“If you don’t know it already, your flight has been canceled,” she said over the intercom, almost mockingly.
Michael and I had been at the Milan airport for nearly nine hours when we heard this announcement. We’d shopped all there was to shop, eaten all we could manage to eat, and surfed the internet as much as the slow airport service would provide. We were exhausted, although we’d only been sitting all day.
But let’s back up a bit.
Upon waking that morning, we discovered that our flight home had been delayed by two hours. Okay, that’s manageable, keep packing. My phone buzzed with a notification: delayed another three hours. Yeesh. Well, what can you do?
After zipping up our suitcases, we got another update from the airline: our 11:10 a.m. flight would now be departing at 6:15 p.m. Instead of arriving to Miami at 3:40 p.m. we would now be arriving at 10:45 p.m.
My first thought was, “Yay! More time in Milan!” (and because I’m slightly responsible, my second thought was, “Better let the boss know I won’t be in tomorrow,” while calculating the time at which it was appropriate to send that message due to the time difference).
Michael more reasonably suggested we go ahead and go to the airport because the flight status could change back. I resisted at first, making him call the airline to ask while I Googled what to do. All of the pages I opened contained horror stories of how people got left behind because their delayed flight ended up not-so-delayed, and they had to buy a brand-new, same-day (i.e. $$$) ticket. With sadness in my heart, I agreed to head to the airport, knowing we could be there for seven-ish hours.
We moseyed our way to the airport and arrived about the same time our flight was scheduled to depart. We waited in an incredibly slow ticketing line to check our bag of souvenirs. Finally, we reached the front and were swiftly assisted, meal vouchers in hand and a pamphlet detailing all we were entitled to for our troubles.
The time passed – we ate pizza, bought a few last souvenirs from Duty-Free, and wandered through the shops before heading through passport control to our gate.
I expected to see angry mobs, as our flight was initially supposed to have left four or five hours ago by this point. But there weren’t very many people around. Those who were in the terminal were sitting, drinking, reading, or smoking in the tiny smoking chamber.
As 6:15 p.m. approached, the crowd grew larger, and our departure time came and went. A gate agent finally spoke over the intercom, informing us the cabin temperature was too hot for the plane to depart, but not to worry, they were working on it.
Thirty minutes passed, and the voice came over the intercom again, telling us the same message, but also adding that we would board in twenty minutes. That’s when the fidgeting and unrest started creeping in amongst the passengers in the terminals. You could hear mutterings under breaths and watch a wave of scowls slide across faces. It’s understandable – it’s late, and everyone is just trying to get home or start their vacation.
The voice came back again, another thirty minutes or so later, saying that we would board in five minutes. We heard many complaints around us at this statement. And contrary to the gate agent’s statement, this is about the time that it started sinking in that we would not be boarding this plane tonight.
Just after 8:00 p.m., my phone vibrated – the flight was canceled. “It’s canceled,” I told Michael.
“What? What does that mean?” he asked.
“It means we’ll wait and see,” I said.
I could hear the pings and buzzes circling through the terminal, but no reaction was occurring from anyone.
Ten minutes later, the voice came through the speakers telling people what they might not know already.
The crowd erupted.
So we sat and waited while the bulk of the passengers crowded the desk, shouting.
After a full twenty minutes, they made another announcement, explaining that we would be receiving a hotel reservation and a new flight, and they would be giving us a toll-free number to call.
By this point, I had already received a notification from American Airlines that we had been rebooked the following day (and then a subsequent notification that our rebooked flight was delayed by three hours). What else could we do but wait? I looked at flights through other carriers – there were no other flights leaving that night.
We agreed to keep calm and collected and to be as kind to everyone we encountered as possible. I found it easy to be compassionate toward the staff, who were just doing their job on a very busy, hectic day. But it was much tougher to be compassionate toward our fellow passengers, who pushed and shoved and shouted for the next hour.
After receiving very confusing directions, we claimed our checked bags of souvenirs and collected our hotel voucher. We located the shuttle bus stop and stood way back from the crowd, who seemed ready to pounce on anyone who appeared to cut them in line.
A small bus pulled up, loaded, and took off, people shouting after it. We were told to wait at a specific spot on the curb, and that the next bus would pull in and pick us up there. A large charter bus pulled in – but it stopped about twenty people back in line.
Those at the “front” of the line were furious. I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen grown adults behave in this manner, and it was horrifying. Fighting through the crowds, removing other passengers’ luggage from the storage so they could slide theirs in, arguing with the driver to let them on board… All we could do was watch in disbelief.
Watch, that is, until a second charter bus pulled in, ahead of the first one. The remaining ten or so passengers (us included) loaded our items underneath, climbed on board, and motored out of there ahead of the first (now second to depart) bus.
I’m not sure what it was like on that other bus ride, but I can imagine it, and it doesn’t look pretty in my head. Anticipating what we might face as sixty or so passengers arrived at the check-in desk at the same time, I instructed Michael to retrieve our bags while I checked us in. It worked like a charm – I was first at the desk, greeted the staff with a smile, and received our room keys, just as the angry wolves rushed through the doors.
We ate an admittedly sad dinner at the hotel, which I’m sure weren’t expecting to feed guests at 10:00 p.m. But we smiled and ate while the other guests at our table made fun of the meal and complained, which didn’t get them anywhere. They perked up a little when we explained all we had read about compensation when flights are delayed out of the EU.
The next morning, I woke with the naive hope that a good night’s sleep would help with our fellow passengers’ moods. Wrong again.
It was another fight to get on the bus to go back to the airport, it was a fight again to get through to the ticketing counter, and it was a fight to get through security. It was exhausting, but we made it home in one piece (free wine on the plane helped).
It’s amazing though, when you think about it. All of that hassle from our fellow passengers, and we were all just going to the same place.
Well, what did we learn?
Avoid worrying over things that are out of your control and treating people with kindness will pay off. And speaking of payment, we are currently waiting for a couple of checks to arrive in the mail. EU Regulation 261/2004 requires airlines to pay up to €600 to passengers if their flight is either canceled or delayed by more than four hours and originates in the EU (or if the airline is based in the EU).
So, at least there’s that to look forward to (and not having to see any of our fellow passengers again is pretty nice too).
—
Update: we did indeed receive those checks in the mail, and they more than covered the cost of our flight.
Have you had a particularly rough flight experience? How did you cope?
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