You'd think after braving the trials of living in a foreign country for two years that I'd be ready to roll when I got here. To my dismay, quite the contrary was true. I suppose I should have lowered my expectations when things turned sour before I could even leave Atlanta.
On December 27, I was scheduled to leave but couldn't because my flight was cancelled due to weather. By the afternoon of departure, after several failed attempts to reserve another ticket by phone or internet, I was off to the airport to wait in line. Minutes later I befriended a man and woman in line behind me. Half an hour later, the college student in front of me joined our conversation. An hour later he revealed that there was a special number to call for rebooking and gave it to each of us. Two hours later, still not at the ticketing desk yet, I left the line with my new flight. I was given a route through Charles D'Gaulle in Paris instead of JFK in New York like before. Final stop, CMN or Casablanca.
At 1:50 p.m. the following day I arrive ready for check in for my 3:30 flight and thought I'd try it curb side. There was a problem and I had to stand in the inside line again. Unaware of the time, I stood patiently with two large suitcases, a large carry on, a back pack, a coat, and neck pillow. When an agent came and asked whose flight was leaving at 3 p.m, I offered my flight time and was moved to the front of the line. That's when the real problems started.
The very good looking ticketing agent proceeded to tell me that I couldn't board the plane because I had only purchased a one way ticket and didn't have a VISA. (Unless a new law has passed regarding this, my actions were perfectly legal). Then he said my suitcases were too heavy. This latter piece of information was known to me and I came prepared to pay. "How much is it?'' I asked.
"Three hundred dollars,'' he said simply. I wasn't prepared for
that.
"Excuse me?" I kept repeating a smaller number thinking surely he meant $50 or $70 per bag and not $150 per bag. The man was serious and I had heard him correctly.
I wasn't paying $300; that's enough to fuel the plane for one passenger and I'd already paid my fuel charges through the ticket. Besides, one bag was only 5 pounds over and I think he should have budged a little. Still there were bigger issues, like my inability to board. So while he's trying to see why I am being halted like an illegal alien, I'm off to the side with my bags on the scale trying to see what can be sacrificed or moved into the other bag. Needless to say, in order to drop 25 total pounds of weight, I had to give up a lot. I put the bag upright and weighed it again, only to find that it was 4 pounds over. I dared him with my eyes to tell me I needed to drop the four pounds. He called me on my dare and told me I had four pounds to go. I asked if I had a flight because by then I was hot and tired from all the lifting and pulling of both pieces of luggage.
"We have to check her luggage or she won't make this flight." Those were the words that came next as the manager who had been called, realized that this long episode was about to cost me my flight. So with four pounds of extra luggage and a one way ticket to Africa I found myself walking briskly toward security, leaving my parents behind holding 21 pounds of much needed stuff, including my new boots. *sigh*
At the gate the attendant yells to the counter, "Thirty-nine G is here!" Then says to me, "They wouldn't let me leave without you." I could only respond by saying, "Thank you, but that's the least they could do for holding me up in the first place. I had to run here with this huge carry-on."
Now since I was the last to board, I was among the passengers who didn't get a space overhead for their luggage and had to check my carry-on. Hesitantly I gave my suitcase with jewelry, casual clothes and toiletries over to the woman for tagging. I settled in my seat and 5 minutes later we were leaving Hartsfield Jackson airport, heading toward the Atlantic coast.
