Back to the lab

I called Ruth, to ask her to bring the shoes out to me. Only, she couldn't find them; I hadn't even brought them to Charleston. So I decided to buy new ones in Boston -- one more thing to have to do in the few hours I would be there, and one more way to spend the $60 I had to my name.

Nothing else of note happened before I got to DC. Once there, I learned that my next flight had been overbooked by 16 passengers. As there were only about 75 seats on the plane to begin with, that seemed a bit absurd.

Normally, I wouldn't have worried. I would have been happy to take a later flight. I would have gone to the bar, had a beer, and watched ESPN for six or seven hours. That day, however, I only had about $30 to feed myself for three days. And I needed to get to Boston in time to buy shoes for my interview -- there was no way I was going to find time to do so the next morning.

So I spent the three hours before my next flight sitting as close to the customer service counter as possible, trying to overhear the employee's conversations. They speculated on who might or might not show up. "I think this family," they said, pointing to a computer screen "is connecting from a Northwest flight that is delayed. So that frees up 4 seats." As they counted up potential mishaps for other people, I took hope. I started to wish for delays and storms for other people.

This bad karma is probably the source of my even more exasperating day on Friday. But I made the plane to Boston -- I was the last person to board. In fact, I only made it because another stand-by passenger, called before me, did not show.

After that, things went smoothly for the next 36 hours. I got to Payless Shoes with five minutes to spare, and even found a pair I liked. Monica treated me to my first draught Guiness, which was terrific, and some of the best pizza I've ever had.

There was a small mishap getting to my interview -- a shuttle was supposed to meet me at the train, but did not. I spent an hour in my suit in the sun, but I made the interview, and everyone seemed to like me.

Monica kindly agreed to get up at 4 AM and take me back to the airport. I made my flight from Boston to DC, with time to get a cup of poorly made Starbucks coffee. As we landed in DC, I checked my boarding pass, and found that my layover would only be an hour. I would be in Charleston in three hours. I began to feel good. The previous two days had been stressful, and long, and I really looked forward to getting home, and seeing Ruth, and maybe going to the beach.

Once off the plane, I went to find a monitor, to find out which terminal I would leave from next. I learned that my flight had been cancelled. I took a shuttle to the terminal anyway, to speak to customer service. They were nice; they issued me a ticket for a flight leaving three hours later on US Air. Told me to go to some other terminal, and it would be OK.

I took another shuttle back to the main building. The same obnoxious family that had been in line ahead of me at customer service was ahead of me there. An older couple, with a son around my age. A smiley prick who I overheard talking about how great Nixon was. He just kept talking. He did nothing for my nerves.

The man at the US Air customer service counter spent about five, ten minutes making calls and punching a keyboard, and eventually printed out boarding passes for the family in front of me. Then he conferred with the other agent -- a bitter looking woman named Debra, who I had already seen chew out a young couple. They decided that they didn't have time to give everyone in line (maybe eight, ten people?) a boarding pass.

"If we do," they said, "it will take all day. We'll never get the other passengers for this flight checked in." The flight leaves in three hours, I protested. You just did it for these assholes in front of me, I protested. To no avail. They said I would have to go back to the ticket counter for US Air, back beyond security. Then they turned around and ignored me.

So, I trudged back to the ticket counter. It was about 9 AM, and I had already spent a total of about an hour and a half waiting in lines that morning. But I waited for my ticket. And I waited to check in. And I waited at security. Because my flight plans had changed, I got flagged for extra screening by security. I got patted down, and wanded, and my bags were searched thoroughly by hand. Even my Cinnabon.

An hour and a half later, I was back at the US Air terminal. The ticket agents, who had been so sure that they would be swamped, were standing around joking, with nothing much to do. For the next hour and a half, they helped maybe a half dozen people.

The change of plans in DC included an extra flight. I hopped through Charlotte, NC, and then to Charleston. I got home late, and hungry. By that point, I wasn't even capable of feeling good about the interview any longer. So, yeah, I'm glad the new boss thinks I did the right thing. Because it definitely didn't feel like it at the time.