Travel Diary, Part 2

(If you missed Part 1, it’s here.)

Volunteers

1:09 p.m.: An announcement comes over the public address system: the plane is too heavily loaded with luggage. They’re asking for three volunteers to take a later flight.

“Unless we get three Good Samaritans to volunteer not to board this flight but take the next one, this plane will not be able to take off,” the announcer says. “We will provide a travel voucher of two hundred dollars U.S. to the three who stay behind.

I was planning to enjoy a six-hour wait in Newark, whose Terminal C has considerably more amenities than Toronto’s Terminal 3. I was even thinking of getting a one-day pass and hanging out in the Continental Presidents Club. However, getting a two hundred dollar voucher and hanging out at the rather “ghetto” Terminal 3 was probably a better move than spending money at the shopping mall-like Terminal C.

I went to the desk and asked for details about the next flight to Newark. If I took that flight, I would still have almost three hours to catch the connecting flight to Belfast. The weather in Newark was good, so there was little chance of the flight being delayed.

“Okay then,” I said, “I volunteer.”

1:15 p.m.: Nobody whose final destination is Newark volunteers. It’s me and two other people, both of whom have missed their connections. One of them has brought a pillow with her; she’s been at the airport for about seven hours already. All she wants to do is get back to Little Rock.

2:10 p.m.: Once the plane takes off, we gather around the counter to collect our reward for being considerate travellers. We let Little Rock go first, since she’s been here the longest. It doesn’t go well: it turns out that since she’s travelled on reward miles, she’s not eligible for a voucher. She looks as though she’s about to cry.

“Oh, come on,” I say, “that’s not fair. Regulations or no, she just did you a big favour.”

2:30 p.m.: They shoo me away from the counter, and after about ten minutes of discussion and much hand-waving later, she leaves with a travel voucher. The next guy spends ten minutes at the counter, and then it’s my turn.

“Here you go, sir,” says the woman behind the counter. “One hundred dollars.”

“Excuse me, but didn’t you offer two hundred dollars?”

She pauses pause and gives me a look of exasperation, and then switches to “I hold all the cards, and you’re going to take what I’m giving you” mode.

“The regulations specifically state that we can offer one hundred dollars,” she says curtly.

“But when you made the announcement, you offered two hundred. You’re pulling a bait-and-switch on me,” I reply. I like to think of myself as an easy-going guy, but I’m not about to get jerked around by an airline after doing them a favour.

I pull out a pen and start writing the name on the counter person’s nametag on my boarding pass envelope. “We can settle this here, or I can give Continental a call, maybe with the two other people who volunteered. I’m sure they’ll remember how much you offered over the P.A….”

Another counter agent, having witnessed the whole thing, steps in.

“I can print out another voucher for you, sir,” she says, “for a total of two hundred, if you could have a seat. I’ll bring it to you.”

“That would be acceptable,” I say. I take a seat near the counter. Five minutes later, she presents me with another voucher and is careful to show me that the serial numbers of both my vouchers are different. After the near bait-and-switch, I appreciate this demonstration of good faith.

A slight dramatization of what happened at the counter, denki anma style.

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Next: A little trouble at Newark.