5/29/09

“If you can call security, you can call your manager! If you can call security, you can call your manager,” yelled a man with long hair and a black rock band t-shirt.

The shrewd Delta agent behind the counter quietly told the man to calm down as the middle-aged rocker grabbed the phone from behind the desk and slammed it down in front of the timid Delta representative.

The Delta employee looked towards the ground and scurried away quietly threatening to call security. He disappeared into a crowd of tired, stressed and angry airline passengers.

The middle-aged rocker, still cursing the powers that be, cautiously backed away from the counter and returned to the bar next to our gate.

This is how my trip to Jordan began.

It actually began a few hours earlier when my flight was delayed due to inclement weather.

My flight was scheduled to depart Reagan National Airport at 5:59 p.m.

But not soon after getting through security, I noticed that the flight had been delayed to 6:35 p.m.

“No worries,” I thought, that still put me at JFK around 8 p.m. I would have plenty of time to get to the Royal Jordanian terminal and be on my way.

But as six o’clock approached, no plane had even docked at our gate.

Some frantic newly weds were on the phone with a Delta agent who assured the couple that they would be in New York by 8 p.m.

That’s when a flight attendant of our troubled flight spoke up. She was waiting in line with the rest of us at the unattended desk by our boarding gate. She knew the person on the phone was feeding this couple a line of bullshit.

I also noticed on another screen that our departure had been pushed back to 7:15 p.m.

Still, the screen by our gate comfortably assured us that we would be boarding at 6:05 p.m. for our 6:35 p.m. flight.

At 6:00 p.m., I was standing in a growing line of frustrated passengers who were looking at a gate with no airplane.

Finally, a man came over and grabbed the microphone by the gate.            The tone and pace of his announcement showed that this was just another by the book line that employees were trained to say.

Screams, swearing and weeps followed his announcement that our plane would not depart until 8:05 p.m.

Our plane, in fact, had not even left JFK at this point.

“OK,” I thought, “that puts me there at 9:30. It’s getting close but I still think I can do it.”

             I even thought about paying an extra $50 to get a first class ticket and a quicker exit out of the plane.

Every minute began to matter.

I called my parents as I headed back to the check-in area where I hoped by some grace of God I could find a solution to this growing problem.

Waiting in the line to talk to an actual person proved impossible. If I was to board the plane by 7:35 p.m., I wouldn’t have time to speak with someone.

So I walked back through security, again.

I was able to talk with the tiny Delta man that the middle-aged rocker would later yell at. He told me that the plane still had not left JFK and we wouldn’t be leaving D.C. until 9:30 p.m. at the earliest.

“Oh shit.” The moment of truth had come. I wasn’t going to make my flight to Jordan.

I called my parents and Merissa Khurma, the director of the press trip.

She was already in Jordan and called me back at 2:00 a.m., her time. I could tell she was disappointed and only half-awake. She suggested that I try to get myself on Delta’s flight to Jordan the next day.

So out I went again, heading back to the ticket counter with an ever-growing line of angry customers who desperately wanted to get to New York.

After talking with my parents, we decided the best option would be to fly to New York that night.

No matter how late my flight ended up leaving, it would be easier to spend a night in an airport terminal in JFK and get to Jordan first thing the next day.

So for a third time I headed through security. Each time a different person had checked my ticket and I.D.

There was so much scribble on my boarding pass that I thought I surely looked like a suspicious character.

On the other hand, I was accustom to the security screening and had all my electronics, metal objects and shoes ready to go before anyone barked orders at me.

By just doing the odds, I figured I would have been selected for a “special” screening at least once. But I passed right through all three times.

The flight had been delayed again to 9:55 p.m.

“Oh well,” I thought. I was going to JFK no matter what.

But while I had accepted my fate on this struggling flight, it was at this point that the middle-age rocker was slamming a phone on the counter.

Watching the altercation with mild amusement, I saw that Merissa had texted me.

My Jordan flight at JFK was delayed until 1 a.m.

“Oh my God! I’m going to make it!”

I called my parents with the good news and headed to the bar to get a nice tall drink to relax.

Everything has a way of working out. I sat down with my double Jack and Coke and began to type this memoir.

Sure a middle-aged rocker was almost arrested and lots of passengers were still upset. But I never let the stress get to me and how was I rewarded?

I was going to make it to Jordan after all.

But then there was more commotion from the tumultuous Gate 15.

Cancelled. The damn flight was cancelled.

“What now? How do I get my luggage? When am I going to get to New York?”

I headed out past the metal detectors for a fourth time.

“How many more times am I going to have to do this?” I asked myself.

I was now in a line with full-blown pissed off customers. Some were glaring ahead at the line they had to wait in before talking to a Delta agent, others were calling family and friends but most were talking to a robotic answering system as they frantically called Delta in the hopes of securing a new flight.

“No-oh… res-erh-vay-shun.” Their anger and frustration built with every word they had to sound out for the happy automated voice on the other end of the line.

I managed to get through to an actual person on the phone and booked a flight the next morning leaving from Dulles.

My dad was on his way to get me and I was now in a search for my luggage.

I was beaten and dejected. My mood was only matched but the dark clouds of the thunderstorm outside, which had cause this whole problem to begin with.

When I got to the counter, the woman kindly asked how she could help me.

“I just want to find my luggage,” I said. My body language and tone clearly showed that I had given up on everything.

“I see that you’re booked out of Dulles,” she said, “would you like to fly out of here?”

“That would be terrific,” I said, “But I was told that everything in the morning was booked.”

“Oh no no no,” she said in an almost flirting manner. “I remember you,” she said, “I checked you in when you got here.”

“Oh yeah,” I replied in kindness. I didn’t remember this lady and even if she had helped me before, I didn’t care at this point.

“How about we fly you out at 6:30 a.m. first class?” she asked.

I had won.

Forget the flight delays and the fact that I was missing my flight to Jordan. I got Delta Airlines to give me a free first class ticket.

I beat the system. The middle-age rocker would have been so proud.

The next step was to find a ride back to the airport for the next morning.

Thankfully, my friend Nathasha said she could help.

But as I stood outside the Reagan metro stop making plans with Nathasha, my phone, which I had been using almost non-stop for the past three hours, died.

Luckily, I remembered a useful bit of advice a 23-year-old homeless man once told me. He said that most buildings have outdoor outlets.

Sure enough, there was an outlet right outside the building near the metro station.

So there I stood on my cell phone connected to the outside of Reagan National Airport.

People kept walking by and staring at me as I finalized plans with Nathasha.

I then realized that I didn’t have my key to my apartment in College Park.

I quickly called my roommate and made sure that he left the door unlocked for me.

After a day like today, it would be fitting that it would end with me sleeping outside my own home.

But things were looking up.

I wasn’t going to miss much of the trip and I was flying first class the next morning.

It would be an early morning, but I’d be back on track and would finally get to Jordan.