Continued from part 1. Go read it!
Our plane lands in Chicago and I check my mobile boarding pass to find the gate of my connecting flight. I’ve been mentally gearing up to weave through passengers and dashing down the terminal so as to make my connecting flight with its narrow layover time. All of a sudden, my boarding time has jumped from 1:15pm to 8:30pm.
I gave my in flight entertainment one last kiss and told her I had to figure this shit out. To which she replied, “I hope my plane isn’t delayed.” It didn’t even occur to me she might be on the connecting plane too. But I was already gone. My target, the LED departures schedule.
Flight UA 1125 LAX Cancelled
Shit, so that’s why there’s an insanely long line in front of the United Airlines customer service counter. As I wait, a certain someone ends up in line behind me. She was speaking in her faux British accent again. “How can I my flight be cancelled? My manager is going to shit a brick. My shoot is at 6!” Was she really a model after all or was she just keeping the ruse up? As she had a mini tantrum with her manager on the phone, I notice everyone at the counter having little tantrums with their customer service agents. So when I finally get to counter I take a different approach.
Airline travel brings out the worst in people after standing in security lines, sitting in close spaces, playing absurdly high prices for bottled drinks, and fighting for wall sockets to recharge their iPhone/laptop. When the plane schedule messes up, that triggers the already stressed travelers to lash out. For these customer service agents, their 9-5 is bearing the brunt of this frustration. “Hi.” I said with a smile mixed with a little bit of worry, for disarming’s sake.
Before I know it I’m ticketed on a 2:30 flight in business class. But then I see my friend arguing with her counter service agent, same as everyone else. I approach. They’ve put her on a 6:10 flight out. Using my charm I ask the agent why he can’t get her on my flight and tell him the flight number. The agent is perplexed as if I’d shown him an oasis in the desert.
He switches her flight and British? model girl can’t believe it. For the next hour we talk and she starts showing me pictures of her shoots on her face-cracked iPhone. “You have to sit next to me on the plane. I hate flying so much,” she pleads. “Maybe you can ask the person sitting next to you to switch.” She has no idea I’m in business class and that there’s no one in the world who’d trade 7B for 35E.
If I give the bloke next to her my seat, it will set a precedent I’m not comfortable with. I’m not willing to give up my awesome seat to sit with some girl that my instinct tells me is an attention hungry cock tease, used to having men spend money on and bend backwards for. Maybe if this were a cute girl next door who lived in New York that I could have a future with. But at the same time, I do feel cold casting her off to the back of the plane as I enjoy my free drinks and extra legroom.
We board the plane and my seat is even better than I expected. There are plenty of seats open in business class. I approach the flight attendant and tell him that I was traveling with a friend. “When our plane got cancelled and we were rescheduled for this flight, they split us up.” He tells me I have to go to the attendant outside the gate and get him to switch it. I do what he suggests but this gate counter guy won’t even look up from his terminal when he tells me, “I’m sorry, it’s too late. Go back to the plane and sit down so they can close the doors.” My phone buzzes with a text message from British? girl. “Where r u? Seat next to me is empty. :)”
I go back to the flight attendant and tell him the guy at the gate was a douche. The attendant replies with, “Okay. Sit down, let me close the doors, see if the other business class passengers arrive. I’ll find you before we take off.” I sit there waiting, anxious. Another text buzzes my phone. “I dont wanna be alone for take off.” I text back. “I’m working something out. Got a trick up my sleeve.”
Finally the flight attendant returns. “Okay, I can do this, but you’ve got to give me your credit card. Everyone has to think you’re paying for the upgrade or I’ll get in trouble. I’m going to run it, but I won’t charge you anything.” I hand him my card and he swipes it handing me back a blank receipt. I go back to British? and tell her to come with me. She’s pretty blown away when I show her her new seat.
We spend the flight drinking shots of Jack Daniels and Bud Lite, holding hands, and drawing lewd pictures on my legal pad. And maybe a few other things. She said she’d never heard of the mile high club before. Much like her hair, breasts, and accent it was another thing of hers I didn’t believe. But I didn’t care.
—Big Mack Attack