Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to wake you, but I need you to return your seat to its upright position. We’re making our final descent.”
I feel my body being gently shaken. I blink a few times and stare up at a flight attendant in a bright-teal uniform, confusion filling my brain before I realize I’m on my way to Spain.
I remember being tired and deciding to rest my eyes for a little bit.
The flight is supposed to be about thirteen hours.
I’ve never slept that long in my life. But then again, there’s a first time for everything.
“Sure,” I tell her.
She flashes me a tired but grateful smile as I touch the button on the armrest and adjust the seat as the cabin lights flicker on.
Suddenly, the plane gives a violent shudder. Passengers around me yelp. I grip the sides of my seat tightly and swallow hard as my pulse hammers against my chest. A few seconds later, it happens again.
An intercom dings, followed by a man’s voice.
“Hi, folks. This is the captain speaking. Apologies about the turbulence, but our radars are showing that it’s going to continue being a bumpy ride until we can get down on the ground in Denver.
I’ve asked our flight attendants to remain seated for the duration of the flight.
There is a mechanical issue with the plane that needs to be resolved before we’ll be able to continue on to our final destination.
I’m still waiting to hear back from HQ, but it sounds like we may be stuck there overnight.
I’ll have more details for you shortly. Thanks for your patience. ”
I lean my head against the back of the seat. Denver. Of all the places in the world, it has to be Denver. I’m going on this trip to get away and forget about Dylan. Not to get closer to him.
As the bad weather continues to strike the plane, I wonder if the universe is trying to play a sick cosmic joke on me. The plane shakes a third time. I squeeze my eyes tightly together. The sooner we’re on stable ground, the better.
Except once we land, the situation goes from bad to worse.
First comes the announcement from the flight attendant. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’d please gather your belongings and exit the plane, you’ll receive further directions from the Denver gate agents.”
Like a trail of ants invading a picnic, one by one, people retrieve their carry-on bags from the overhead bins and exit the plane a row at a time. The atmosphere is tense and filled with curious whispers and crying babies.
We file into an empty gate area, where there’s a rush to claim seats.
It reminds me of a game of musical chairs.
I’m too tired to deal with it all and opt to sit on the floor against the wall.
It’s what most of the passengers end up doing since there’s about three hundred of us and only a hundred chairs.
From my perch, I watch as about twenty people flock to the lone Pacific Skyways gate agent at the counter, demanding answers to what’s going on. I can’t hear what he’s telling them, but it isn’t hard to read his lips. His supervisor is working on it, and everyone needs to be patient.
An hour passes, and everyone’s energy intensifies.
The pilots and flight attendants trickle off the plane, speaking to one another in hushed tones and avoiding eye contact with passengers as they walk quickly toward the terminal’s exit.
My heart sinks. They know something is up and don’t want to be here when the bad news breaks.
A half hour after that, three additional gate agents arrive to support the poor man who’s been fielding questions since we landed.
That’s when we finally receive the announcement.
“Hi, folks, thanks for your patience. If you’re here from Pacific Skyways flight 723 with service to Madrid, we regret to inform you that the flight has been canceled. ”
It’s like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over my body. I’m on pins and needles. The gate area is filled with angry shouts and expletives.
“If you’d all form an orderly line, the Pacific Skyways staff will begin the rebooking process and get you on the next available flight to wherever your final destination may be.”
“What about a hotel for the night?” a man near the front shouts.
“You aren’t sending a replacement plane for us?” a woman cries.
The agent ignores them, hanging up the mic and walking over to the nearest computer. That’s when it hits me and everyone else in the gate area that we’d better get in line. The mad scramble begins.
It’s a giant mess. The line of three hundred people stretches two gates long.
I’m stuck toward the middle back. Another two hours pass, and by this point, we’re all tired and hangry.
Nothing in the airport is open. It’s three in the morning and there are still twenty-five people in front of me. All I want is a nice soft bed.
My eyes rove the gate area, wondering if it’s worth continuing to wait.
I have no energy. If I pull out my phone and book myself a hotel, all I’d have to do is order a rideshare, and in five to ten minutes, I could be curled up under a nice warm blanket.
Except I don’t have the spare funds for it.
I’ve already paid a thousand dollars for nonrefundable business class tickets and prepaid for some of my hotel rooms in Spain.
I sigh deeply. My neck, lower back, and feet ache beyond belief.
I only have to tough it out a little longer.
By four a.m., I’m two people away from the front.
My eyelids and limbs are heavy. I contemplate sleeping on a row of seats in the gate area when this is all over, like the guy over there with a red hoodie and noise-canceling headphones, snoring his head off.
Jealousy floods my system. I want that to be me.
“Ma’am? Are you ready?” I hear a woman’s exhausted voice say.
I realize it’s finally my turn! I stumble forward as if my legs belong to a baby giraffe and shove my passport and ticket onto the counter. “Sorry, yeah. Here you go.”
The agent yawns, then swipes my passport and starts typing. In a monotone voice, she says, “On behalf of Pacific Skyways, we apologize for any inconvenience today’s canceled flight may have caused you. Your final destination is Madrid, is that correct?”
I fight my own yawn and nod. “Yeah, it is.”
She clicks a few more keys. “Well, it looks like the next available flight I have for you is Thursday night.”
The shock of her words sends a rush of adrenaline through my body.
I’m suddenly alert. “That’s four days from now!
You don’t have anything sooner? Not even a replacement flight?
” I’m keeping a tight lid on my emotions.
Right now, I’m about ready to flip a table and kick down all the nearby trash cans.
“No.” Her tone is flat. “They’re all full.”
Jaw clenched, I ask, “What about if I flew in economy instead of business?”
“Oh, I didn’t even notice you had a business ticket, just a second.” She perks up slightly.
I stop just short of saying something snarky and tell myself she’s probably just as tired as me. It’s a simple mistake.
“The next business-class opening I have is for next Tuesday.”
“That’s even worse!”
She shrugs. “Everything is full.”
“Then give me a refund. I’ll find another airline that can get me to Madrid.”
She types on the computer. “Your ticket is nonrefundable,” the agent says flatly. “You’re only eligible for flight credit.”
My brain lets out a banshee scream. I cheaped out on trip insurance. And I stupidly used my debit card instead of my credit card to book my ticket, so I can’t do a charge-back for an unused flight.
I guess I could try to use my credit card now to book a new ticket. But the same thoughts as earlier hit me. A list-minute ticket will cost a fortune. Probably triple or quadruple what my current one cost. Money I don’t have.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this, but would the airline pay for however long I’m stuck here in Denver until the flight departs? Or reimburse what I’ve paid for my hotels?”
“No. We’d only cover a room for tonight and provide you with a fifteen-dollar voucher for a meal here at the airport. For any other expenses you’d like to request reimbursement for, you’d need to contact our customer service department to open a case.”
One night and one meal? No wonder my ticket was so cheap. Pacific Skyways doesn’t care about its customers. It’s the last time I’ll fly with them. “What about other cities? I’ll settle for anywhere in Spain.”
We go back and forth until she finally finds me a business-class seat to Lisbon, Portugal, leaving this evening at ten p.m.
“Since your flight is leaving tonight, Pacific Skyways won’t be providing you a hotel room.”
To this point I’ve tried hard to keep my cool, but I’ve had enough.
“No,” I say in a deadly cool tone. “I’ve been waiting patiently for over four hours for you to take care of me. I’m a business-class customer who paid good money for my seat. I’ve watched your team send others to local hotels for the night and I deserve the same treatment.”
“Ma’am—”
“No.” I cut her off. “It’s not ma’am. It’s Doctor Brown.” My eyes narrow. “If you can’t help me, I’d be more than happy to take it up with your manager.” I turn and gesture to the remaining fifty people behind me. “And I’m sure all of them would too.”
A few of the people behind me applaud and throw their two cents in. I’ve always despised entitled people and always try to be kind and understanding, but at this point, I’m beyond caring. My request is reasonable. I need to sleep, eat, and shower.
The agent cringes, but steps away from her computer to speak to a heavyset man in a yellow safety vest, crumpled white shirt, and black slacks leaning against the door that leads to the disabled plane.