Thank you, United Airlines

Thank you, United Airlines…

 

Folk singer, Tom Paxton, had a wonderful song called, “Thank you, Republic Airlines,” whose baggage handlers had broken his guitar.  The thank you was prelude to a series of curses that played out when Republic went the way of the dodo.

 

My thank you is somewhat more sincere—assuming that United does not break my bicycle.  (When paying them $80 for the privilege of checking my bicycle as luggage, I had to sign a waiver that basically said that United makes no promises about my bicycle arriving at its destination intact, or even at all.  Although I knew it was coming, that waiver made me very uneasy at the start of what I hope will be a cross-country bicycle trek.)

 

My thanks to United is for making me intensely grateful that I will be returning by bicycle rather than by air.  Every time I have flown United out of Dulles over the past few years, the check-in procedure has been different.  It used to be that there were many attendants who worked their computers to produce boarding passes and tag luggage.  Last time out, there were still lines for old-fashion check-in, but also a bank of computer terminals for self-check-in.  This time, I could only get to a human after trying my luck with self-check-in.  I waited in a long line, eventually entered my credit card, and was informed that I needed the help of an attendant.  My guess is that the computer flagged me as a potential terrorist since I’m flying one way.  (What’s up with that?)

 

There was exactly one attendant to help the many people who were rejected by their computers, and she looked extremely unhappy.  I waited while she tried to parse a family’s Indian passports and after much frowning and keypunching was able to provide boarding passes.  She told several Germans sent over by Lufthansa that they had no reservation for their ticket to Frankfort, although did for the connection to Prague or wherever and suggested they go to Lufthansa.  Ultimately, a higher authority was able to arrange for their tickets.  Several people said they were checking in for flights within 45 minutes and she said dispassionately, “Not today,” and then helped them book flights for tomorrow.  (Remember, allow at least 6 hours for domestic flights and don’t even think about flying internationally.)  Eventually, about an hour after I arrived at the airport, she turned her attention to one-way Len with bicycle.  I signed the waiver, paid my $80, established that exit rows were reserved for very small people with many miles on United (the only kind of people who could survive many miles in coach in United), and sent me off to security.

 

The security line began near the street exit from Dulles and ran back and forth hundreds of yards before winding between check-in counters to another labyrinth of lines of unknown distance and time.  People who had apparently apprenticed as pushers on the Japanese subway waved people along and promised that the many choices that one could make along the way would make absolutely no difference.  (TSA motto:  we can make you miss your flight from any line.)  Near the x-ray machines, a 20-year old warned sternly and repeatedly that lighters would be confiscated, laptops had to be removed from their cases, shoes ought to be removed, and just to be safe, why not undress?  I made it through without undressing or a body cavity search, but I knew I was taking a risk.  By the time I got to infield terminal D, I felt that I had run a gauntlet, and my fellow passengers looked equally drained.

 

At the gate, the agent told me that the exit row seats were all reserved for leprechauns and that first class was full (I was on a wait-list for an upgrade), although I might get lucky:  someone might miss a connection.  We’ll see.  An announcement promised that we could buy restaurant quality meals on board the plane.  They didn’t say which restaurant they had in mind, but I have my suspicions.  I’m sitting here hoping some first classers get stranded in Pittsburgh because I suspect I will have trouble cycling after sitting 5 hours in United’s economy minus section.  The last time I tried, my knees hurt for weeks afterward.

 

The funny thing is that I spent a fortune on the United ticket, thinking a nonstop would be safer for my bike than connecting flights and, heck, I have miles to use for an upgrade.  That is the quintessential triumph of hope over experience.

 

So, thank you, United Airlines.  Please don’t break my bicycle.

 

Cheers,

 

Len

(From Dulles Airport, Terminal D)