“Last call for the Rehman passengers. Please report to Gate 15.”
Has that ever happened to you? And if it has, you know the feeling. Particularly if you are nowhere near Gate 15.
My husband Khalid and I were on our way to Antarctica. At least, that was the plan. We show up at Newark Airport, get our boarding passes for United Airlines, and take a seat in the lounge. Just an hour before boarding, my phone lights up:
“Flight delayed. Please wait for further notice while we fix a mechanical problem with the plane.”
“Oh Uh.”
We had a three-hour layover in Houston before our connecting flight to Buenos Aires.
“Well, as long as the plane is fixed within the hour, we should be o.k.”
An hour went by. No update.
I went up to the desk. “Sir, what are our options if we miss our connecting flight from Houston?”
“Since this delay is not weather-related, and the problem is at our end, we will put you up in a hotel and book you on the next flight to Buenos Aires.”
Our tour group for Antarctica was to depart from B.A. the next day. Hotel or no hotel, next flight or no next flight, we would miss the boat.
So I did what I do best: I prayed. Hard. And I texted our sons, who immediately started Googling flight options.
Another hour went by. No update. Now we had only a one-hour layover to make our connecting flight. O.k. One hour is doable.
Another 30-minutes passed.
My phone lit up: We are pleased to announce…please proceed to your gate.
Phew! We just didn’t proceed, we dashed. I craned my neck over the windows overlooking the tarmac to see our plane being towed to the gate.
Just hurry.
The crew took forever to arrive; the gate took forever to open; and 30 minutes later, we finally boarded. I texted our sons.
“We apologize for the delay. The flight is expected to arrive at 11 am Houston time.”
11 am was the boarding time for our connecting flight. How are we ever going to make it?
Once the flight was cruising, I walked up to the flight attendant.
“Excuse me, ma’am, we have a connecting flight from Houston that boards at 11 am, which is when this plane lands. What can be done to get to our gate on time?
“Your gate is a twenty-minute walk from where we disembark. Your best bet is to speak to the agent at the gate and have them book you on the next flight.”
I explained to her that the next flight is not an option. We must make it to this flight.
“Can you allow us to disembark first?” By the way, we were flying Business, which had no more than 30 passengers.
“I am sorry, we cannot do that.”
Like, really!
I turned to my husband, “As soon as the plane lands, we make a dash for the door. Whoever gets out first rushes to the attendant at the gate and tells them to call our gate and ask them to hold the plane for us. And get us a golf cart.”
I won’t tell you that we sat on pins and needles throughout the flight. As soon as it landed, I jumped out of my seat, calling out, “Connecting flight, please let us pass.”
“I, too, have a connecting flight,” said the man ahead of me.
Khalid was able to push his way through, and by the time I got off the gangway, the nice gentleman at the gate had already called our connecting flight—also United Airlines—asked them to hold the plane for us, with a ‘they are on their way.’
“No guarantees that they will do that, but I have put in a request. Now follow the signs to Gate 15, then take the train to the terminal.”
“Can we get a golf cart?”
“If you see one, hail it.”
We started running. Turn left. Turn right. Another left. Another right. Another right. Gate 15, turn left.
No golf carts.
We zig-zagged through the food court, dismissing the whiff of Cinnabuns.
My phone lit up: This is UA flight # (whatever) to Buenos Aires. We are happy to hold the plane for you. Please make your way immediately to Gate 15.
Phew!
Sign for the Train. Follow the sign.
Wait for the Train.
Get on the train.
The train stopped at the next stop. No terminal announcement. So we wait for it to move on. And then it started to reverse.
“OMG! We are going back. What about Gate 15?” I called out to the world.
A uniformed woman looked at me, “There is only one stop on this train. Now wait until it heads back again, get off, make a right, go down the escalator, make a left, and follow the signs to Gate 15.”
Now I panicked. We are going to miss our flight.
The train chugged back, passengers got on, it went back again, stopped, and we jumped off, made a right, down the escalator, made a left, and started looking for the signs for Gate 15. Gate 15, turn right.
Gate 15, turn left.
Duty-Free Plaza—get out of my way. Where is the Gate 15 sign?
Gate 15 Left, right, right, left, on, and one we rushed.
“This is the final call for passengers Rehman. Please report to Gate 15 immediately. The plane is ready to depart.” The PA voice was loud and very clear: It’s now or never.
“Khalid, I am going to run. If I get there on time, they will wait for you.” And I started running.
I ran out of breath.
Gate 15, turn left. Turn Right.
“This is the final call for passengers Rehman. Please report to Gate 15 immediately. The plane is ready to depart.”
Left then Right, I turn the corner, and there it was: GATE 15.
I waved frantically. She saw me and waved back.
I get there.
“Where is the other passenger?”
“He is right behind me.”
“Do you have both passports?”
“I do.”
She whisked them out of my fumbling hands, ran them through the scanner, handed them back to me, while the other attendant called the pilot and told them we were here. Khalid came up huffing and puffing. I dropped the passports on the floor. Picked them up. And we ran down the gangway, looping around, and arrived at the door of the plane.
“Welcome, relax, come in, take it easy,” the flight attendant greeted us with a most welcoming smile.
Everyone looked at me when we entered. While Khalid and the attendant attended to stowing away our carry-ons, I texted our sons, ‘Made it. On the flight to BA.’ I then turned around and faced the music, “I am sorry to keep you all waiting. Our plane had a mechanical problem.”
Stone silence.
I hope none of them have a connecting flight to catch.
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