the art and disgrace of airports

a couple of fridays ago i headed to hartsfield after a pretty long week. run from alphacrappa back to inman park, grab my stuff, park the green monster in the garage and jump in a cab. flights are delayed a couple hours already because of weather (and by weather i'm mean that it's anything besides sunny and 75, so hartsfield cannot cope), so i'm already nervous about getting to soflo tonight.

i get to the gate and stand in line to confirm my upgrade. the gate agent looks at my boarding pass.

"that's the wrong boarding pass."

what?

"that's for a florida to atlanta flight."

mothershitter. my travel agent booked me going the wrong way. i was on my third flight of the week and had printed off the pass at work and then ran without reallying looking at it. shit. the standby list for this flight is 62 people deep because delta has already canceled the earlier flight. double shit.

now here's the disgrace of airports. specifically, airport security: i passed through two different security checkpoints before it was caught. technically, i had no business being in hartsfield, much less in the departure terminal that evening, b/c my boarding pass didn't even have atlanta on it. the TSA agent at start of the security and the TSA agent at the x-ray machine both missed it. granted, it was a hectic night (rain delays on a friday evening at one of the largest airports in the world). but everyone who gets into the terminal ought to be a legit passenger.

now here's the art. i call delta (my travel agent has gone home for the day and we're not a big enough company to warrant after-hours support). they can't do anything for me on the phone. so i get into the customer service line.

now this line is roughly akin to the entrance to dante's inferno. babies crying. ladies fainting. cranky old men yelling. delta agents tasering passengers with cattle prods.

and the standby list is 62 people deep. on a flight that's already pretty close to full.

i have got to pull it together. i have to get myself in a zen state. smile. stand straight. breathe. deeply. look like there's no place i'd rather be.

the woman in front of me goes ballistic. she's yelling at the agent b/c someone in baltimore lost her luggage. demeaning the person who you want to help you is not a good strategy. but now she's fucking with my chances. i'm tempted to pour her a tall glass of Shut The Fuck Up.

the bitch runs out of oxygen and leaves. i wait to be called before approaching the desk. the agent calls next. i smile. i stand up straight. deep breath. i've to make her want to help me.

"boy, tough night, huh?"

she nods wearily. the phone rings. "i'm sorry, sir, hang on."

"no problem, take your time. my plane isn't going anywhere."

i wait for her to take care of the phone call. i look happy to be there. project serenity.

"ok, how can i help you?"

i explain the situation and request her expertise in helping me. i say that i know it's a crazy night and the flight is super full, but that i've been traveling all week and i just really want to be home with my wife. finally, i tell her that i know it's going to be tough and i'll be happy that she's doing the best she can. i promise that i won't throw a fit if things don't work.

in 10 seconds she gets me on the flight, prints out a boarding pass with a seat assignment.

one of my grad school profs said that negotiation is the art of letting other people have your way.

and that's the art.

ok, boarding door about to close. gotta go. next stop: soflo.