Milanoooooo (Part Two)

(Continued from previous post)

I remained calm and thought about options.  I reasoned I must have had my credit card it in the store when I bought the camera, that was the last place I had it…but it was way passed closing time by that point, and my train left at 5am.  Working under the assumption that it was not stolen, I did not cancel it.  I decided it would be better to wait until I was at the airport with internet access, transfer all my money online from that account to my other card, and just get a new one in New York.  Back at the hostel, I asked the guy in the room whether he wasn’t in dire need of exactly four american dollars in exchange for two euros.  In fact he was not, but he was kind enough to indulge me.

You will recall I chose Milan because the flights were totally empty, a sure thing?  Well, one of the great perils of flying standby is sometimes these things change.  You show up at the airport expecting to go home and suddenly where there were 35 seats available, there are now -32.  This sort of thing happens when another flight-sometimes from another airline-is cancelled and they stick all the nice, paying passengers onto the flight you wanted to take.  You can’t really get mad.  But you get pretty mad.

This is the situation I and about seven other standby travelers found ourselves in.  I was the only one with a computer, so I was pretty popular because I could see the number of available seats and listed standbys.  A few of the others had come to Milan by train specifically to leave it because the flights had looked so good the day before.  They came bearing horror stories of the backups at other European airports.  One such traveler was a girl named Kimmy, who had come from Venice in search of an exit.  All other flights from Milan to anywhere in the US (all three of them) were overbooked as well.  At last, Kimmy and I pair up and decide to head back into town.  The only upside to this is that I might be able to track down my card.  But first, I skype my boss.  He has no idea I’m even in Italy, and I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be pleased.  After the initial shock of why I’ll be missing work the next day wears off, he is surprisingly non-murderous, and tells me just to get back as soon as I can.

After the hour train ride back to the city, Kimmy heads off to the hostel and I set out back to the camera store.  Having spent all day at the airport, it is now near closing time again.  It’s a small shop and the same girl is working the counter as before.  She looks at me for a minute, then her eyes widen in recognition.

“Carte di credito!” she shouts.

“Yes!” I join.  “Carte di credito!”  We dance.

It may sound counter-intuitive, but I was glad I didn’t cancel the thing.  First off, my clothes stunk and there was no time for laundry, or to line dry something I’d washed myself, so a fancy new $2 shirt was purchased.  I’m still too cheap for a towel though.  Once back at the hostel, I take a shower and use a less stinky shirt to dry off.  SUCCESS.  Between being on a plane, being jetlagged, and having to wake up at stupid early hours to catch trains to get to planes, I am exhausted.  I pass out for a 4am train the next morning.

Kimmy and I are back at the airport bright and early, along with the other freeloaders who’ve  been stranded.  We are all friendly with each other, but deep down, there is an undercurrent of fear, distrust, and resentment.  The wait list is prioritized by hire date, but there are wild cards, like the ability to upgrade at the last minute, more people joining in the line, etc…it’s complicated and uncertain.  Some may make it, others will be left behind.  I help people look up flights and numbers and different routes on my computer, but secretly I want to book them all to TAIWAN.  As it happens, no one gets on the New York flight.  Again.  Or to Atlanta.  Or Miami.  The flights look just as bad for the next day.  Kimmy and I sit down to weigh our options.  There are many more flights to the US every day through Paris, Amsterdam, London, but all of these look full too.  And getting there is complicated.  We would probably have to shell out big cash to get there on a different airline (bus?  train?) and even then, it’s still standby.  We wait in line at all the ticket counters, asking how the flights look, getting the same response: “This time of year?  It’s impossible.”

We spend hours this way, shuttling back and forth to airline counters, tearing our hair out looking at the computer for alternate route options.  I look at going through Shanghai towards Los Angeles.  At this point, I do not care where I land on the continent, I just want to cross an ocean.  Any ocean.  Kimmy is young and sweet and reserved and says things like “golly” and “well phooey”, while patiently texting her mom.  I, meanwhile, am on my laptop, yelling, “GODDAMN IT!  EVEN FRANKFURT IS A SHITSHOW!  ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”  I work in a shopfull of men.  Blame them.

Eventually we decide on different routes, partly because our destinations are different and partly because we know that as long as we travel together, we will be in competition with the other, each willing to do unspeakable things  for the chance at a seat.    My plan involves catching a bus to another Milan airport.  The flight leaves the next morning to Amsterdam, but it’s too early to catch a bus the next day, so I have to act now.  As it happens, when I show up at the airport, I see that there is one last flight leaving to Amsterdam that night in a few minutes.  I run to the ticket counter, tell them I have a ticket for the following morning, but could I please please go now?  The guy says I probably won’t make it, but prints me a pass to get in….without checking my ID or anything.  Furthermore, no one was even manning the security point to check tickets?  I literally just walked in, no questions asked.  Unfortunately the flight had not left, but it was closed.  So it was to be a night at the airport.

There is an art to sleeping at airports, train stations, general public spaces, and I consider myself something of a professional.  I doubt many of you will find yourself in the position to try these out, but if you ever do:

1.)  If you are inside a 24hr airport already, it’s pretty straightforward.  Familiarize yourself with your surroundings, your new home.  Try to find a gate without any immediate departing flights, it’s quieter.  Look for a bench or a row of chairs without armrests so you can lie down, aim for padded.  Stake your spot.  Use stinkeye or growling if necessary.  If you can get a spot near an outlet, consider yourself living in the lap of airport-sleeping luxury.

2.)  Bring an eye mask, earplugs, antihistamines for sleeping, and use a long jacket as a blanket.  Stuff all your clothes in the front of your bag so it’s fluffy(ish) and use it as a pillow.  Under your head, it won’t walk away while you’re sleeping.

3.)  If a security guard should rouse you and tell you the airport is not open 24hrs and is closing, what are you doing here– Play dumb, but maintain an aloof kind of honesty.  Tell him your flight leaves in the morning, can you sleep there?  When he wants to know how you got into the airport without a ticket, shrug your shoulders and tell him in English that you don’t really speak Italian.  Don’t argue when he tells you you have to leave and needs to escort you out.

4.) Once outside the airport, just go ahead and resign yourself to getting a little less sleep as you are now among the homeless or might be homeless and your quality of sleep is just going to suffer a little for that.  Follow the same rules as above, but know you probably won’t find anything without arm rests, definitely nothing padded.  If you can find high armrests to fit your legs under, that counts as a “win”.

5.)  Look for an area that is well lit and around people.  Most people are there to sleep, but because everyone’s suspicious, no one will really be sleeping, so someone will always have their eyes open, making that area a little less appealing to people not there to sleep.

6.)  Be friendly!  If you can find two benches–even with armrests–that aren’t cemented to the floor, they can be pulled together so you can stretch out a little bit, but this will mean the cooperation of the people already sitting on the benches.  Don’t worry!  They’ll think it’s a great idea!

7.)  Be sure to get your yoga on well ahead of time, so you can curl up with your bag in a limited space.  If you can contort your body with ease, you can change up your position when your appendages fall asleep.  Stuff all your valuables deep in the middle of your bag.  If you don’t like the way someone’s staring at you, stare back, but don’t give up on your seat unless they are moving incrementally closer.  Remember: you are the alpha sleep-dog.

8.)  Be sure to set an alarm so you can go in the airport as soon as it opens, if anything, just to snag more comfortable sleeping arrangements.  Make sure it’s loud enough to wake you after being stuffed deep in your bag.

I’m sure I’m leaving out some real pro tips, but I’ll add them next time, when it’s a little more fresh.  Luckily, I got on the flight to Amsterdam, but that brought a whole new slew of problems.  The good thing is that AMS is open 24 hrs and HUGE, so there are plenty of places to sleep inside.  Also, there are 15 flights a day to the US.  The downside is, you are now a part of an even bigger group of standby people.  There being so many flights, you must list for a destination, go to that gate, wait to be rejected, and then run to the next gate, along with a migratory heard of other standbyers, haggard, sleepy, unbathed.  They have been camped out, missing flights, and running from gate to gate for days.  The (non)flying undead.  And there is even less a feeling of camaraderie among them, a mounting distrust. People don’t want to talk to you about which gate the next flight is leaving from- they are hoping you will miss that flight.  If you ask, you may be misled.

I finally get my big break in the fervor of such secrecy.  I locate a flight to Montreal (same continent, at least) and book it without telling anyone.  They all pull away for Newark, and I double back hoping for Canada.  I didn’t think I’d make it, but they called me!!  The ticketing agent was clearly terrified by my show of gratitude, but allowed me on nonetheless.  I sat next to a baby who held and slobbered on my finger 4 out of 6 hours.  I did not care.  Once in North America, I found there were only 2 more flights to New York that day, both on different airlines.  I could have saved money by waiting until the next day and flying my own airline, but ultimately I’d do better off to sleep in my bed, not missing another day of work (I’d already missed 3), further invoking the rage of my boss.  So I forked over the extra money to fly another airline and finally went home.

Is there a lesson here?  Not really anything life changing.  Just that things begun with even the best (if whimsiest) of intentions can go awry and there are consequences to that, sometimes quite costly.  And when things go wrong, if you cannot view them as an adventure at best, at least count them as an experience to learn from.  Catalogue what parts of it you may-to avoid-if in the future you desire a different outcome.  Because let’s face it, life is far from perfect, but you’ve still gotta live it right?  That’s one inconclusive conclusion I’ve drawn.  To accomplish this without losing your head or your dreams, and without compromising what form of character you’ve labored to mold, you must take these things in stride.  Even when they suck.  Easier said, I know.  Believe me I know.  But here we are, not much choice about that; might as well make it mean something, even if you’re the only one who sees the true value in it.

~an epilogue~

When I finally returned to work, I went straight to my boss’s office and asked could I finally please, please have that demotion I’d been asking for?  And low and behold, he granted it!  The last few days had been so harrowing, but it was all worth it.  Why would I want a demotion from full time to part time, you ask?  Because I’m ready for another change, (hence the new website). And it’s gonna be a big one folks, I am Saturn Returning HARD.  Hide ya kids, hide ya wife, keep checking back for new posts.

 

 

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