Nightmare Transit

This is a bit of an overdue post. I hadn’t intended to blog about my flight back from Mexico, but it was such a (literal) pain-in-the-ass experience that I thought I really should share it. Besides, Kenneth laughed so hard when I was recounting it earlier today that I was surprised he didn’t choke on his lunch. If it could be potentially *that* amusing, I shouldn’t cheat my other friends of it, no? *grin*

I had a 55-minute transit in Houston, Texas. I knew that spelled trouble even before the flight from Puerto Vallarta took off. I asked the air stewardess, who assured me that I would have sufficient time to make the flight connection. She was nice, and even told me she would help me order one of those electronic carts that would zip me to my gate once I had cleared airport security. Sounded good, right?

I was seated at the back of the plane, which meant I had to wait for many people to get off the plane first. When you’re in a rush, it feels like forever. The moment I cleared the plane, I started sprinting towards U.S. customs. It was 35 mins to my next flight’s departure time. I was rather pleased at how many people I was over-taking, until I arrived at the line for customs. *gloom* After standing in line for 10 mins or so, I managed to get a customs agent to let me cut the long line. They put me in a U.S. citizens line, which was supposed to be faster, but the agent at the booth was in a leisurely mood and chatted to EVERY person that went through. By the time I cleared customs, I had just 20 mins to departure time. I sprinted to baggage claim to get my luggage.

After getting my luggage (thank goodness there was no waiting time), there was another long line to hand in the customs declaration form. There was no cutting for this one, and after getting through, and re-dumping my luggage at the allocated spot, I started running again to the security check area. I was starting to curse the fact that the Houston airport was so large. But nothing prepared me for the line at the security check. You know those lines at amusement parks? Those lines that snake back and forth and back and forth, and then turn a bend to snake back and forth a few times again before finally reaching the start of the line? It was like that. A quick look at my watch showed just 15 mins to departure time. I was getting increasingly stressed. I went to one of the agents at the side to explain my predicament. My plane was leaving in 15 mins, could I please be let through? The sweet woman barked, “Yeah, yeah, you and everybody else! Get back in line!” Bo bian, I got into line. But I knew there was no way I could make my flight this way. At the next opportunity, I asked another agent, whose reply was, “Everybody here has got a plane to catch.” I couldn’t help responding, “And it doesn’t matter how soon their plane is taking off?” I got this rather blank stare in return from the agent.

The woman in front of me who had heard me both times kindly told me I could get ahead of her, though she didn’t know how much that would help. Maybe I might want to try asking the person in front of her? Struck by inspiration and desperation, I surged forwards and asked the next person, “Excuse me, I’m sorry. My plane leaves in 10 minutes. May I please get ahead of you in line?” It worked. And so I started moving from one person to the next, repeating the exact same message like a broken record. Some were friendly and sympathetic, some weren’t that friendly, but nobody resisted. Friends, I pleaded my way forward of at least 60-70 people. By the time I arrived at the start of the line, I just had 6 mins to departure time. I knew I didn’t have a chance unless the plane was delayed. And STILL bad luck had to strike.

I had taken out my computer and taken off my shoes in advance, putting them onto the conveyor belt without instruction. But I had to pick the wrong line. The woman ahead of me was refusing to take off her shoes. Her shoes! The security guard was trying to explain to her that the detector would beep if she didn’t take off her shoes, and sure enough it did. And she still didn’t want to take off her shoes! At that moment I felt like yelling, “He’s just asking you to take off your shoes, woman, not your clothes!!!” When I finally got through, my hands were shaking so hard from the stress and excitement, I was amazed I didn’t fumble in tying my shoe-laces.

There was a cart waiting. But it was already full. And the *helpful* driver just gave me vague directions as to where to go. I didn’t wait, I had only 3 mins left! I RAN. And as luck would have it, my gate was all the way at the other end of the terminal. I haven’t run in ages and ages, let alone with a computer and books in my backpack. How I wished I had John’s stamina and strength at that moment to zip through the terminal. But pure adrenaline kept me going even as I felt like my lungs were bursting. I can’t miss this flight! It was the last flight to Toronto for the day and I didn’t want to have to stay overnight in this ‘horrible place’!

I arrived at my gate exactly at 6:45p.m., the departure time of my flight. I semi-collapsed at the counter, managing to pant out, “Did I make it? Can I still get on?” The Continental agent at the counter was rather amused at my state (imagine me perspiring, probably red in the face and super out of breath).

Him: “Woah, woah there…where are you heading to?” (He takes my boarding pass and passport to check)
Me: “Toronto?”
Him: “Very good, that’s where we’ll get you to. We’re not boarding for 5 minutes yet…why don’t you take a seat first and catch your breath?”

I looked up at the sign-board and realized that the plane had been delayed…the new departure time was slated for 7:15p.m. Only then did I notice that there were still people sitting at the departure lounge, quite a few who were looking bemusedly (but sympathetically, or at least I hoped) at me.

That was 30 minutes I’d never care to relive ever again. I HATE transiting in U.S., I vehemently HATE it. *sniff* I never liked it, especially after the tightening of security and all…which was why I had been faithfully flying with Cathay Pacific the past 4 years when I go back to Singapore. It bypasses the U.S. completely, and my first port of entry into Canada is also Toronto which means I don’t have to take out my luggage or clear Canadian customs until I arrive at my final destination.

Anyway…as I was saying, it was a real pain-in-the-ass experience. I am so out of shape with regards to running that yesterday’s sudden explosive sprinting had me waking up this morning to sore muscles in my thighs and my posterior. And it wasn’t just sore muscles either, I swear I had a few butt-cramps today when I made sudden moves in standing or running. My sunburnt shoulders were also intitially pretty sensitive to the straps of my backpack yesterday, but I became totally oblivious to the pain in my panic when I went charging through the terminal like a mad-woman. It’s hurting a little more today, but I don’t really care. I’m just so glad to be home…in good old Toronto. *contented sigh* Back in Canada…back in One Park Lane…