Due to a delay, I have to rush to make my connecting flight. I get to the gate right at the last possible minute. Just as I’m about to turn at the gate, someone stops me.
Saleslady: “Can I speak to you about travel insurance?”
Me: “They’re closing my gate in five minutes.”
Saleslady: “This will only take two minutes.”
This story was featured in our May 2020 roundup!
I am flying back to the USA from Heathrow airport in London. I get to security and there is a woman in front of me with one of those HUGE purses, larger than the backpack I am carrying. There are multiple signs that explain the limitations of what you can bring on board a flight and even a guy going down the line telling us the limits.
We unload our respective bags and shoes into the trays and send them through the x-ray machine. While I am waiting for the lady herself to get scanned, I glance back at the x-ray machine, which has stopped. A cluster of people around the display are all peering intently at it and pointing at the screen.
After I get through the scanner and start getting my stuff, I see that they have pulled the lady aside and had her dump her purse out into a tray. It is loaded with several scores of bottles of perfume, some of which individually look to exceed the total liquid limit, let alone the single bottle limit. As I walk past I can hear the conversation.
Officer: “You cannot bring this much liquid on the plane.”
Lady: “But it’s just perfume.”
Officer: “That doesn’t matter; you still cannot bring it on the plane.”
Lady: “But it’s expensive perfume!”
I work a lot of conventions around the country, which means a lot of airport trips. I’m disabled, though I know how to handle airports by this point. I’m at my gate, ready for them to announce pre-boarding. They call for those with priority boarding: people with small children, active military, and people with disabilities. I start to get up to head towards the gate.
Passenger: “You aren’t priority! Wait your turn!”
I’m used to premature judgment, so I ignore him and use my cane to get in line. Instead of leaving me alone, he comes over and gets in my face.
Passenger: “I SAID, WAIT YOUR TURN! IF I CAN’T GET ON YET, YOU CAN’T, EITHER!”
I’m a little freaked out at this point. The man is obviously taller and stronger than me. A flight attendant rushes over.
Attendant: “Sir! I need you to back off!”
Passenger: “Tell this b**** to sit down! She ain’t priority!”
Attendant: “We will determine that. You need to sit down, sir.”
He takes a step back but refuses to go further.
Passenger: “If she can board early, I get to get on early, too! Ain’t no way she’s disabled!”
Attendant: “Ma’am, can I see your boarding pass?”
I hand it over.
Attendant: “All right, it shows that you did request priority boarding due to mobility disability. And you are obviously using a mobility aid.”
Passenger: “SHE’S LYING!”
He tries to rip my pass out of the attendant’s hand. Luckily, she steps out of the way.
Attendant: “I’m going to be calling security now. Ma’am, I’ll make sure you get on the plane with no problems.”
She walked me to a coworker and then called airport security. I boarded before seeing them arrive but did not see the man board the plane afterward. Fortunately, I’ve never had to deal with anything like that since.
This story was featured in our May 2020 roundup!
I work at an airport. I have a very thick German accent.
Me: “Now boarding gate three.”
A passenger comes up to my desk.
Passenger: “Sorry, but can you repeat that, but English, not Mexican?”
Me: “…”
After a job contract is up, we’re moving back home from Honolulu to Seattle. My husband is wrapping up the last bit of work in Hawaii while I fly home with our two-and-eight-ninths kids. That is, I’m a couple of days away from being thirty-six weeks pregnant, nearing the end of the time airlines and obstetricians like pregnant women flying. I’m very excited to get back home.
But it seems like everything is working against it. Part of the highway is closed to film an episode of Hawaii 5-0. The line to check in is way longer than anticipated. And there’s a line to check that we’re not exporting exotic flora. And there’s a huge line for security. At the end of this line, I accidentally leave a carry-on bag, not realizing until I’m halfway to the gate, so I have to go back. And of course, my husband was unable to get a gate escort pass, so he can’t help.
I end up running as fast as an eight-month-pregnant woman can, pushing my two-year-old in a stroller laden with carry-on bags, dragging my four-year-old, both kids crying, my glasses slipping down my nose from sweat; it’s hot in Hawaii, and our trek includes an outdoor walkway.
Fortunately, the plane crew knows we’ve checked in and a flight attendant is holding the door for us; they close it as soon as we’re through.
Out of breath and flushed, we make it to our seats, where the flight attendant and the passenger in the last of the four-seat middle row kindly help us stow our carry-ons and fold up the stroller. I notice the passenger’s eyes get big as he sees my obvious pregnancy bump.
“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “I still have a month to go, and my older two weren’t early. I have no labor symptoms, even after running through the airport, and I really, really want to get back to the mainland. If I start labor, I’m crossing my legs until it’s too late to turn back.” His relief is palpable!
We make it back with no new passengers arriving, and a flight attendant even helps me from our arrival gate to baggage claim where my parents meet us. I get her name and let her supervisor know.
My youngest is born three weeks later, well after my husband has rejoined us.
