Airplanes. Airplanes. Airplanes.
Airplanes are cool...Except when they're late.
Especially when no one tells you they're
late. No, seriously. Our flight, which was supposed to leave at 9:40 has
apparently been delayed for an hour. How do I know this? Because a passenger
with cell coverage called British Airways and somehow managed to get ahold of
someone. Was there any sort of announcement over the intercom? Was there even a
notification on the departure screen? NO!
Can you imagine our panic, as we're sitting in the gate
area? All the departure screen says is "Wait in Gate 8." Well Gate 8
is actually Gates A-F, so there's lots of places to wait. It's 9:20, which is
when our boarding passes say the gates will close. Panic, right? But of course
Douglas Adams says "Don't Panic." Also, what's the point in
panicking? This is a side trip, outside of the regularly scheduled craziness of
our program.
The part that astounded me the most is that there were no
British Airways representatives to be found anywhere. Their information desk in
the gate area? Abandoned. The only staff anywhere are Virgin Atlantic (who were
very friendly, as it goes). I was a little flabbergasted at the complete lack
of service. It wasn't crappy or poor service. There was no service at all.
...
Now the departure screen says "Go to Gate 78." By
the way, gate 78 is not in the same waiting area as Gate 8. So 40 minutes
before the flight is now supposed to leave we have to hoof it 15 minutes to the
new gate. I don't mind walking. I mind rushing.
So now I'm sitting in the gate area, hoping that we won't be
delayed further, because that's less time in Dublin. I am really looking
forward to Dublin. Dublin. Oh Dublin.
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