Travel Blog

The opening of the James Patterson paperback, by the passenger to my left, marked my return to the real world. Our plane had left Seattle almost two hours late, effectively killing my chances of catching my connecting flight to Fort Lauderdale. So I leaned back, resigned in row 37, and read my own book. (Not a book by me, but not one by Patterson either.)

My other neighbor was a woman the same age and size as the man on my left, who soon nodded off. (So much for Patterson.) When the beverage cart arrived, the woman reached across me, gently touched the man’s arm, and called him Bob. For the first time in my life – even on an airplane – I had come between a man and his wife, a man so attached to the aisle seat, and a woman so fond of the window seat, that they were willing to sit apart for four hours. To their credit, they hardly said a word.

After landing in Houston – a gusty, flailing, heart-thumping return to earth – I called Hania who said that my next plane was delayed and I had 25 minutes to make it. It took about 10 to get off the plane. I walked briskly from Terminal C to Terminal E, where I occasionally broke into sprints. But, looking at my watch, I knew I would arrive before 8:40.

A little after 8:30 I arrived at Gate E27. “I’m here for the flight to Fort Lauderdale,” I announced, victoriously wiping the sweat from my forehead.

“It’s gone,” the woman at the counter said almost boastfully. “It left at 8:23.” She told me to go to the customer service center by Gate E2. I had passed it on my dash.

After the long walk back, I took my place in a line of losers. They looked like people you’d see at a bus station. Do no attractive or intelligent people ever miss planes? They do, I realized later, but they don’t go to customer service.

Hania called. I told her she had been wrong about the departure time. My tone was less than cordial. Had we been on a plane, a person sitting between us would have been a godsend.

When my turn finally came, the man behind the counter put me on a flight to Fort Lauderdale at 7:05 the next morning. I asked about lodging. He handed me a blue voucher that would get me a discount, though I would still have to pay, as the late arrival had been caused by bad weather, which was out of the airline’s control. On the voucher was a number for me to call.

I took a seat at a nearby café table and called the number. The man at the other end gave me two options: I chose the Knight’s Inn, which would set me back $59. The man said that I would have to take a taxi there, and then he gave me the address and telephone number, suggesting I call before leaving to confirm.

“Is this the Knight’s Inn?” I asked.

“It’s the Woodland Inn,” a man with a slight Indian accent said. “The name was changed.” I said I’d be there shortly.

Outside I took my place at the end of a taxi line. It was as long as the one at customer service, but the people in it looked more presentable. On the downside, the wind chill was probably around freezing. In Houston. And taxis had suddenly vanished from the earth.

(To be continued tomorrow.)