| Jan19 | The Old Man and the Sea |
I continue to be tested in a variety of ways. The following is one of my more recent crisis/opportunities but not the most recent.
Virgin Blue’s check-in counter at Melbourne Airport is ridiculously understaffed today. Two open counters for a line of maybe 30 people for bag drop-off. Three open counters for a line of 100 for full check-in. Full service check in is reserved for two types of travelers: those that are too stupid to use the self check-in kiosks and those that booked connecting international flights are are not allowed to use the kiosks.
As an aside, it’s this frustration that leads me to think they should invent a new class of ticket: Help Me. First, Business, Economy and Help Me. These special tickets demand that you arrive at the airport 5 hours before departure and you wait in a long line but at the end, there is a human being that walks you through everything. They print out your boarding pass and give you a special wallet filled with instructions that you wear around your neck. They walk you to a special security line that is filled with other Help Me members and instead of passing through one metal detector, they pass through a gauntlet of three, each time given the opportunity to further empty their pockets. Because it is very hard to understand that shit like $15 in pocket change, oversize belt buckles and gaudy necklaces are all metal. Then there is a human at the other end that walks them to their gate and sits their ass down.
Anyway, I finally make it to a check-in counter and we dance the dance that is expected of us. Passport, itinerary, here is your pass, here is your luggage tag, your luggage is going here, you will need papers here, have a nice day. Alas, our dance is interrupted by a petite Vietnamese girl that bubbles up to me with an adorably thick Australian accent. You see, her father speaks very little English and he’s going to have a hard time transferring to his international flight. I’m on the same flight so it would be great if I could help out. Despite all the paranoid ramblings from my mother about the dangers of doing favours for anyone at an airport and the fact that she is standing right beside me sizing up this girl, I just nod. “Not a problem!” I bubble back at her. God damn it.
I see them again at the gate. She thanks me again and her father gives me that mixed look of gratitude and apology; a look that I’ve worn on more than one occasion. Only now am I realizing that a) we don’t have much time to transfer b) he’s got a foreign passport and c) he probably isn’t able to answer any questions about immigration or customs. Too late, we’re up in the air and on our way to Brisbane.
Off the plane and the first step is getting to the Transfer Desk to get boarding passes for the Brisbane to Los Angeles flight. It’s quite a long walk and this guy is overweight and overdressed for the hot Brisbane summer. He’s wearing a jacket and an old backpack and he’s dragging around a large shopping bag and a suit bag. The corollary to old people being slow at airports is that they carry far too much stuff with them.
After a long hike to the transfer desk, I get my new boarding pass and an Express Card that lets me take the faster lines. The lady said it was because there’s only 90 minutes before scheduled arrival but I get the feeling it’s because I’m good looking. The old man gets to the counter and I hang back. I’m ok with leading him around but I’m not comfortable with speaking on his behalf. He fumbles through the exchange and then the lady tells him to stand aside and wait for assistance. Turns out, they can’t read his passport and somebody needs to walk him to the better-equipped International Terminal. So, off we go.
Leave the secure area, exit the domestic check-in area, walk outside, climb up the escalator, board the train, wait for 10 minutes, exit the train, give the Virgin Blue transfer ticket to the train guy, go up another escalator and here we are at the international check-in desk. I send him into line and I wait nervously; there’s 20 minutes until boarding begins.
Eliza and Kelly, the girls at the V-Australia Transfer Desk and my personal guardian angels, appear out of nowhere and swoop into the line. They pull the confused old man to the front and walk him to the next available counter. They walk past me and give me a few gentle reassurances. I am once again thankful for my good looks and also grateful for the old man’s charming ability to act like an adorable pet that’s lost its owner.
Thankfully, we were now out of the weeds. Passport control was a breeze; they just let him through after realizing he spoke no English. There was an extremely long walk to Gate 75 and a long line for a final series of carry-on inspections and humiliating pat-downs and shoe inspections. Finally we were at our gate and boarding was delayed anyway due to a late connecting flight from Auckland. I pointed at the gate and told him this is it and he told me he never would have made it on his own.
I was happy that I stuck to it and helped out but I was drained from all this. I didn’t see him after we parted ways at the gate. I hope he made it to whatever crazy connecting flights he had from LA.
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