Doomed From the Start

You know how they have those ads showing some poor unfortunate soul who has just had some horrendous misfortune befall them, and the slogan warns, "Don't let this happen to you"?

Well, meet the poster child for airline travel.

Over a month ago we purchased tickets for an Easter trip to Florida. Less expensive, non-refundable tickets. And excuse us for trying to save some money. Next time, I'll just borrow a cannon from the circus, aim it south and climb in. I would be better off.

As usual, I received confirmation via snail mail for our e-tickets a few days after purchasing them, but when I looked, there were no seat assignments. Hmmm. Puzzling. I always have seat assignments.

So I called the agent and was told that per the "new" policy, the airlines are not offering seat assignments to anyone purchasing the less expensive non-refundable tickets.

Okay, let me get this straight. I am being punished for not spending the extra $100 per ticket to get a fully refundable seat on an over-sold flight. I get to show up at the airport the day of travel -- holiday travel-- and fight it out with the other "non-refundables" and "standbys" who also don't have seats. In addition to that, you are charging me $25 to check a bag, and two bucks for a crummy bottle of water. What's next? An additional $15 to breathe oxygen instead of carbon monoxide during the flight? How about pay toilets or a fee for the life vests?

Left with no recourse because I had non-refundable tickets (which leads me to ask, what about those people who purchased the "deals" like $29 round trip? Do they even get to board the plane, or are they just strapped to the wings?), I waited until the day before and went online to see if I could print out boarding passes with seat assignments. Nope. The airline thought of that too, and put the whammy on it.

So I called the airline directly and asked if there was anything I could do, up to and including offering my first-born to secure seats. Well...I could pay now over the phone for seats, but there weren't any together anymore (like I even cared at that point who I was sitting next to!), or I could just show up really, really early to make sure I got seats. Well, thanks for all your help! I began to seriously wonder what the range on those circus cannons was.

As if the whole seating issue wasn't causing enough stress in my life, two hours before the flight was scheduled to take off, I got a call from the airline telling me it had been delayed by ninety minutes. Goody. More uncertainty. I wondered where I could buy I helmet for my cannon flight. Something in a nice shade of pink maybe.

But eventually, we got up and off. Which is more than I can say for the return flight.

We got to the airport early, boarded on time, closed the doors, and began barrelling down the runway only to have the pilot slam on the breaks. Apparently, the "check engine" light had gone on. So, back to the terminal we went and waited for the mechanic.

And waited. And waited. And then got off the plane and waited some more. After three hours of sitting at the gate (and really, who doesn't enjoy lounging comfortably in a vinyl and metal chair joined at the hip to a perfect stranger while munching on some delicious airport food that even a starving dog would turn its nose up at), they told us that the plane needed a part that wouldn't be there for another three hours. But once it got there, well, they were pretty sure the plane would take off. Eventually. If it was the right part. And if it fit. And if the flight crew didn't "time out". And if all the planets lined up. And if pigs sprouted wings and started to fly.

I began googling circus cannons on my blackberry.

Twelve hours after first arriving at the airport, we made it home, with seats even. And before I book my next flight, I might try looking into a giant slingshot or maybe even a catapult. It couldn't be any worse than flying commercial.