the eugene bean

We woke up early Thursday morning, 4am early, and managed to get in the car within a reasonable amount of time and arrive at the airport with a little under an hour to spare. No problem, I thought, it’s such a tiny airport, and Eugeneians are always so darn helpful. We hugged and kissed a sweet goodbye with Ty- all sad that he couldn’t come with us- and then headed to the United Counter to begin our travels to Austin, TX.

I choose the United counter because my flight is booked with America West, operated by Mesa Airlines, and I have some vague recollection that all that has something to do with United, even though my ticket doesn’t say United anywhere on it. What my ticket does say is US Airways. Give me a break; they both start with the same freaking letter, people.

So I arrive at the machine that’s supposed to spit out boarding passes, and I proceed to use my Visa, my Driver’s License, and my Confirmation Code- All To No Avail.

What I want to say: Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I only have 44 minutes. Can I please get some help?
What I do say: Excuse me?

“Pick up the phone on the side there if you need help with that machine.” Evil Airport Lady says, while rushing past me to enter a door marked with a sign that reads Only Very Important and Highly Efficient Airplane Personnel Allowed.

I huff and puff and pick up the phone. I then wait on the phone. I talk to the kids who are beginning to look distinctly worried. And I wait on the phone. And then I look at my watch and 6 minutes have gone by. Crap, now I start eyeing up an employee behind the counter who’s busy helping a line of other people but is the only human around that I can target. 3 more minutes painfully tick by.

What I want to say: I’ve been holding on this phone, listening to crappy music and the whine of tired children for 9- make that 10- freaking minutes and I want someone Alive and In Person to help me. Right. (Deep breath in, slowly breathe it out.)Right, now.

What I do say: Um, sir? I’m afraid we’re going to miss our flight. Could you help me?

He looks at me with kindness in his eyes and says, “I’m sorry. I’d like to, but I have to keep helping these people. Someone’ll pick up the phone real soon.”

What the hell? What makes those people any better than me? Did I need to pay an extra airline charge of $211.00 to get these people to speak to me?

Now the kids are definitely worried, and I can sense my own anxiety building. It’s 5:10 and my flight leaves in a mere 35 minutes.

At that moment Evil Airport Lady rushes past again, on some Urgent and Extremely Important Mission.

What I want to say: Hey Lady. I want help and I want it now. I’ve been holding on this stupid phone for what seems like hours and I’m going to kill you if I miss this plane.

What I do say: Excuse me? I need you to look at this ticket and help me, now. Please.

I’m quite sure I had the look of a freaked out postal worker, because she took me seriously and came around the counter to help.

She takes my ticket, squints at it, and says, “Hon, why didn’t you just type in your Confirmation Code?”

I give her a good glare and remain silent, ignoring her to hug E, who’s looking like a meltdown is fast approaching. I’m quite sure he can feel the tension just oozing out of my pores.

Evil Airport Lady fusses around with my ticket for a minute, looking all official, and then shouts, “Ahh, this ticket isn’t even with United! You’re flying U.S.Air. You sure wasted a lot of time in this line, better get over there quick."

Can I tell you how badly I wanted to reach over the counter, grab her teased, fake blond hair, and slam her face into the counter? Because I wanted to. Real Bad.

So I head to the other counter, the Right Counter, with 2 kids, 2 large suitcases, a car seat, a backpack, and 3 pissy attitudes.

I breathe a sigh of relief to see that there’s no line at all, and a quick glance at my watch shows 5:18, plenty of time to walk the tiny airport to my gate. Hell, we’ll even have time to use the restroom before we board.

We hustle to the front, I slap the ticket down on the counter, and then the Evil Airport Man behind the counter starts typing. He types long enough to write a high school paper and then says, “Sorry Ma’m. You missed your flight.”

What I want to say: What the shit do you mean I missed my flight? That stupid plane doesn’t leave for almost 30 minutes, and that very damn plane is parked not 40 yards from this very spot. Give me the boarding passes and back off.

What I do say: You’ve got to be kidding. Why can’t you get me on the plane? It doesn’t leave for almost 30 minutes! !!! !!!!

Now the part that really pisses me off, the thing that kills me is that he won’t even look at me. Totally refuses to have any eye contact whatsoever as he tells me to wait around for the plane to leave (the plane I’m supposed to be on!) and then he can begin looking for another flight for us.

“Ummm,” I say, “why don’t you save us all a lot of trouble and just print me my boarding pass?”

Now he rolls his eyes like I am a child who has misbehaved one too many times. “Ma’m,” he condescends, (Now, maybe he wasn’t being condescending. Maybe he was truly being polite and #1 I was ashamed that I had been so stupid mere minutes ago, and #2 the word Ma’m makes my skin crawl.) “Take your belongings and sit over there. I’ll be able to help you in about 45 minutes.”

I step to the side to think.

What I want to say: Shit. Shit and hell and SHIT! This is absolutely ridiculous. What the hell am I going to do? I want to kill someone.

What I do say: Shit. Shit and hell and SHIT! This is absolutely ridiculous. What the hell am I going to do? I want to kill someone.

Luckily, I’m sane enough to remember that talking about killing people isn’t kosher among the airport personnel, so I take a few deep breaths and prepare to tell my children (and their father) that because of my utter stupidity and the utter lack of customer service at the airport- we’ve missed our flight.

I call Ty and tell him to please come get us, and then promptly dissolve into tears. This of course gets the kids crying, and we’re just one, big, pathetic, pissed off, frustrated family.

A second brief conversation with Evil Airport Man reveals that we’ll be flying out sometime around 2:45, and I call Ty to let him know this new info.

Ty: Great. I’ll be there as soon as the cop can get this ticket written.
Me: Of course you will.

Because when it rains, it fucking pours.
*************************************************
And to make a much too long story a little shorter…
It all worked out in the end, and my very gracious cousin and her wonderful family picked us up from the airport at 11 pm after an uneventful though somewhat cramped flight.

And the Coolest Wedding/Vacation/Camping Trip Ever began.

But maybe I’ll talk about that later, because if any of you are left reading, you Must have something better that you should be doing. Like the dishes, or feeding your children, or getting that second glass of wine.