The Trip Home

I was trying to get home from Amsterdam, but it wasn’t looking good. I had a ‘seatless’ boarding pass upon which the ticket agent had scrawled a giant “S” with a red, indelible, magic marker. I was on (gasp!) standby. The gate agent who collected my documents told me to wait.

“I am, you know,” I began, “platinum elite.”

“I know,” the agent replied. “A tip: you won’t improve your chances of making this flight by standing at the counter glaring at me.”

“I thought I was smiling. I notice that the flight is running late. Do you think I’ll have time for…”

“I will call your name if I get a seat.”

I drifted away from the counter. The flight was late and, as a standby passenger, I had irritated the gate agent. The airplane was parked at a ‘remote gate’ located in the outskirts of Antwerp, near the Belgian border.

“At least it can’t get worse,” I thought. I didn’t notice an elderly gentleman approaching.

“Hi!”

“Excuse me?” I replied, turning toward the old fart, eh, fellow passenger.

“Mason Dixon’s the name, sir.” The stranger said.

“That’s not a name, that’s a line,” I thought.

“Yep! I was right. I spotted you for an American. I’m Mason Dixon, Deputy Sherriff, Locust Grove, Texas and District Attorney, Longhorn County, Texas.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” I replied in a tone that was less than convincing.

“Could I use your cell phone? I think we’re going to be late..”

“… astute observation,” I thought.

After a quick call (quick - like victory in Iraq), Mason returned the telephone. But he didn’t go away. Eventually, however, my name was called and I extricated myself.

“We don’t have a seat for you,” the gate agent began.

“Asmsterdam.” I thought.

“Well, we don’t have a seat in economy. I have been forced to upgrade you to Business Class.”

Business Class on intra-European flights is not wonderful. The seats are no different – they simply move a curtain along a rail to define, flight-by-flight, the boundaries between economy and business class. However, business class passengers get a meal and they usually get off the airplane first.

“Thank you!” I enthused.

The gate agent smiled and made an announcement:

“Attention: your aircraft is ready for boarding, but airport regulations make it currently impossible to begin the process. The Fokker-70 is parked at a remote gate. It is not possible for passengers to board in the rain.”

Aware that I would be late, I sent an SMS to Nazy. Then, escaping from Mason, I located a snack bar.

Eventually the rain stopped and the bus boarded. I jostled into position and stood during the journey across acres of tarmac. Upon arrival I noticed that the airplane was:

“That airplane is full of people. We can’t board.” I thought – prophetically.

The bus driver clearly knew something was wrong (he wouldn’t open the door). After a while, the bus returned to the terminal. The gate agent made an announcement.

“Attention: as you may have noticed, passengers on the airplane you are going to fly had not deplaned. The flight to Zürich will be ready for boarding as soon as those passengers have been transported to the airport and the airplane has been cleaned and serviced.”

I called Nazy to alert her to the fact that I would be even later.

“You promised to come early this week..”

“I didn’t know the airplane was going to be delayed.”

“So should I just assume that you will arrive at the normal time?”

“I’m not sure when the airplane will depart.”

“So – it’s still up in the air.”

“No, my dear, it’s not up in the air. That is the problem.”

As Nazy had predicted, passengers began checking in (at the same gate) for the next flight to Zürich. Not surprisingly, some people, mixed up, got on the wrong bus. Not mixed up, I got on a cursed bus. Halfway to the remote gate, the bus stopped working. Everyone inside was trapped; although the airplane was in sight, security measures wouldn’t permit us to stroll across the tarmac.

Lighteningly quick, a replacement bus was…

“They’ve dispatched a bus,” Mason Dixon said. (I hadn’t noticed his arrival.)

“Dispatched? Unlikely!” I replied.. “They may have told someone that our bus is kaput.”

Based on the amount of time it took for the replacement to arrive, the emergency had resulted in action to assemble a bus (in Warsaw) and drive it to Schiphol (via Timbuktu). Eventually, however, we made it to the airplane – where someone was sitting in my seat.

“This is the wrong airplane,” the purser told the confused passenger.

“No kidding,” I thought.

Grumbling, the mistaken passenger deplaned. I was settling in when..

“Mason Dixon,” I said. “It’s you!” (“Again!”)

Mason pulled a flask from his hip and took a swig. He offered me the flask and I demurred. Then he began to talk:

“And after I found out about the price of insuring the diamond I bought for the little lady, I decided to have a copy made. I put the genuine article in a safe deposit box. Do you think she’ll be able to tell the difference?”

“Ah..” I said muttering into my magazine.

“This’ll probably be my last trip. The old ticker is workin’ at 30%. It’ll be hard hiking those hills.”

“30%?, eh…”

“Sure you don’t want to take a swig?” Mason said.

“No thank you..” I automatically replied. As I turned, I saw that Mason’s right hand was actually a hook.

Mason saw that I had seen the hook. “It’s the latest technology,” Mason intoned. “This baby has the emergency release.”

Mason pushed a button at the base of the hook. The hook flew off and Mason caught it with his left hand. “This is a real improvement.”

“I can see that,”

“You don’t understand. A year ago, before I got this model – well – I was in a men’s room in Tucson and my hook got tangled up in my underwear. I couldn’t stand up and I couldn’t sit down. But if I had this baby,” Mason pushed the emergency release and deftly caught the flying hook. “If I had this baby, I would have escaped.”

“It’s more important than I thought,” I replied.

P.S. The photo has little to do with the story, but I like the cape.