Request denied.
Request denied.
The rejected individual is absorbed by the crowd which surges forward, each person desperate to plead their case. Only a thin cord physically separates the “haves” from the “have nots” but it is easy to imagine the chasm which truly exists. The “haves” saunter down a rich red carpet, behind a closed door and on to destinations exotic and unknown. The “have nots” go nowhere, dejected, afraid to move and burdened with possessions. Most are too exhausted to be noisy, they simply stand and wait, hoping some one will take pity on them. Each has a story which is unique, and yet identical to that of every one else.
My name is called. I can’t help a victorious “Yesss!” escaping from my mouth and I rush to the red carpet. I’ve been accepted! But then… No, No. It can’t be. A large woman in uniform blocks my way. I’m not one of the chosen at all, merely selected for extra questioning. She leans over me, so far into my personal space I have to arch backwards. I’m off balance but I refuse to remove my feet from the red carpet, as if their physical presence will somehow sway her decision. She barks a question at me.
“Do you have a connecting flight?”
“Yes, Yes! I do. I’m going to Vancouver” I say, too quickly, in my nervous excitement.
“Well, the computer says you’ve made the reservation, but we don’t have you on the passenger list. You know, if we put you on this plane, you’ll just get stuck in Chicago if you’re not on the passenger list for Vancouver”.
“But look, I have a boarding pass for Vancouver, with a seat number, look.”
“You’ve got what? Where did you get that? Here, let me take a look at it.”
I hand over my boarding pass from Chicago to Vancouver, seat 15C, as well as my boarding pass from New York to Chicago, no seat allocation, please check at the gate. She examines both as if I am attempting to pass counterfeit money, then takes them to the desk to discuss with someone else. I wait, in no man’s land, while the last remaining “haves” file past me and the “have nots” glare at me, competition for any remaining seats.
A third woman comes out to the counter. Potential passengers push forward again, eager to plead their case before a new set of ears. She takes a deep breath and says to the expectant crowd,
“I am just the messenger, OK.”
We wait.
“The plane is overbooked. No one who has an allocated seat is volunteering to give up their seat which means that those who do not yet have a seat allocated, will not be able to get on this flight. All the flights for this afternoon are already fully booked. You will be rebooked onto a flight, tomorrow at the earliest…
The previously subdued crowd suddenly becomes much more what I would expect of a New York mob, screaming and swearing at the woman burdened with sharing this message. As questions flit through my mind “Where am I going to stay?”, “What if I can’t get home tomorrow?”, I barely register the woman handing back my boarding passes. Then she says to me,
“Congratulations, you’ve got the last seat on the plane, and you’ve got an upgrade too.”
That seat, with those “premium economy” five extra inches of legroom is the best gift I’ve received this Christmas.
