Sitting next to the baggage carousel at the Elmira-Corning Regional Airport, having decided to let Delta fly me to Panama City for work.
This was a mistake.
Shortly after we boarded, the captain informed us that they couldn't reset a circuit breaker, and so we weren't going anywhere soon. I would not make my connection in Detroit.
How do you feel about traveling tomorrow, Mr. Dickey?
Go screw yourself. I want my money back.
But wait--the flight isn't cancelled. We'll get you there, eventually. Why should we have to give you your money back?
This is no better than flying Space Available in the military, when we'd show up at the base terminal and hang around until a transport attempted to leave for somewhere or another. Retirees would sit there literally for days.
Delta has become Space A. They'll get you there when they get you there. Quit yer bitchin. Here, have a cookie.
I am now on hold with Delta customer service. Have been for twenty-nine minutes. The soothing jazz music went away a couple minutes ago. Am I even still connected?
Well, I'll just go home and fix some breakfast.
But wait--uber doesn't run at seven in the morning, what with no arriving flights. No taxis line the sidewalk. There are no rental cars; hell, the counters aren't even open for an hour. The nice guys running their pre-opening checklists have advised, however, that I'm S.O.L. unless someone surprises them by bringing back a car early.
So here I sit, with no plan, no way home, trapped next to an empty baggage carousel.
The robot on the phone just greeted me after hanging up on me a minute ago: "Welcome back, Michael."
Go screw yourself, robot lady.
There's that jazz music again. I'm pretty sure this is the soundtrack one encounters upon eternal damnation. Actually, flying commercial gives a sweet taste of the hereafter if one lives a sufficiently wicked life.
I'll get home eventually. Reconsidering whether to also cancel going to my high school reunion in a week. Not sure I can take this buffoon act stranding me on the other side of the country. If I can't fly myself there, and it doesn't involve crossing a major body of water, I'm better off staying home.
Postscript: Eventually a human came on the phone from Delta customer service, and to my amazement in maybe three minutes I had my refund and wishes for a good day. I about fell out of my chair.
Now I'm sitting here at the dining room table, belly full of scrapple, fried egg, toast, and Ovaltine, watching Slane doze on the chair in front of the window. I was rescued from my pathos by John, the smiling, scruffy guy who was opening the Dollar/Enterprise counter as I walked back to baggage claim. John waved me over, told me he had a car out front, and said he'd take me wherever home might be.
Peg always had a great relationship with the Dollar Rent A Car guys when she'd book a long term rental on her first trips up here working locums. They are amazingly nice, in a business where customer service has mostly eroded to nil.
John lives in Pine City, situated in the hills between Elmira and the Pennsylvania state line. He's about my age, a retired correctional officer who works at the airport because he's bored. He thought about moving south, but his grandkids are all here and besides, he says, "I like the snow."
I figured I knew his political leanings based on his past vocation and what I thought I understood about the crowd down there in Pine City, and winced a little as we pulled up to a "Read Banned Books" flag and a "Love Lives Here" sign in the yard. John seemed not to notice, smiling as he helped me with my bags and wishing me good luck in getting down to Florida when I try again in a few days. I left a $20 bill in the cupholder, and told him thanks and to go have lunch on me.
We're all doing our best, in this shitty corporate state that's now modern America, or what's left of it. The only thing that makes this moment livable is love, and the kindness and generosity of folks who go out of their way for each other even when it's not in the employee manual and there's no money to be made in the effort. I needed to be reminded that our space is still mostly filled with John's sort of virtue.
And I get to have supper with P tonight, get to sleep on the next pillow. I feel almost festive at the thought. It's not all bad.
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