I flew United to New Orleans a couple of weeks ago. I haven't flown on United in a very long time, since I tend to stick to AirTran and Southwest. I am in general a fan of any flight that arrives safely. When people say, "Good flight?" I'm like, "I'm here. It was a good flight." Ergo, my expectations are relatively low, and given the general chaotic and crazymaking state of domestic air travel, this is a helpful state of mind. (Worst flight, though? America West to Phoenix on a Friday afternoon, packed to the gills, seated next to a very large man who kept sighing his girth into my personal space, saying, "AHHHHHHHH Domestic air travel on a FRIDAY" over and over and over, AND behind a drunk dude on his way to the SuperBowl in Vegas and celebrating his 20-something birthday, who wandered the aisles and picked fights with people. That was special.)
Anyway, this particular United flight left from Dulles, an airport with allegedly airtight security, located as close as it is to DC and running as much international service as it does. As I got in the security line I thought, "No sweat. No worries. It's Dulles. Ain't nobody getting on this plane with as much as a Popsicle stick, kids."
When I gave my boarding pass to the slightly distracted (red flag?) man at the gate, the machine beeped, and the screen read, "Passenger already boarded."
"Clearly, no," I said, to which he replied "Right. Just probably someone else has your number. Go on."
In retrospect, this is not good. And what does "just probably" mean, anyway? Someone else has my number? Like, where is it? But I didn't really ask - I was just so glad to be allowed on the plane (red flag?) that I hauled my ass down the passageway before he changed his mind.
When I made it back to my assigned seat, 21F, of course there was a dude in it, belted in and chilling to the XM radio. I stood in front of him, feeling like he was in my seat at a Killers concert. "Excuse me, do you have 21F?" I said, ready to get all sweetly aggressive, like, "I appreciate your willingness to take the center so I can get my ASSIGNED WINDOW SLOT. Thank you, yes. Thank you for helping me straighten this out."
"Yes. I have 21F," he said, and as he realized that I did indeed wish to see his ticket stub to prove it, he fished for it. Meanwhile, Walter the flight attendant (totally cute, but not into the likes of me, genderwise...I almost called a couple of friends and told them to book this flight posthaste. He was that cute.) was hovering around, so I told him we had a mixup. The boy in my seat produced his stub, and as we were looking at it, I noticed a significant issue - in this case, for him.
I said, "Dude, this is United to New Orleans. Your ticket says you're supposed to be on UsAir going to Phoenix. And your gate is D29." I mean, really. Was he kidding? I can see getting one part of that wrong, maybe...like, United to Phoenx, or being at the wrong gate and figuring that out at the last minute. But screwing up all the variables? Getting every possible component incorrect and still fully expecting the pilot to get you to Arizona on a Lousiana-bound plane? This is blind faith, people. This is...something.
As the pieces began to knit together in his brain, he yelled, "OH SHIT!" and started to gather all his crap and try to get off the plane. Meanwhile, Walter is looking at me like I just discovered the cure for the common cold (cute, but dumb, maybe?) An older lady and an Indian family were cramming in behind me, blocking the aisle, and this poor confused boy's path out to his actual flight, which he didn't really have much of a chance of catching, but still. They were all, "Let us just get our stuff in the bins and then we'll let you by." Unfailing protecter of drunks and little children that I am, I said, "I don't think you understand - this guy is going to MISS HIS PLANE. We have all the time in the world - let the waters part." People are so inconsiderate, like two seconds is going to make a difference in whether their useless crap fits in the overhead bin (is it me or is the size of carry-on luggage getting just a little bit out of hand? I fully expect to see someone trying to cram a donkey or a Harley Davidson in one of them soon..."Wait, if you just push it in that corner a little more. See? Yeah...Watch its hoof. Right!)
Sure, yeah, this guy was an idiot, but United LET HIM ON THE PLANE. With the wrong ticket, to the wrong city, from a different airline. As the boy made his way down the aisle, Walter said to the people around us, who were still sitting there taking in a mistake of this magnitude, "Well, it's amazing what can happen to you when you're exhausted." And since I seem to feel compelled lately to be THE moral compass of whatever vehicle I'm on or building I'm in (the tranquilizers are taking effect...it's all good.) I said, "Umm, yeah. But y'all LET HIM ON THE PLANE." Walter said, "Oh. Yeah," and went back to collating his pretzels or practicing his ninja safety demonstration moves, or whatever it is these folks do when they're not insisting that I shove my normal-sized bag under a ridiculously small seat.
So the moral of the story is, check your stubs, I guess, although this does nothing for the state of our neighbors' paperwork. When I came back home and told this story, several people wanted me to report this to the Director of Homeland Senility (John Negroponte, I believe...more likely it would be "reported" to some "contact us" box on the Web site) but I haven't even reported this to United. It was an eye-opener, but these days, it's difficult to know what to even be looking for. I guess you just roll the dice and hope it all works out.
I do wonder if he made his flight, though...and if he told anyone about what happened. I totally would, but that's because I know that people have come to depend upon my screwups for occasional entertainment. Perhaps others are more reserved on such matters. : )
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