I recently returned from visiting one my oldest and dearest friends who lives in Birmingham, Alabama, which reminded me of one of my earliest travel nightmares.
My friend moved to Alabama when we were in high school and so close were we that shortly after she moved, I was invited to spend Thanksgiving with her family. So it was that I would participate in my first Thanksgiving weekend travel, flying from Detroit to Birmingham via Cincinnati on Wednesday morning and making the reverse trip Sunday night. As I was only 15, I would fly as an unaccompanied minor, with a flight attendant to greet me in Cincinnati and accompany me to my connecting flight. At least that was the plan. Instead, when my flight landed in Cincinnati well behind schedule, I found only one harried Delta agent. She was not expecting any unaccompanied minors and certainly wasn’t going to leave her post to guide me from one gate to the other. I had never been in an airport by myself before, and certainly never been in the Cincinnati airport, period. With a late flight and a tight connection, I put to work my one previous travel lesson, “go, go, go” and streaked through the airport, sliding into the last open seat on the plane with moments to spare before the jet bridge was disconnected.
My friend moved to Alabama when we were in high school and so close were we that shortly after she moved, I was invited to spend Thanksgiving with her family. So it was that I would participate in my first Thanksgiving weekend travel, flying from Detroit to Birmingham via Cincinnati on Wednesday morning and making the reverse trip Sunday night. As I was only 15, I would fly as an unaccompanied minor, with a flight attendant to greet me in Cincinnati and accompany me to my connecting flight. At least that was the plan. Instead, when my flight landed in Cincinnati well behind schedule, I found only one harried Delta agent. She was not expecting any unaccompanied minors and certainly wasn’t going to leave her post to guide me from one gate to the other. I had never been in an airport by myself before, and certainly never been in the Cincinnati airport, period. With a late flight and a tight connection, I put to work my one previous travel lesson, “go, go, go” and streaked through the airport, sliding into the last open seat on the plane with moments to spare before the jet bridge was disconnected.
My flight Sunday night was the last one to Cincinnati, connecting to the last one to Detroit, a
combination that I know now is absolutely asking for trouble. The only saving
grace was that I had a decent layover this time. Delta, however, seemed content
to chew off this cushion minute-by-minute until it became obvious to everyone
except the gate agent that I would not possibly make my connection. When at last
the gate agent was forced to confront the ugly truth of the matter, her
solution was for me – a single, 15-year-old girl, to spend the night in
Cincinnati. Tempers flared, time tick tocked, and the airlines called my mom. Her
rage bordered on mania. “She’s a minor, a minor,” she nearly screamed into
the phone. “You can’t do that. You can’t send her alone to Cincinnati for the
night.” My friend’s father, Bill, got wind of the situation (word traveled
slower in the days before everyone carried a cell phone), and took his anger
directly to the face of the Birmingham gate agent. “I will drive her to
Michigan myself before I will let her get on this plane,” he fumed. “Give me
her luggage.”
Such a demand was not possible according to our friendly
gate agent, the bag was on the plane, the plane was nearly ready, was I going
or not? Oh, and no, the airline could not guarantee what would happen to the
bag if I was not on the flight. Looking for the upper hand this typically calm
and collected middle-aged accountant charged through the emergency exit,
setting off alarms both literally and figuratively. And yet, it’s amazing what
bold action can do.
Suddenly, they realized they could hold the Detroit-bound
plane for me. Of course they could, I was a minor. Why hadn’t someone simply
said as much? Bill turned purple and sputtered, hugged me quickly, and saw me
down the jet bridge. When I looked back he was jabbing his thumb into the desk,
needing one final assurance that they would hold the plane.
They were good to
their word and when I reached Cincinnati, an entire plane of Thanksgiving
travelers was waiting for me. It seems the flight had been boarded and ready to
go when the call came to hold that plane; as the wheels didn’t go up in
Birmingham until the flight from Cincinnati was scheduled to depart, the
passengers on-board had been sitting for a very long time. I had never
encountered so many dagger-eyes as when I slinked onto the plane and into my
seat in Cincinnati.
