I woke up today at 3:30am. Not because I planned to, but because (apparently) my body was more excited to go home than my mind was. After three months, I finally get to go back to Montreal. It’s a time of firsts for me: my first time being away from home this long, my first time traveling alone, and my first time flying in the winter. I anticipated the process to be without worry, something I had to go through to get back home.
Plot twist: it wasn’t.
When I went to the airport’s counter for my ticket, rather than receiving a smile along with my ticket, I got a frown and the delightful news that I was not in the flight. They couldn’t find my name. Try looking for your confirmation number? Try calling reservation to look for your ticket? But to no avail. Apparently, when my dad booked for the plane, the PayPal payment didn’t go through and the transaction was canceled.
And American Airlines didn’t email my dad to inform him about the cancellation. We were blissfully unaware of it until I actually got the airport.
At this point, I went to sit down as my dad frantically tried to find another flight. I was too tired to be mad or upset about it (remember, I woke up at 3:30am and though I went back to sleep, I was still sleep deprived). My friend Elizabeth, who drove me, waited with me for a call or email from my dad with information about what my next move was. I felt bad for keeping Elizabeth longer than anticipated because now she had to pay for parking since she stayed for longer than twenty minutes, but I rationalized my worry by blaming it on American Airlines.
After thirty minutes, my dad called saying that *thankfully* he booked another flight at 3:15…a good five hours from my original flight time of 10:15. And, he booked it with Delta airlines instead of American Airlines. It didn’t end there; he wrote a letter to the head of American Airlines and posted it publicly on Facebook, which people responded to saying that AA commonly had complaints.
I was thankful that I was able to be back home tonight, but at the same time the later flight time meant that I’d miss my orchestra’s concert. It seemed like such serendipity that I was able to attend the concert at 7:30pm with the original flight plan, but alas. Perhaps next time…
So here I am, two hours away from the flight now going to Atlanta. Within the other three hours, I have taken a nap (full on hobo style, hugging my backpack sprawled across two seats), eaten lunch, gone through some emails five years ago, read some magazines, and Instagrammed. Oh, and I took pictures of my surroundings:
Elizabeth waiting with me for further instructions. She’s a total sweetheart to have waited with me that long!-
Hallway to the gates…
…of which, there are only like 10. Or less.
It’s a tiny airport with not much to do. At least they had a restaurant~
I now have two hours left…I think I’ll blog some more than watch some episodes of Roommate. See you in Atlanta!