Angel Agents

Fine. Lesson learned. When forced to make a decision between driving to Monroe, Louisiana or flying with a connection, I will now drive. Always.

My flight from Houston to Monroe had me stopping at DFW for a quick one hour layover. When it was announced our flight out of Houston would be delayed an hour, I thought, well there goes my connection. I spoke with the agent in Houston who didn't seem to think it would be much of a problem as we would probably make up some time in the air. Ok, I thought, I'll pray for a miracle then. Sure enough our plane lingered on the runway and when we landed at DFW my flight to Monroe had already left. Cool. Not really.

I was now forced to make a decision. There were no more flights to small town Monroe that night and there were none early enough in the morning for me to make it to my hearings. Do I now drive the four hours to Monroe? I had a hotel waiting there and my clients had been waiting three months for their hearing date. Or do I forget the whole thing, I tried after all, call my clients, and find a hotel in Dallas for the night? I opted for the path of least resistance and decided to suck it up and drive to Monroe. It was going to be a late night.

This brings me to my first angel agent.

John

I'm not sure if the United agent at DFW that helped me was in fact named John, but, given the other two agents in this story, it had to have been.

I explained to John in a pleasant but fatigued and isn't-tonight-going-to-be-fun sort of way about my predicament.  Because there were no other flights to choose from, he kindly processed a refund for the flight I had missed. In addition, he decided to take pity on a lonely, destitute female who would now have to make her way to a "foreign" land in the dead of night and gave me, wait for it, a $100 voucher to be used on any United flight within the next year! I'll take it!

John was a saint and I'm not sure I adequately thanked him enough for going above and beyond.

Peter

Yes, the rental car agent was in fact named Peter. I'm not sure he was really an angel agent. More like a tempter agent, but we'll call him an angel for getting me a one-way car rental and for keeping me awake my first hour of driving. I'll explain.

Pete was a great listener. He heard my sad little tale along with the over sharings that usually come out of my mouth in times of stress. Something I over shared must have elicited the following comment.

"I don't understand why women think, if they're not all done up, they're ugly." He slowly shook his head. Was this an indirect compliment or just a reflection on my gender as a whole? I couldn't tell.

But then, knowing I was headed through Shreveport, he offered, "If it was the weekend, I'd take you to the casino."

Now we're talking. If this were a movie, we would now cut to visions of me and Petey headed east in a rented convertible, my hair and scarf flapping in the wind, hands high in the air, shades on, red lips smiling, and both of us gleefully anticipating drowning in coins and poker chips with our new found love interest. But it wasn't the weekend, it was a Wednesday. And my health and safety remained in tact.

But it was these visions (and a chocolate shake, phone call, and music) that kept me awake as I started my four hour drive at 10:00 at night.

James

So yes, my angel agents were Peter, James and well, maybe John.

I did safely arrive into Monroe and made it to my hearings the next morning. For some reason I was booked on a late afternoon return flight. When it was announced that the flight out of Monroe was delayed an hour and that once again I would miss my connection in Dallas, I tried my best to hold it together. But after only four hours of sleep, I was deteriorating fast.

This is when the stars aligned and I met James. Sweet, blessed James. James did the impossible. He transferred my American Airlines ticket to a United flight. The United flight boarded in just twenty minutes. It was a direct flight into Houston. I would arrive three hours ahead of schedule. I got a window seat and an aisle seat. I got to land in Terminal B. I, therefore, got to restock on a much needed supply of chocolate covered gummy bears for a friend and I. I got to go to bed early. This was a miracle.

John was generous. Pete was fun. But James, you did the impossible. You have my heart.

TSA Pre-Check

Last week I was at the Houston airport on my way to El Paso.  Because I was only carrying a computer bag, presumably, I got ushered into the TSA pre-check line. Sweet. I zoomed past the ever growing standard security line right up to the conveyor belt. Here I found I did not need to take out my laptop or liquids or remove my belt or shoes. No plastic bins for me! Well, I did have to take off my shoes when they beeped in the metal detector, but if they hadn't (heels!) I would've walked right on through. And that's another thing - there was no body scanner! No need to raise my arms (or shake my hips for that matter).

I was sold on TSA pre-check! Why had I not signed up before?

So today, I finally got on the website thinking I'll just have to insert some personal information, they'll run a background check and voila - no more hassle for me. But wait...it's not so simple.

Sure, I can fill out an application and pre-enroll online, but then I have to drive to an enrollment center to be fingerprinted. The closest one to me and the only one in Houston is 32 miles from my house. I also must pay a non-refundable application fee of $85.00. Humph. Should I complete all these steps successfully and be approved, I will receive a notice in the mail 2-3 weeks after visiting the enrollment center. I will be given a "Known Traveler Number" that is valid for five years. When I book travel on one of the 9 participating airlines, I submit this KTN. A TSA pre-check logo will appear on my boarding pass allowing me to access the TSA pre-check security line. Smaller airports, the ones I frequent most, do not offer this separate security line.

So is this all worth it? Just to spare a few minutes in the security line? To avoid taking off shoes and taking out laptops?

I can understand there has to be some fee involved (although $85 is pretty steep I think) and I understand the need for an expiration date on the KTN. But why are the enrollment centers not at the airport?

Let's think about this. People choosing to sign up for this program are those that travel often. They are at airports on a regular basis. They want to sign up to save time. Why then would they want to drive 30 miles out of their way and take up the precious time they are trying to save by signing up in the first place? The program deals with airport security. The interested parties are frequent flyers. Put the enrollment centers at the airport!

In full disclosure, TSA did just open an application center at Dulles airport (see here). Hopefully the trend will continue.

But until one opens up at Houston Bush, I'll just travel light and smile my way into the pre-check line unapproved.

What about you? Will you sign up? If not, what's stopping you? If you have already, was it worth it?

Mr. 17D

I sat next to Mr. 17D today on my way from DFW to El Paso. 17D, we'll call him for short, was returning from the Super Bowl with his two sons. He called himself “Charlie from Chihuahua.” He was a very friendly man who was not deterred from talking to me even though I had a book open and even though the flight attendant had emphatically hushed him during the safety demonstration.

Once airborne, 17D began show and tell. First, he showed me the football helmet he had bought at the Super Bowl where his two sons both won $1,000 each on their bet on the Seahawks. He loved his helmet so much he put it on and wore it down the aisle on his trip to the bathroom. After his return he began showing me clothes he had bought while in New York. Asking if I liked them. While this is going on I grab my laptop and begin working furiously. “Don't work. Just relax,” he told me. He ordered a bloody Mary and began showing me pictures on his iPhone of his family, his home, and all his luxurious possessions. He asked if I was married. Said I was very beautiful. Said maybe one day I'd marry a Mexican guy. Maybe. There were intermittent moments of silence where he did in fact let me work. His limited English prevented us from having an open dialogue. I was grateful not only for the language barrier but also for the spare seat between us. Even though I speak English very well, my responses to him were just one word – nice, cool, ok.

17D flagged the flight attendant to ask for another Bloody Mary before landing. I gave the attendant a warning look – not a good idea. Apparently, it wasn't her call to make. 17D was a self-declared alcoholic. At least he was honest.

As we landed, 17D said that maybe in another life he would marry me. Maybe. Let's not forget the wife you already have sir. He gave me his business card. Said maybe I could email him. Maybe. I gave him a card in return. One with a religious link on it. I said it might help with his alcohol problem.

So question:

 

Are you an airplane conversationalist?

If not, how do you politely tell the guy sitting next to you – dude, leave me alone – keeping in mind that the entire airplane is listening to your exchange and you have nowhere to run?

Stranded in Houston

I'm sitting in a hotel room in Alexandria, LA that has no internet service. I forgot to book my hotel until yesterday and the only room I could get close to budget was in this hotel where the doors open to the outside. I hate hotels like this. Not only are they cheap, but I'm super paranoid about who might be walking outside my door. The front desk lady said the reason for the no vacancies and expensive hotel stays this week was due to a Pentecostal Conference. That made me feel a little better. At least the noises outside my door tonight will be the soft foot-steps of humble church-goers as opposed to the footfalls of shady miscreants. At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

Last week I booked hotel stays for 5 nights. Sunday – Corpus Christi. Monday – Harlingen. Tuesday – Lafayette. Wednesday & Thursday – back to Harlingen. Because I would be spending most of the week in South Texas, I decided to drive to Corpus Christi and then on to Harlingen with my personal vehicle. To get to Lafayette I bought round trip airfare out of Harlingen with layovers in Houston and left my car at the Harlingen airport.

On my flight out of Harlingen I met some Winter Texans. They were clearly identified by their age (over 70) and their jackets embossed with the words “Winter Texans.” They were from Manitoba and were staying in the Harlingen area for 3 months. And no, they were not headed back to Canada. They were off to Vegas for the weekend. Retirement must be hard.

My trip to Lafayette went well. While I was there, I was admonished by an expert to learn how to pronounce French names if I was going to do hearings in Louisiana. I don't care if Cajuns pronounce Richard, Ree-shard. Richard is also an English name, is it not?

During my layover in Houston, on my return trip to Harlingen, I struck up a nice conversation with a guy who asked to borrow my computer power cord. He was headed to Bakersfield, home of my older sister, and was returning from a trip to Ireland with his parents. He mentioned he had considered moving his company to Houston due to the cheap real estate. I told him he should. (His company makes drugs for horses – at least that's how I understood it.) The conversation soured a little when religion came up (let's clear the air now – yes, I have lived in Utah), but he did promise to say hello to my sis should he ever bump into her.

My flight was supposed to leave right after the Bakersfield flight, but then the announcement came that the mechanics were being called out to take a look at the plane. I saw the mechanics with my own eyes so it must have been an actual problem, not one they make up when the flight isn't full. After several minutes, the dreaded announcement came - the flight had been canceled.

For some reason, I wasn't too upset. Stranded in Houston – I'm okay with that. I live here! I jumped at the chance to sleep in my own bed. While I waited in line for new flight information, I remembered that although I was here, and my bed was here, my car was not. Doh. Ok, not the best situation obviously, but that's okay. I'll sleep in the hotel the airline provides, take the 9:00 a.m flight, and will just have to miss my 8:30 a.m. hearing. There's nothing I can do about it. In fact, I was secretly happy that I would get out my hearing.

But then I remembered that although my hearing was in Harlingen, and my client would be there, the Judge was in Houston*. And the Judge knew me. And the Judge knew I was from Houston. And the Judge would not understand why I missed my hearing because my flight got canceled when I live in Houston and should be in Houston at the very least. Despite wanting to cry, which is usually what happens in these situations, I started laughing. The reality was I hadn't been home all week. The reality was that I did not have a vehicle. The reality was my car was in Harlingen! The reality was I may be home but I was stranded.

Feeling like a visitor in my hometown, I board the rental car shuttle bus and make my way to the rental car center. Trying to explain to the agent how it is that I got stranded in my hometown without a vehicle while my vehicle was actually in the place where I was trying to go was a bit interesting.

My rental options included a Nissan Versa or a Volkswagon Beetle. The agent decided to give me the Beetle because her first date was in a Beetle and I would have fun. She did admit that her first date in the Beetle was also her last, so they couldn't be that fun. And let's be honest, when a big Texas-sized pick-up truck pulled up beside me at the red light, I wanted to roll down my window and let him know, “I didn't pick this car.”

While the car was not my own, it did take me safely to my wonderful apartment where for five blissful hours I slept in my own bed. I ate gluten-free cereal for breakfast. I checked my mail. I picked up my swimsuit for the extra night I was now planning in South Padre. It never felt so good to be home and I did not want to leave....but I did want my car. If I could pick any superpower, it would be the power to teleport. Hands. Down. I wanted my home and my car (and my dog!) but I wanted them together. I felt oddly unsettled without my vehicle.

My hearing in Houston was fine and my client in Harlingen never showed (of course). I eventually made it back to Harlingen for the next day's hearing and was reunited with my beloved Toyota Corolla. I can't tell you how happy I was to be back with her. (After seven years, I've finally decided my car is a she.) I think I was more excited to be back with my car after realizing what home would be like without her than I was to spend a night in my own bed.

My car and I have traveled thousands of miles together. Over 130,000. We've shared meals together. We've worked together. Napped together. She's seen me on my worst days and on my best. She's knows what music I like. What books I've listened to. She embraces my dog. She's the most trustworthy travel companion I've had yet. I would feel lost without her.

Getting stranded in Houston allowed me to sleep in my bed sure, but as a result, my head would not hit the same pillow for six consecutive nights. As a nomadic businesswoman, I crave the feeling of home. To be in my home but without my car was a cruel teaser. I felt homeless in my hometown. A feeling I'm still recovering from as I sit in a lonely Alexandria hotel room. Oh, to live a stationary life...

*Hearings in remote locations are often done “VTC” (video conference). The client and attorney are at the hearing location while the judge is on video from a larger hearing office like Houston or San Antonio.

TSA

 

Tuesday I woke-up up at 3:00 a.m. to make my flight to El Paso. The trip was uneventful as was my interaction with airport security. Like many trips before, my conversation with the TSA consisted mostly of orders to take off jackets and shoes and empty out liquids and laptops. Unlike this trip, however, I have found that sometimes TSA agents have more to say.

 

Sometimes TSA agents are curious.

 

Like the time I wore my Mellow Johnny's shirt:

 

Agent: Where's Mellow Johnny's Bike Shop?

Me:      Austin

Agent: Who's Mellow Johnny? Is he a good guy?

Me:      Well, it's Lance Armstrong's store, so....[Draw your own conclusions.]

Sometimes TSA agents are sweet.

Like the day I had the sniffles and was feeling sub-par at best:

 

Agent: Have you ever had strangers tell you how cute your freckles are?

Me:     No, but thanks.

Agent: You're not one of those girls who wishes they didn't have them are you?

Me:     Some days

Agent: Well, don't. Keep 'em.

 

And sometimes a TSA agent will want your phone number.

Except he can't write it down because he's working. So he'll give you his instead.

 

I was next in line at the security checkpoint in Terminal A when all of a sudden I hear my name being called. I look up alarmed. Why is there a TSA agent calling me...by name? I have not shown anyone my ID yet right?

 

3 security booths down I see Young Agent. Oh hello!

 

During law school I had taken a nonlegal part-time job to get me through my final year. The job helped me financially, but also gave my mind a much needed break. Young Agent and I had worked together.

 

Young Agent seemed excited to see me from his perch 3 lines over but we couldn't really talk as this was airport security and he appeared to be in training.

 

I whiz through ID verification. (The fact that a fellow TSA agent called me by name no doubt boosted my credibility.)

 

I quickly start undressing, whisking out my liquids and loading up my plastic bins. I bend down to take off my shoes. When I raise my head again, there's Young Agent on the other side of the conveyor belt.

 

YA: So how you been? Your hair looks different.

 

By different he probably means dry. We were swim instructors and he rarely saw me properly clothed.

 

We play catch-up for a second when it's clear he wants my number. He remembers that he's in training and can't write it down so he suggests that I get his number and send him a text. To avoid an awkward moment, I grab my phone before it gets sucked into the bag scanner and jot down his digits.

I'm then being propelled towards the body scanner. Old Agent is there to give me my cue.

OA: So you know Young Agent?

Me: Yeah, we used to work together.

OA: That's what he said. [Smiling amusedly.]

 

News travels fast.

 

As I come out the other side of the body scanner and retrieve my things, Young Agent appears again for the third time.

 

He travels fast too.

YA: Don't forget to text me your number!

Me: Sure thing.

I turn the corner, find a bench, and put my shoes back on as I fight the urge to laugh. I've never run into a TSA agent I've known before. And I've never had one ask me for my number. My trip was starting off well.

In the end, I make the cruel decision not to text him. I figure his heart might break when he realizes I'm ten years his senior. I was never very good at texting anyway (just ask Texting Cowboy).

 

But to the single ladies, as you travel home this holiday season, don't rush too fast through those TSA checkpoints. You never know where love could be lurking. And say, while your arms are raised for those 3 seconds in the body scanner, do what I've always been tempted to do - shake your hips and hope for the best.*

 

*Advice given by my little sister - as it applies to life not necessarily body scanners.
 

Flying Lessons

Here are a few things I've learned from flying this year.

1. If you wear a navy suit at DFW airport, you will be mistaken for a flight attendant. The first time you are asked for directions, you will think nothing of it. The second time, you will think it's just your friendly face. The 3rd time you are asked for directions within a five minute time frame, you will realize it is just a case of mistaken identity.

2. Driving on the wrong side of a divided highway going 65 mph in the dead of night could result in death. (This may seem obvious, but I was not the only one to have done this after leaving the Abilene airport in a rental car. According to the rental car agent, three people have died doing exactly that. The 18-wheeler I passed sure didn't seem to notice anything amiss.)

3. Sitting at your gate prior to your scheduled departure time does not ensure you will hear your boarding call or make your flight. If, after missing your flight, you try to book the last flight to a neighboring city, you will find that after several delays that flight will be canceled. After spending six hours at the airport and getting nowhere, you will finally realize the only option left is to try again in the morning. (Bytheway, this has also happened to other seemingly responsible people I know. I blame small planes and the caos of Terminal B.)

4. When you finally make it to your destination after enduring scenario #3, do not overindulge in fine spirits - you will be arrested for public drunkenness. (This was not me!)

5. On a similar note to #3, a canceled flight to Lubbock may mean a late night drive to Ft. Worth. Though you may not be with your clients, you'll at least be with the Judge.

6. If you are going to forget your book on the plane, be sure to use your boarding pass as a bookmark. The American Airlines attendants will return it to you on your flight home.

7. Even though there may be seven TSA agents at your gate checking identification for a second time prior to boarding on the day after the federal government has shutdown and rid itself of all non-essentials, try to rest assured that this sporadic security measure is now standard procedure at DFW. Of course despite being informed of this, for the duration of the flight you will be considering what course of action to take when the unidentified terrorist makes his move.

8. Although you have just read a book about a girl's fear of drowning and your plane's descent into Myrtle Beach is taking you closer, Closer, and CLOSER! to the ocean below with no runway in sight, you will touch down unharmed.

9. When traveling out of Bush, keep an eye out for passengers, TSA agents, grounds crew, flight attendants, and pilots you may know. (Yes, I've known and run into at least one in each category.)

(I hope everyone's made it this far because #10 is the most important!)

10. Never, EVER, sit next to a woman who is eating chicken noodle soup prior to take-off. Said woman WILL spew/project/launch the contents of her stomach upon landing. She will take out at least seven people in three different rows. Although you are sitting next to her, you will miraculously be saved, but you will be rendered incapacitated due to approaching levels of medical shock.