm told that they can't find my bag. I tell the person I've reached that they seemed to know where it was on Saturday and ask what happened. She says that they checked the name on the bag and it wasn't mine. I point out that the name on the bag is wrong because their ticket agent in LA tagged it with the wrong luggage tag, and that they need to look at the bag again. Fortunately, I had thrown my work ID in the bag just before I checked it, and I told the agent this. She put me on hold and called Vancouver. 5 minutes later, she was back and told me that it was, indeed, my bag and that they'd have it on the next flight down… should be in Seattle by noon at the latest. Since I was planning on going into town anyway, maybe I'd stop by the airport and pick it up. She said they'd call when it arrived.
4 PM. I get back from my day in Seattle and I call the airline. Oh, happy day… they've GOT my bag and they're just getting ready to drive it out to me. I point out that I'm leaving in the morning and I ask them to simply hold the bag there. I'll pick it up before my flight. I leave to go buy day-glo yellow luggage tags at the nearest Walgreens.
In the morning, I arrive at the airport and wait for twenty minutes while they search for my bag. Finally, the counter person asks me to come into their holding area to see if I can find my bag and, of course, I almost trip over it coming through the door. I leave with my bag, slap the new luggage tags on it, stuff the new clothes I've purchased into the bag and head over to check in for the flight back.
(One interesting note here… while I still had to dump the bottle of water I had inadvertently left in my backpack when I went through the security check, there were no additional screening checks between there and the flight gate. Guess they handle that whole security thing differently in Seattle. More fuel to the flames that this is all simply done for show.)
Back in LA, I grab my bag the moment it slides off the luggage chute and I'm out of the building and on to the shuttle station as fast as I can go, apparently convinced that, somehow, Alaska will find a way to misplace my bag again, even if they have to rip it out of my hands to do it.
Comments
Karen and I had reservations to fly to SF for the weekend of 9/8-9/10. The day after the arrests, I called and cancelled. Screw that. We're driving to Ojai instead.
Q