When I bought my flight to come out to America for this study abroad trip, the return trip was meant to be a flight from Portland to New York on December 20th, and then a flight from New York the same day arriving in London early next morning.
It's December 23rd, and I'm still in New York.
There has been a big big snow storm in the USA that has completely screwed up the travel plans of hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of people I don't care about, as well as my own plans. I woke up Sunday, ready to leave USM and Portland, only to find out that my flight had been cancelled. Cue a lot of swearing. The Delta website informs me that my flight has been reassigned to one on Christmas Eve, changing in Atlanta to arrive in London early Christmas Day. Cue a lot more swearing. NOT GOOD. I wanted to go home.
After crying a lot, swearing a lot, and speaking to Neil online a lot, we discovered that the second leg of my journey - the New York to London bit - was still flying. It was only the Portland to New York flight that was cancelled. We figured that if I could get to New York I could still catch that second leg. So Neil brought me a flight with Jet Blue that lunch time, getting to New York in plenty of time.
Note: I spent all day calling Delta every three or four minutes - engaged. Constantly.
The Jet Blue flight was cancelled. Cue more crying. Cue more swearing. Cue breaking into my suitcase to eat Christmas presents. Cue throwing soft toys around the room in a temper tantrum.
Jet Blue transferred me to a flight early on Monday morning. By which time I was already meant to be at home :( The original second leg went off to England okay, albeit delayed, so I assumed that New York was the best place to be. More flights available to London. So, Monday morning I hopped in a taxi and went off to Portland airport. Checked in.
Oh wait... my baggage was too heavy. Both suitcases. I needed to pay $130. I didn't have $130 so I dragged my bags outside and cried for a bit. Then I dragged them back in to a bench by a bin and went through everything throwing stuff away. Resorting the stuff I kept - mainly filling my carry on backpack with books. Heavy heavy books.
This time when I checked in the bags were fine. So I went through security - only needed to go through the metal detector three times. Yay. Got to the gate - flight delayed. Urgh! I ended up in a bar/pub getting food and had a very nice lunch. The flight left late, but it went and I got safely to New York.
Woohoo! After spending an hour waiting for Jet Blue to spit my luggage out, I dragged my tired ass to the next terminal to go find a Delta desk and put myself on a flight to London. I queued. I queued some more. I watched people yell. I watched people cut the queue and watched other people scream at them. And finally I got to the desk. I explained the story to the dude at the desk, who informed me that since my rearranged flight was to go to Atlanta, there was nothing he could do and I was in the wrong place.
Cue more swearing, more tears. He gave me a phone number and told me to call them to get them to reissue my ticket. First of all I found a quiet corner of the airport and sat and cried for twenty minutes. When I could speak (sort of) I called Neil, who listened to me sob for a bit and said nice things and was generally wonderful. Then I sat and waited for those crying hiccups to subside, and I called the Delta helpline number. Engaged. I tried again. Engaged. Half hour later it rang and I got put on hold. Half hour later I explained the whole story to some guy who typed a little on his computer then told me that he had to transfer me to the international flights people. More time on hold, until I finally speak to a woman who listened to the whole story, fiddled with her computer for a bit and told me there was nothing she could do. I had to go back to Portland. Oh, or she could put me on a flight from New York on Wednesday, if I paid $1300. I told her I had to sort stuff out, but I'd probably be going back to Portland and taking the 'original' Portland-Atlanta-London flight. She said to make sure I call back, or go to the desk to reconfirm.
More tears. Lots more tears. I called Neil. This is where my wonderful knight in shining geek t-shirts saved my day some more. He brought me a Jet Blue flight BACK to Portland. And he sent me a couple of hundred pounds so I could make a reservation in a hotel near Portland airport and get some food to last me til Christmas Eve. The man is amazing.
So, to clarify, my new schedule: it's Monday. I have to stay in the airport til the 7.30am flight back to Portland, check into a hotel, go back to the airport on Thursday and get a flight to Atlanta, then a flight to London and arrive home on Christmas morning. Sucky, but that was the plan. I just had to go to the desk to reconfirm.
I queued. I queued some more. I queued a little bit longer. It didn't bother me, I had a book. I had all night to spend in the airport anyway, so I was fine. Then I get to the desk and speak to Miguel. I explain, he types in my details, then tells me I'm not booked on any flights.
I didn't cry. I didn't swear. I was too shocked. I nearly passed out. I wanted to just dig a hole in the floor right there and give up. Miguel asks me to tell him the whole story. So I do. Everything. He just looks at me, says that it was obviously the airline's fault and said he'd book me into a business class seat on Wednesday, from New York. I asked him how much that'd cost me and he said nothing. I almost jumped over the desk and kissed him. The man is an angel!
I called Neil back and told him that as long as he cancelled the Jet Blue flight before it departed he should get some money back (he overslept), and then I cancelled the hotel reservation in Portland. I headed down to the arrivals lounge to see if I could get a room in a hotel. Only ones available were $250 a night, and higher. Way beyond my budget for two nights. So I got a $50 taxi into the city, booked myself into the Hostelling International place I stayed at when I came here in November ($60 for two nights) and promptly fell asleep.
Yesterday I spent in bed mostly, reading and websurfing. I also had to repack, again. The suitcase my sister had lent me finally died. The stand was broken, a wheel gave out, the zipper was buggered. Not good. I went through everything and threw some more stuff away until everything fit in the one bag I brought at Walmart, my backpack and my satchel. Plus, I had the most horrendous headache. A combination of normal headaches, crying all day, stress and the heat in the hostel drying me out. Not good. But I woke up this morning and my flight hadn't been cancelled. Yay!
So here I am. Check out at the hostel was 11am, my flight doesn't leave til 7.15pm, but I wasn't gonna lug my bags around New York all day, so I got a taxi straight to the airport. Wasn't expecting to be able to check in for a few hours, but within five minutes I was checked in, through the special business-class security and sat in the departures lounge calling Mum to let her know what was going on.
I'm now sat in the Sky Club - very posh - waiting for my flight. I get to go home, finally! It's been a stressful few days, and I've spent more time crying than I do when in the midst of an episode, but I'm okay. In a few hours I get on that plane and can fall asleep until I get back to England.
The moral of this story - Don't fly Delta. EVER!
