I knew I hated to travel, even aside from (and even before) the TSA made things worse.
I am stranded in the Miami airport. I arrived here with — so I thought — plenty of time to board my connecting flight to Parts Unknown. But no … the online company that ticketed me set me up with “only” an hour and 45 minutes between my arrival and my scheduled departure. Turns out that I must check in two hours before the flight or no go.
(Yes, I knew about the recommendation to arrive early at the airport very early for international flights. That’s why I was at the first airport three hours before departure this morning. Nobody — and certainly not the company that ticketed me — ever mentioned that I should have three or four hours between connecting flights.)
So anyhow, I spent an hour rushing back and forth between U.S. carrier A and foreign carrier B — who are located in far corners of the terminal — with each of them passing the problem off on the other until finally a helpful woman at A put me in touch with a supervisor at B, who helped me with a new, strictly stand-by booking for tomorrow morning.
I couldn’t really blame them for passing the buck. Neither airline was at fault. Both ended up being helpful.
But then things got even crappier.
Foreign carrier B. gave me a certificate for a Marriott Courtyard hotel. I would have to pay (“merely” 80 bucks), but he checked room availabilities and sent me out to wait for a shuttle. In the next half hour I flagged down three Marriot Courtyard shuttles — only to have the driver of each tell me (in one case extremely rudely) that his vehicle didn’t go to that Marriot Courtyard. There are apparently seven different Marriot Courtyards whose shuttles fly by here.
But the one for my Marriot Courtyard never did.
So I went in and explained the situation to U.S. carrier A, who gave me a certificate — same terms, I pay, but they guarantee room availability, to a Howard Johnson’s. Even cheaper. Merely 70 bucks. Oh good. And shuttles arrive every 15 minutes or so.
Nearly an hour later, a Howard Johnson’s shuttle finally pulled up. I checked. Yes. Right Howard Johnson’s.
Less than 200 yards later, the driver pulled over, made a call on his cellphone — and there we continued to sit 15 minutes later. Not moving. And with loud rap music blasting out of two speakers on either side of me.
I got out. Walked back to the terminal. And here I am. The air conditioning is blasting and I’m colder than I’ve been in my little trailer in the high desert. Back there, there are blankets, sleeping bags, and heaters. Here, only a cotton and silk tropical wardrobe. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay $70 and put up with another hour of waiting for a shuttle just to have a few hours in a bed.
To top it all off, this damned, wretched, unfriendly airport doesn’t even have free wifi. Nor does any business within it. Oh, but if I stay at the one hotel that’s actually within the terminal — for a “mere” $175 a night, I can get wifi there.
Yeah. Exactly. Like I’m gonna do that.
Instead I paid 10 bucks for a month of wifi from a private company. It seems to work, though the airport system it’s riding on cuts me off every half hour.
The good news is that there are now only 11-1/2 hours of sitting here freezing my arse off before I can check in, and only another 2-1/2 after that before I’ll know whether I’ll actually be on that flight. Oh, and only one more TSA probing before I get where I’m going. And the “security” lines here are something beyond worst nightmares.
Did I mention that there were reasons I hated traveling?
Thanks for bearing with me through this rant.