(I’m trying to get on a flight for work to State College, PA. I have to be there by 7 pm for sound-check; the flight is scheduled to take off at 12:30 and land at 2 pm. At 12 pm, they announce a five-minute delay. Knowing that it’s NEVER a five-minute delay, I approach the desk.)

Me: “I just wanted to talk to someone about getting on another flight; I MUST be in State College this evening for work.”

Airline Employee: “Oh, it’ll be fine. We’ll just be a few minutes delayed.”

(Every few minutes, they announce another short delay. By 1 pm, I go back to the desk.)

Me: “Hi, I really need to talk to someone about getting on another flight.”

(At that moment, a VERY cranky passenger storms up and interrupts me to shout about the delay. Airline employee turns away from me to deal with it. He continues to rant, and another employee comes over. Now there’s a bunch of us in line, and everyone’s serving that one guy. I give up and return to my seat. At 1:30 pm, I return to the desk and again, just as I am about to be served, cranky man jumps up and starts yelling. At 2 pm, I try AGAIN, and by now there are FIVE airline employees serving him and everyone else is being ignored. Finally, at 2:30, I stand my ground.)

Me: “OK, the last time I checked, I was told it would be ‘just a few minutes until the plane took off. That was more than two hours ago. I fly tens of thousands of miles with you folks every year and I know you have other flights into this town – I NEED to get on the next flight. Can you help me?”

Airline Attendant: “Sorry, miss, but the last flight to State College left an hour ago. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Me: “…”

(I managed to get into town and to the venue with less than 20 minutes to spare.)

(My parents are waiting to go through airport security in the UK. My mother is profoundly deaf and uses a cochlear implant. Without it, she can only hear loud, indistinct noises – sirens, drills etc. Even with it, she has trouble hearing in the airport. Because part of the implant is internal and would set off the alarms, she has to use a different security gate without her aids before getting patted down. My dad explains this to the security officer.)

Officer: “You won’t be able to use this gate with your wife; you have to join the normal queue.”

Dad: “Could she wait until I’ve been checked through, so that I can help on the other side when she comes through?”

Officer: “No. Don’t worry; it’s fine. I know what I’m doing. You join the queue and I’ll just process her. It won’t take very long.”

Dad: “She won’t be able to hear anything you say when she’s removed her implant and hearing aid, so would you be able to sign or write any instructions you have for her? Or wait until I’ve come through?”

Officer: “Yes, yes. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

(My dad reluctantly joins the queue, while the officer takes my mother over to the other gate. She removes her aids and puts them in a box, then goes through the scanner. A DIFFERENT officer comes and does a vague shooing wave at her. Confused, she goes back through the scanner and returns to him. He starts picking up her arms like a doll to do the pat down (instead of demonstrating what he wants her to do). The original officer is just stood staring at them.)

Officer #2: “Do you have any other metal objects on you? Any loose change? Are you wearing a belt buckle?”

Dad: *from the line* “Excuse me! My wife is deaf; she can’t hear what you’re saying!”

(Officer #2 continues in an absurdly slow, loud voice. He stops his pat down and is pointing at her handbag. My mother looks at my dad, completely bewildered and panicked.)

Dad: *frustrated* “Can you at least give her the aids back, please?”

(Officer #2 ignores him, but my dad manages to get to the front of the queue, where he’s able to go and assist my mother with the irritated Officer #2 and pointless Officer #1. My mother was upset and embarrassed for quite a while afterwards. On the way home from holiday, the Italian security staff were very helpful and accommodating. I guess they have more understanding with language barriers?)

(I am taking a flight that transits in Shanghai. However, I’m informed that my second flight from Shanghai was changed to fly out earlier, which makes it impossible for me to catch it in time. I arrive in Shanghai and go to the information desk to ask where the transit counter is.)

Me: “Excuse me, I just missed my flight. Could you tell me where the transit counter is so I can get a new ticket?”

Employee: *doesn’t look at me, grunts, sneers, and rudely waves me off*

Me: *louder* “Excuse me, could you please help me?”

Employee: “NO!” *sneers at me again and flaps her hand at me*

Me: *annoyed and tired at this point, I very loudly reply* “Wow, THANK YOU so much! You’ve been so helpful! Really, fantastic customer service!”

(I heard laughter behind me from a Chinese family who witnessed the exchange. The dad offered to help and was able to ask another employee in Mandarin where I should go. I really wonder what the lady at the information desk thought her job was.)

(I am 20 years old and on my first cross-world trip, alone, flying from Ottawa, Canada to Cape Town, South Africa via long layover in London, UK. I also have a very short connection in Johannesburg (Joburg), South Africa before arriving in Cape Town. My dad wanted to help me and has set me up with his beloved travel agent to book all my flights and make sure everything is in order. She starts off by booking my flight from the Toronto airport because that’s where she lives, instead of the Ottawa airport, 400 km away, but that’s not relevant to this story. Before the flights are booked, approximately eight months before the trip:)

Me: “Can you make sure my bags are checked all the way through? Because I don’t want to have to worry about grabbing them before my connecting flight.”

Travel Agent: “Yes, absolutely. I will make sure that is done for you.”

(At the time we are booking the flights, approximately six months before the trip.)

Me: “Do I have to claim my bags in London? Because I really don’t want to lug my suitcase around with me the whole time.”

Travel Agent: “No, your bags are checked through. You won’t have to touch them until you land in Cape Town.”

Dad: “Yeah, it’s easy; I’ve done all this before.”

(A week before the trip I get an e-mail saying that my flights have changed.)

Me: “Are my bags still checked through?”

Travel Agent: “Of course, they just changed the aircraft. Nothing else.”

(The day of the trip at the Ottawa airport.)

Me: “Can you double check that my bags are checked through to Cape Town?”

Airport Attendant #1: “Yes, they are. You’re all set.”

(Almost a day later when I am boarding my flight to Joburg from London.)

Airport Attendant #2: “Now, don’t forget to pick up your bag before your connection. You’ll need to take it with you through customs.”

Me: “I was told my bags would be checked all the way through. I have a short layover in Joburg and won’t really have time to wait for baggage claim.”

Airport Attendant #2: “Well, it’s impossible to check a bag through like that. You need it with you when you go through customs and you need to go through customs to get from the international terminal to the domestic terminal in Joburg.”

Me: “So you can’t change it and check it through?”

Airport Attendant #2: “No.”

(After I pass through security and am waiting for my flight I call my dad. He flies often for work so he has a lot of experience in this matter. I am now crying for more than one reason: I am anxious that waiting for baggage claim will make me miss my flight, I hate last minute changes in plans that I can’t control, especially for something this big, and I am really upset and confused as to how I was assured multiple times by multiple people that my bags would be checked through.)

Me: “The woman here says that I need to claim my bag in Joburg before going through customs to my connecting flight. She says it can’t be checked through when it’s international to domestic.”

Dad: *totally unfazed* “Yeah. That’s normal.”

(I cannot tell you what happened next. I would have to censor the entire conversation.)

(I recently went to visit my parents with my boyfriend. Since part of the reason we were going to see them was my dad giving me a car, we had to be picked up at the airport by him. As we’re loading our bags into his trunk, I notice a black and silver walking stick in there. My Dad is getting a bit older, but he’s never needed a cane before, so I’m a little concerned.)

Me: “Dad? Why is there a cane in your trunk? Is everything okay?”

Dad: “Oh!” *grinning excitedly* “I haven’t shown you my cane yet? Check it out!”

(He takes the cane from the back, twists the top, and reveals that it is in fact a SWORD cane. Which would be really cool – if we weren’t still in the loading area of an airport.)

Me: “OH, MY GOD! Dad! Put that away!”

Dad: “But isn’t it cool?”

Me: “YOU ARE IN AN AIRPORT!”