“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 forsome 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’sfourdays 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.”
