Saturday Afternoon
I’d only been back at the gate for a few minutes when we learned that yes, our flight was officially cancelled. We were to collect our previously-checked bags and head back to the main terminal to see about re-booking our flights. Carousel 2 was where they were supposed to come off. At least, that’s what the man said. And for pretty much everyone on the flight, that was the case. Not me though. My bag had apparently made it further than I had and wherever it was now, it wasn’t on carousel 2.
“Lost luggage, over there” said the harried looking airport official pointing to a heart-sinkingly long line snaking around the baggage claim hall. In the 45-minutes I stood in it before having to leave for the bathroom the line moved no further forward. Not...one...step. I might still be standing in it now, but as I re-joined it (significantly further back than where I left it) I happened to glance over at carousel 2 and was overjoyed to spot my suitcase, wending its lonely way round and around the conveyor belt. It took a while, but it finally got back to me.
If I thought the line at lost luggage was long though, it was nothing compared to the one at the British Airways counter where every man and his dog was attempting to find a seat on any upcoming flights. At least I wasn’t flying KLM. They had 6 lines open and I would estimate they were each about 400 yards long. At least. And they were moving even slower than our breathtaking pace, which I measured as 20 feet in 4 hours.
Now as you know, I have many fine qualities but patience has never been one of them. To my credit though, I remained remarkably calm despite the claustrophobia and the molasses-like movement of the line, as did most of my fellow queue-ees. We chatted, swapped travel stories, bitched and moaned cheerfully and at least one couple became so friendly, I suspect they’d be able to save the cost of one hotel room tonight. Over in the KLM line though, things weren’t quite so Zen. Children screamed, old folks threatened to keel over in the stifling heat, tempers and voices were raised and the poor airport staff, who of course could do nothing, must have wished they’d thought to call in sick today.
Either way, it was really something of a relief when around 6pm, a British Airways employee came along the line to advise us that not only did we have no hope of reaching the front of the queue before the desk closed at 9pm, there were no available flights anyway. Not today, not tomorrow, not Monday. Nothing until Tuesday. Which was no use to me because my flight home from Glasgow was early on Tuesday morning. And of course, there was no guarantee I would get a seat on any of Tuesday’s flights either. 3 days before Christmas there weren’t going to be that many seats available and 60,000 other people were hoping to bag one in addition to me. I was starting to wonder if I was going to be spending the holidays in Amsterdam after all.
No comments:
Post a Comment