My flight was set to leave at 9:50pm EST.
I was fully and emotionally prepared for 9:50pm EST.
I arrived to the airport with my sister, brother-in-law, and three nephews at 7:45pm.
Dan, my brother-in-law, unloaded my suitcases and gave me a hug then drove around the airport while the other four escorted me inside to have our "Goodbyes" after check in.
Little did we know then the 24 hour journey I was headed into.
Setting the tale:
I was second in my line at the check-in counter.
There was a darling couple at the counter before me.
As the queue began to fill we stood laughing and crying, weighing the boys on the suitcase scales, and talking about what my future adventure could and would be.
"Excuse me, Ladies and Gentlemen! I am so sorry, but it looks as though our computer system isn't working at the moment. We have I.T. on it and we are hoping it will be back up and running in the next 10 minutes. Thank you for your patience."
We wait 10 more minutes laughing and crying. The queue grows exponentially.
"Excuse me, Ladies and Gentlemen! We are in talks with British Airways HQ in London to try and figure out what is wrong with the system. We are still hopeful it should be up within the next 15-20 minutes. Again, thank you so much for your patience."
My sister and I decided that it no longer made sense for them to hang around waiting with me while Dan was driving around in circles and we obviously had no definitive waiting end time in sight. It was time for the hugs.
I squeezed each boy super tight and cried a bit.
I held my sister so tightly and we both cried a lot.
I watched as they walked away, turning around often to flash me the ASL I love you sign. Watching them walk away was difficult. I won't lie about that.
"Excuse me, Ladies and Gentlemen! Again, we thank you so much for your patience. It looks as though the whole British Airways system throughout the United States has crashed. They are working diligently to get it back online. Please continue to hold tight with us."
I look at my watch... 8:30pm.
We wait. I sit on the cold, hard airport floor. People mumble in the queue behind me.
We wait. I continue to sit. People continue to mumble.
We wait some more.
I look at my watch... 9:30pm. Our flight is supposed to leave in 20 minutes.
"Excuse me, Ladies and Gentlemen! Thank you, yet again, for being so patient with us this evening. The airline has decided to go ahead with all of our flights, but we are going to have to check-in and register everyone manually. Your plane is here and will wait until you are all through and processed and safely on your plane with your luggage in the hold. If you have already checked in online and have a seat number, be sure you show it to us at the counter and we will ensure that you have the correct seat."
Do you know what "check-in and register everyone manually" entails? It entails an intense amount of patience and waiting, not only from the passengers, but from the airline staff as well.
It. Is. A. Process;
-Handwriting passenger information from passport and driver's license onto paper log
-Handwriting luggage information (i.e. what you're bringing, extra baggage fees, etc...)
-Handwriting paper plane ticket
-Handwriting luggage tags before attaching to suitcases
-Comparing all handwritten information three times before confirming correct.
I was the second person in my queue. I left the queue to head toward TSA at 10:20pm.
Wow. That was much.
What happened next:
I head around the corner and down the hall to go to the security and bag checks only I am very shortly stopped by another queue, roughly 20 people deep. You guessed it, TSA didn't have access to any British Airways passenger manifesto, so checking our id's in order to drop your carryon onto the conveyor belt required waiting for a handful of names on another handwritten list being brought from checkin to TSA and called aloud one by one. Yet again, we waited.
Around 11:00pm I finally make it through TSA. I tuck my ziploc bags back into my carryon, my computer back into its case, put my shoes back on my feet, and buckle my belt back around my waist, and head off toward my gate.
It just gets better!
We sit.
And wait.
And slowly, but surely, more people arrive.
Everyone appears wiped out, frazzled, slightly agitated, and no longer impressed.
Also, no attendants of any kind appear to be around.
11:30pm. Nothing.
12:00pm. Nothing.
12:40pm.
"Excuse me, Ladies and Gentlemen! There are still a handful of people yet to be checked in, but as they finish up that process we are going to begin to board the plane. Please listen very carefully! If you checked in online and have a seat assignment, we ask for you to line up now. We will be handwriting your seat number onto your ticket before you can board. If you did NOT check in online and do not have a seat number, please wait patiently. We will have to seat everyone else first and then perform a walk through to see about available seats."
Ummm.... I tried to checkin online but it wouldn't LET me choose a seat. Seriously?!?!
Yet again, I wait.
(Are you beginning to recognize a pattern?
A pattern of incredibly frustrating circumstances?
Yeah, hang on. You ain't heard nothin' yet!!)
1:00am.
"Ladies and Gentlemen that do NOT have an assigned seat number please come to the main desk and we will issue you a seat number."
A line of roughly 35 people forms at the counter.
Walkie talkies bounce seat numbers back and forth between the man ON the plane calling them out and the woman AT the counter double checking them and handwriting them on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard.
"Ok, Ladies and Gentlemen, please come over and form another line by the boarding door and we will give you a number one at a time." Ummm.... why did we have to stand in a line over here for 20 minutes? MANY an eyeball roll and an under breath muttering as we walk from here to there.
I FINALLY get a number! My silver lining in a 24 time period of hell... first class!! That was a nice perk of all the chaos, I will admit.
Plane boarded at 1:30am.
You can't be serious??
"Ladies and Gentlemen, first and foremost thank you all so much for being one of the most patient groups of passengers I have ever dealt with in all my years as an attendant. I can now only ask for your patience to continue as the ground crew has to do a manual check and loading of all your luggage. This will take a bit of time. Again, we apologize for all the inconvenience."
1:50am.
(Thick British accent:)
"Ok, Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. All of your luggage is safely on board in hold, however it appears as though we have a glitch in one of the engines. I am in communication with command and have been instructed to power the engine down and restart. I will keep you all posted on the situation."
Engine, very loudly, powers down and back up.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, again this is your Captain. Unfortunately, when we powered the engine back up the little nuisance light is still there. I am now in communications with the engineers on the ground and we are trying to get this sorted. Thank you, AGAIN, for your continued patience!"
Serious mutterings now;
"Little nuisance light??"
"WHAT. IN. THE. WORLD. IS. HAPPENING."
"All you can do is laugh now or you'll just start to cry!"
"Dear, Jesus, let us be safe!"
"They aren't going to fly us with a glitch in the engine, are they??"
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the engineers on the ground have given us a way around this. I apologize for the inconvenience, but this is purely a power thing. We need to disconnect all tv monitors in your seats and booklights overhead in order for there to be adequate power for the second engine. I realize how inconvenienced you have already been this evening, but I ask for your continued understanding and to just allow me to get you safely to London Heathrow. I promise I will."
I can't even. Nothing matters anymore. I will sleep. And, I have my own booklight.
FLY. THE. PLANE.
We finally take off at 2:15am EST. That's 7:15am UK time. Good grief.
Is it over? Oh, no. Not even close.
We land. Thank you, Jesus!! I get off the plane very quickly. Another perk of being up front.
As I arrive at the UK border and immigration non-EU passports queue it is roughly 150 people deep and there are TWO, count them... 1, 2, immigration officers working.
A lady in a red immigration blazer is walking through the queue informing everyone that they were unprepared staffing-wise for the British Airways crash and that they are doing the best they can, but there were four flights that came in at roughly the exact same time.
Again, "Thank you for being patient."
Again, we wait.
And stand.
After hours of sitting.
After hours of standing.
Do you know what happens to your feet when they go through all that?
They swell. Yep, they do.
Roughly two hours later I make it to an immigration officer.
Oh, how I didn't see this part of the story coming.
I spend 30 full minutes at the officers small kiosk while he asks me every question under the sun. I basically verbally filled out another visa application. You are legally allowed to go overseas for six months on passport alone, but apparently it is somewhat frowned upon and appears suspicious.
(Sidenote- I applied for a visa. Little did I know I applied for the wrong one. It was denied for that reason and very soon before my actual flight date, so I didn't have time to re-apply.)
(Additional sidenote- My ticket was booked for the full eight months and through Orbitz, which is a third-party carrier. Until you take the first leg of your flight you cannot change your return leg because the actual airline doesn't have access to your ticket until then. Obviously, I had yet to change my ticket. Not good.)
"Ma'am, I'm going to need for you to follow me to the holding area while I take this to the Chief Immigration Officer to see whether or not you are allowed into our country."
We walk over to a small sitting area with a handful of other people in it, but still in the middle of all the hustle and bustle. Annoyed a bit, but not truly worried yet.
45 minutes later...
"Ma'am, I need for you to follow me, please."
I obey.
We walk to the back of the room and through a door that leads to a hallway of other doors. One door is opened and I am ushered into a room where I am photographed and fingerprinted. The sobbing begins.
What. Is. Going. On??
I was allowed to make one phone call before being escorted to "holding," i.e. "airport jail."
I called my sister-in-law. She tried her best to comfort me while juggling three little ones underfoot. I gave her the phone number to the room where I was to be held, only incoming calls allowed in there, and then asked her to start the round-robin of phone calls that needed to happen in order to inform them of the situation; my mom and dad, my brother, and my sister.
Then, I am escorted to a small office filled with CCTV monitors and a solid glass wall looking into the holding room that all of the monitors are monitoring.
A very kind man named Brian explains to me what is going on and what I am up against. I am being held while immigration has time to review my case and decide if I am able to come into their country or not. He prepares me for the truth and reality of the situation... I could be detained up to 48 hours.
No. No. No. No. NO! This is NOT happening to me!
A lovely young girl named Sarah takes me into a small room off to the side and gives me a thorough pat down. And I mean thorough. As if this hasn't been bad enough, now I am mortified too. After that, she takes everything from me and locks it up in another small room off to the side.
Then, she escorts me into "airport jail."
There is truly no other way to describe it.
Picture this:
A solid white room.
One wall has a "family room," and a mens and womens bathroom.
One wall has a TV hung in the very top corner playing a marathon of some cop show.
One wall has an old school payphone in a tiny nook.
One wall is all glass and looks into the CCTV office.
Two tables with some magazines and rows of black, plastic chairs.
Three other Americans: Two men, one woman.
Three Middle-Eastern people: One man, two women. (Non of whom speak English.)
Airport Jail.
"Hey! I would ask how you are, but everyone in here knows the answer! What did you do to get yourself locked up??"
Here's the rundown...
One of the Middle Eastern women had been there for 24 hours.
The other had been there 16 hours.
The man had been there 18 hours.
The American woman had only been there about two hours.
One of the American men had been there 13 hours and the other 9 hours.
I'm the newbie.
I sob out my story to the best of my ability. Much commiserating and story swapping ensues.
Lovely Sarah comes in and asks if I am hungry, thirsty, cold, etc... Yes, yes, and yes. It is an ICEBOX in there, and that's coming from me, who is rarely cold. Everyone is wrapped in stale smelling white blankets. I guess I'll get one too. Sarah brings me a microwaved frozen meal and a cup of water and a blanket. I sob some more.
I wrap myself in my blanket and try to sleep on the hard chairs.
I listen to the Americans rant. We are extremely good at that.
I listen to the Middle Eastern group. Their language is beautiful.
At some point my brother calls. He had been talking to dad and they thought that he should come to the airport and speak on my behalf. I knock on the glass of the office and when Sarah comes in I ask her if that is possible or would serve helpful. She goes and asks her superior. She comes back in and says that coming would be a wasted trip, but that calling into the immigration office may help. My brother goes to work.
4.5 hours later...
We see an immigration officer through the glass come into the office. He speaks with the guards for a moment then comes into our cell.
"Catherine Dudley??"
"WHAT?? YES! THAT'S ME!!"
Everyone in the room stares at me like they can't believe it.
"Come with me."
He leads me into the family room and we sit down at a table across from one another. He begins to ask me, almost word for word, every question I had been asked before I was brought here.
At the end he says, "Stay here. I'll be back."
I respond, "In this room?"
"No. You can go back out there."
"My brother would like to speak to..."
"I spoke to your brother. Stay here."
I head back into our cell.
"WHAT HAPPENED??"
It was amazing. No one was upset or disappointed that I was getting attention in what appeared to be a positive light. It was just a feeling of excitement and elation that if someone can see the light of day maybe they all can. To be in such an awful situation it was a beautifully supportive group.
20 minutes later he returned.
"Ms. Dudley, let's get your things."
Everyone in the room cheered for me as almost five hours later I was allowed into the country.
Is that the end of the story?
Ummm... Not at all.
I could tell you about how I have been "flagged" for all future trips to the UK.
(FUN! Considering I go every summer!!!)
I could go into detail how it took me an hour to root through and find my two suitcases that were lost in the "luggage graveyard" along with thousands of other bags.
I could go into the fact that in all the madness of the evening I left my leather jacket on the plane.
I could tell you about how difficult LHR is to navigate your way out of if you are looking for someone that is picking you up all while pushing a trolley FULL of luggage.
I could go into all those things, but I won't. Because you've already gotten the good stuff.
The "good stuff" that completely sucker punches you in the gut, slaps you across the face, and slams you into humility.
The "good stuff" that makes seeing your sister-in-law walking across the parking deck toward you and being able to fall into her arms even better than it would have been before.
The "good stuff" that only deepens your love and appreciation for being able to fall into the arms of your brother and laugh with him over a home cooked meal every night.
Everything is sweeter...
The Earl Gray tea. The scripture cards from my sister that were snuck into my bags without my knowing. The Alice in Wonderland journal that my parents got for me while they were here and left on my bed in my new home. The fuzzy caterpillars and ladybirds discovered in the back garden. The rolling around on a trampoline and giggling endlessly with the little ones. The sleepy fusses. The "sweeties" that follow taking your medicine. The story times. Even the grumpy times.
Rest. Time. Family.
It's all sweeter.
Thank you, 24 hours of hell.
Thank you for making all that follows even sweeter!
