Flying 28.10.2008
I pretty much hate flying. Not the actual being in the plane part, but dealing with all the insane bullshit of the airlines. I know this is a common complaint, but this last year has been really epic with delays, cancelations, surly flight attendants, insane passengers and confused, incompetent security.
Like a lot of working photographers I carry on my work bag, since getting all your gear lost or broken on the way to a job is one of those nightmares that I actually dream about from time to time. It’s the photographers version of being naked in high-school math class. And like a lot of other photographers I know I’ve had that inevitable flight where all the overhead space gets jacked before you get on and you get to engage in the fun conversation where you explain exactly why there is no way in hell you’re going to check your bag.
It’s always been frustrating, but now, with the new $15-$25 checked bag charges and every passenger rocking a roller-bag carryon it’s reached epic proportions of absurdity.
Coming home yesterday I got bumped onto a codeshare with US Airways, who I don’t really care for (charging for water on an airline is criminal I think). Naturally because of the totally random nature of the boarding process I was in Zone 7, meaning at the point I could board they came and announced that there was no more overhead space and all carry-ons had to be checked.
I’ve been through this a few times over the years, so I put on my most reasonable, least belligerent face and explained why I couldn’t check my bag (airlines won’t cover broken camera equipment and if lost cap out at $3000, generally a value significantly less than what I’m carrying on). The attendant wasn’t having it. So I asked if they could stow the bag in the crew luggage space and pass it back to me when I got to Phili (where I was laying over). This has worked for me a couple times and isn’t a totally unreasonable request. But no. This guy was getting all rule crazy on me and said that the bag had to be checked through to Chicago. He was getting heated. And yeah, I was rapidly losing my patience. I asked what my options were and was told I could leave and go get another plane.
To which I replied “Ok. That’s fine. Later.” and turned to go, fully intending to walk to the Southwest desk and buy a one way ticket home. Screw these guys, I thought.
At which point the couple of SoCal paintball kids I had been talking with in line jumped in and offered to check all their carry-ons and let me stick my bag under one of their seats. Which was so awesome. And unexpected. And awesome. And a victory for the forces of goodness, right and common human courtesy in the face of bureaucratic indifference.
Those kids are awesome and need to track me down in San Diego in a couple weeks so I can thank them again.
