Maybe There’s More to the Story
There was nothing I could do.
Rules are rules.
The retirement-age lady stared at me with
icy eyes,
“You can’t give me MY suitcase?”
“I work for American,” I explained,
“You fly with United.
“A United worker should come by soon.”
The lady breathed out her frustration
and stormed off.
How rude and quick tempered, I thought.
I had met all kinds
Working at this small Durango, Colorado
airport
these twenty-some years.
But maybe there’s more to the story.
Maybe two days earlier she started in Quebec
City
when there was an ice storm.
Maybe she sat on the plane with her
traveling companion
for hours as workers tried to de-ice the
plane.
Maybe they taxied to the runway,
but the pilot waited out reported
turbulence,
then the plane needed de-iced again.
Maybe it was too windy for the sprayer,
so the flight was cancelled.
Maybe she and her traveling partner
dished out money for a taxi and hotel.
Maybe they had to get up at three AM
and then stand in a long line at the
airport.
Then maybe they made it through security
and waited some more
as the second plane was delayed,
as authorities decided
if it was safe enough to fly in the
blizzard.
And then, maybe they finally made it to
Newark
where she and her traveling partner went
their own ways.
And maybe this lady went through the long
process
of rechecking her bag, going through
customs,
taking the sky train to the right terminal,
and taking a shuttle to the right place in
the terminal.
Maybe by the time she got there she missed
her flight to Denver
and was told she’d have to wait till six AM
to get the next flight out.
Maybe she wandered around for hours,
passing the time,
eating, dozing off and in her wandering
learned another plane was leaving for
Denver in the evening.
Maybe with a prayer and fingers crossed,
she
signed up for standby.
Then maybe she got on the plane and it was
delayed again.
Maybe there was bad turbulence a good part
of the flight,
bouncing up and down like an old pickup on
a dirt road.
Maybe by the time she made it to Denver,
she missed the plane to Durango.
Maybe the next available flight wasn’t till
three PM the next day.
Maybe she got on standby again for the eight
AM flight.
Maybe she tried to sleep all night
on a small couch in the Denver airport
next to a moving sidewalk that went
clackety clack,
with the loud speaker blaring reminding
people
to watch their luggage and not accept
anyone’s else’s,
and the janitorial staff operating their noisy
equipment.
Maybe the lights were bright and the air
was cold.
Maybe she got up early, hoping and praying
she’d make the flight to Durango at eight
AM.
Maybe her blood pressure meds had run out
and she was feeling headachy.
Maybe she did make it on the flight
and by the time she got to me,
she had one more hour to drive
over the mountain to the next town
to make it home.
Maybe when I couldn’t give her luggage,
it was the proverbial straw that broke the
camel’s back.
When the United personnel finally came
maybe the traveler tried to apologize
as she explained she’d been trying to get
home
for over fifty hours.
Maybe she made it home okay,
happily reunited with her husband,
had a good meal,
and took a nap.
Maybe her behavior
was understandable.
