Around the World in What Feels Like 80 Days -- Part 1

February 7, 2011

The day had arrived – the day when I could FINALLY depart the United States to unite my family in Korea.  The task ahead of me was daunting but I was prepared.  I had to take myself and my two (fairly large) dogs, along with a metric crap ton of luggage to the other side of the world in two days with virtually no assistance.   Hottie and I had constructed a genius plan for execution, into which I wrangled my little brother for as much help as one can muster from a 20-something with no car living in the middle of a city on the other side of the States.  My chances of perfect plan execution (given no variability in external factors) was one in twenty, but I was committed, determined and able.  I would succeed!

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Day 1:

• Wake up at the butt crack of dawn to pack.  Check.
• Sit on top of all suitcases and bounce up and down while feverishly zipping them up to ensure that I fit my ridiculous quantity of stuff into as few bags as possible (note: few = 3 suitcases).  Check.  Sort of….zipper malfunctioned once or twice in the process.
• Hoist unnecessarily large suitcases and two extra large dog crates into the truck by myself because everyone else in the world is already at work.  Check.
• Try to keep dogs calm while loading them up by pretending that nothing is out of the ordinary despite the obviously overloaded vehicle and my massive early morning caffeine shakes.  Check?
• Drive to town to pick up brother-in-law for vehicle swap.  Check.  At least there was one easy task on the list.
• Drop off dogs at airline freight cargo terminal without freaking them out.  Complete failure.  But they survived, and at least they were on their way.
• Disembark at terminal.  This one seems easy, but it’s not when you’re awkwardly lugging three suitcases by yourself and no one seems interested in working the Skycap counters.  Half of a check for succeeding ingloriously and with many laughing stares.
• Board plane.  Hallele-freakin’-lujah.

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Day 1 ½ (because it almost feels like a second day):

• Arrive in San Francisco and pick up suitcases to find that the biggest has already lost its front wheels from collapse under the overweight size for which I have paid the airline surcharge by promising my first-born child.  Check.  Ugh.
• Brother pulls up rockin’ a huge Budget rent-a-van that looks like it was designed for night stalkers who steal little children.  Check.  Thank goodness he came through on this one – I love you little Bro!
• Drive rented stalker van to Airline cargo hold to pick up dogs.  Check.  Dogs poop everywhere immediately and freak out because they are so excited that they haven’t been abandoned after all.
• Check into hotel, drop off dogs, and activate super anti-barking device with sonic powers to keep dogs from barking and alerting hoteliers to my bad dog parenting habits while gone.  Check.
• Ride with brother in stalker van back to the San Fancisco Mission area to meet his girlfriend for dinner.  Ummmm….we eventually got there after an hour-long trip via the scenic route to Treasure Island.  Brother doesn’t own a car and isn’t used to driving – thus why he also nearly ran over a homeless man and blew through a stop sign. 
• Warning to State of California:  My brother is a much better driver than me, but should still bere-tested before being allowed into a car ever again.  This is paramount to the safety of everyone in the Bay Area.  Thank you.
• Park van in Mission.  Harder than you think when you’re above the garage parking clearance limit, you’re too huge to parallel park in the city, and people think that you’ll kidnap their children in the stalker van if you park in front of their house.  Check – after another 20 minutes of wandering the ghetto.
• Dinner and drinks.  Thank you, Jesus.  Meet Brother’s girlfriend finally and like her.  At least something in the day has been pleasant.
• Drive home without problem because my sense of direction is far more acute than Brother’s.  I will, however, not vouch for my actual driving skills.
• Sleep with dogs cuddled up to me on the bed because it’s a hotel and I don’t give a hoot if they charge me for dog hair on the bed now.  I need snuggles STAT!

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Day 2:

I am completely giving up on the checklist format here because everything became such a royal C.F. – a cataclysmic disaster for those who don’t speak military acronym-ese.

Given that day one was a far greater success than I had expected, I figured that the hard part of the trans-global trip was over, and it would be frosted vanilla cake in comparison from that point on.  Man, was I wrong. 

Airline freight instructions were to arrive with the dogs at the cargo bay 2 hours in advance of the flight, so I woke up super early in order not to rush, made myself some hotel coffee in the oh-so-cute tiny coffee maker, and took the dogs out for a walk by the bay.  We packed up and left the hotel in time to arrive at the Continental cargo bay three hours in advance (just to be safe).   When I arrived, the guys working were the same as the night before, so they asked no questions and happily helped me to load up the dogs into the crates, carry the crates into the bay, and weigh them.  I said my puppy goodbyes and went to the front counter to finish their check-in.  Suddenly, the nice check-in guy panicked.

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Check –in Dude:  You’re not in the system.

Me:  What?  That’s impossible?  This is a continuation of my flight from yesterday with the same booking.

Check-in Dude:  Hmmm…Let me see your paperwork.  Where are you going?

Me:  Incheon Airport in Seoul, Korea.  Here’s my flight information.

Check-In Dude: Continental doesn’t fly to Korea.  Are you sure?

Me:  Oh yeah, that makes sense.  We booked through Continental, but the overseas flight is through United since the two airlines merged.  Can you look up that flight number and make sure it’s a United Flight operated by Continental?

Check –in Dude:  Well, I have no record of that flight, but it does say “CO” in front of it for “Continental” and has a note that it’s operated by United Airlines.  That means that you need to take the dogs to the United freight  cargo building to drop them off instead.  I’m so sorry for the confusion.

Me: *sigh* No worries, it’s not your fault.  I apologize for having you load up the dogs already.  I’ll just take them back and drive them over to the United cargo bay.

I drive the huge rented stalker van around the building again, ask for the dogs to be returned, and load the huge crates back into the van.  The dogs are all sorts of confused and relieved because they think that the trip’s already over and that they’re done being crated and schlepped.  Poor confused dogs.

We load back up and drive down the road to the United cargo building which is much bigger and nicer with a more professional front and lots of signage.  I am immediately relieved, believing that this airline must certainly be professional and organized,  and thus able to quickly get me to where I am going.  I park the van first (with dogs inside), and enter the office to ensure that I’m in the right place.

Me:  Hi, I’m here to drop off dogs for an international flight.

Sweet-looking Lady: Okay, hold on one moment while I get the person in charge of that.

[I wait for a good 15 minutes before a huge, mean-looking lady comes to the counter].

Mean-looking Lady:  Booking number.

Me: Excuse me?

Mean-looking Lady:  I need your booking number.

Me: Oh, here it is [Pointing to a number on the top page of huge pile of papers].

Mean-looking Lady: [Types furiously.] Not in the system. Our numbers don’t look like that.

Me:  Oh, well that makes sense.  They were booked by Continental through their partnership with United, so I have a Continental booking number.  Perhaps our number in the system with you is different.  Can you look it up by flight number?

Mean-looking Lady: No, I can only use the booking number. [Types more furiously with flight number anyway, then shakes head and just stares fiercely and unblinkingly at me.]

Me:  Well, I don’t know what to tell you.  The dogs are booked and need to get on the flight.  How can we make that happen?

Mean Lady [She no longer qualifies and mean-looking and is officially straight-up mean]: Name.

Me:  Wallace.  Lisa Wallace. [By this time I’ve figured that all monosyllabic grunts are actually requests for information.]

Mean Lady: Dog? [Shuffling through stack of paper on desk.]

Me:  Yes, two of them.

[Mean-looking lady’s eyes become very wide in response; It’s the first sign life I’ve seen in her yet.  Silent shuffling continues for another 5 minutes].

Mean Lady:  Not here.  Dogs aren’t booked.  We can’t take them unless they’re booked.

Me:  Well, Continental airlines told me that they booked the dogs for this United flight.  Apparently they didn’t.  Can I book them now since we still have time before it departs? [The clock now shows 1 hour and 45 minutes until the time of departure.]

Mean Lady:  Can’t do that here.

[She just stares at me, and I stare right back.  I’m pissed now.  60 long, silent seconds of staring pass.  Somehow I thought that angry staring would make a difference, but apparently it doesn’t with people who are angry starers themselves.]

Me:  Well, there has to be something that can be done.  How can we fix this situation?

Mean Lady:  Call the airline.

Me:  What?!?!  You ARE the airline!  That makes no sense whatsoever.

Mean Lady:  We operate separately here.  Call them to create a booking.

Me:  OH.  MY.  GOD.   [Quickly look up and internally say, “Sorry, God.  My bad.”]   Well, my cell phone is back in van with my dogs who are freaking they’ve been left and now think it’s the end of the world.  Can I at least use the phone here?

[Sweet-looking lady who’s overheard the conversation runs to my aid.]

Sweet Lady: Of course!  Here you go, and good luck.  Here’s the phone number.

Me:  Thanks. [I shoot a wistful, grateful look at her and begin dialing].

Countdown until time of departure = 90 minutes.

So there I am, an hour and half before my flight and unable to get my dogs on the plane.  I’m trying to keep me cool because screaming typically isn’t my first response to crisis.  I’m a problem-solver, so I’m trying to solve this problem, which apparently no one else at the airline gives a flying flip about.

Phone:  *ring* *ring*  Welcome to United Airlines…..[lots of recorded babble]…for cargo press 4….

I overzealously jam down the “4” button.  The phone puts me on hold to terrible elevator music.  10 minutes pass.  Suddenly a voice comes on, and my heart leaps within me before sinking into my feet when I realize that it’s just another recording.  Damn recordings.  Someone must engineer these systems for pure torture.  Why would you add a voice recording in the middle of a hold session when you know that the person on the end is dying from the suspense of connecting to a real person?  It’s such a tease!

20 more minutes pass.  Countdown until time of departure = 60 minutes.

Phone:  Welcome to United Airlines cargo.  This is Kurt [or some other such blasé name].  How can I help you?

I quickly and breathlessly explain the situation, and make sure that he knows that I’ve been on hold for 30 minutes, and that my plane is about to depart.

Phone:  Well, that’s quite an issue.  I’m so sorry.  Unfortunately I only handle domestic bookings.  Hold on a moment while I connect you to a person in the International Department.

Me: [Doggedly] *sigh* Okay.

Ten more minutes of telephone hold torture pass.  Another person with a terribly boring name picks up, and the sing-song introduction repeats.  I explain the situation yet again, acknowledging – much to my chagrin – that it’s unlikely we’ll be able to make today’s flight

Phone:  I am so sorry about the inconvenience….

WTF?  Inconvenience?  This is a heck of a lot more than a simple inconvenience!

Phone:  Let’s see if we can get the dogs booked for a flight out tomorrow. [Short silence indicates typing, thinking or such.] Well, there is a flight heading out at the exact same time tomorrow.   Will that work?

Me:  YES!  Of course.  Just book two dogs for that flight.

Phone:   Yes, Ma’am.  Let me make sure that there is enough room in cargo. [More work-indicating silence.]  What are the crate sizes?  Large and extra large?  Okay.  [Silence repeats.] We have room for only one on the plane.  We can book one for that flight, and the other dog another flight later if you can leave the it with someone who can drop it off.

Me:  Seriously?  I’ve already been stranded here away from home, and I can’t do that.  I don’t have anyone here who can take care of the dogs.

I say this knowing that Brother lives in a tiny thin-walled vintage San Francisco apartment with two cats and no car.

Phone:  No one at all?  It doesn’t have to be you who drops off and picks up the animals so long as their paperwork is with them.

Me:  I realize that.  I’m not an idiot.  I’m in strange city with no support system because the airline already stranded me.  I’m not willing to leave my dogs with strangers, so that is simply not possible.  Find another way.

Phone:  Well, you might be able to take one of the dogs as excess carry-on baggage.  Have you thought of that?

Me:  Perfect!  Let’s do that.  Book one, and reserve the other as excess baggage.  Will that be okay for a large crate?

Phone: I can’t tell you that, Ma’am.  Another department takes care of it and will have to book the other dog separately.  I can’t guarantee anything.

Me:  Holy freakin’ crap.  Does no one at this airline work together?  This is insane!

Phone:  I’m sorry, that’s just the way it works.  I can’t do anything about it.

Me: [All huffy and puffy.] FINE.  Book the large dog in the extra large crate as freight, and I’ll look into booking the other one as reserved baggage.  I will call back today if it doesn’t work and make other arrangements.  Otherwise, we’ll leave it as is and get all of us on the same flight tomorrow. 

Phone:  Great.  Let me take care of it now.  [Short silence.] You’re all taken care of, and your reservation confirmation has been sent to your email address on record.  Thanks, and have a great day.

Me:  Thaaaaaank you.  I’m glad we’ve finally worked something out.  Have a great day.

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Already exhausted from the ordeal, I ran back to the stalker van, hugged the poor scared dogs, and sped away in my awesome kidnapping van back to the hotel.  Once there, I checked back in to my old room at a new ridiculously inflated rate to relax, reschedule my flight (which was about to take off in 10 minutes), make baggage arrangements, and drink heavily for the rest of the day.

And to think that I used to love traveling.
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TO BE CONTINUED.....