DFW: Airport II

Continued from Yesterday…

       I realize that my last report regarding my experience in the Portland International Airport was…how you say?... “Long and boring!”

But, it does set the tone for the trip from Portland to Dallas, Texas, which was, you guessed it, “four hours and ten minutes.” 

       I boarded the plane and was greeted by a very friendly flight crew

who made space for my guitar in their personal closet area.  Everyone was curious about Betty and spoke baby talk to her.  I had chosen an aisle seat and got our share of curious glances as people passed.  I’m sure some wondered what particular disorder I had and how a little dog Betty’s size could help the sweaty bag of sandwich spread which held her, but I was okay with it.  In fact, I have grown accustomed to people wondering what disorder plagues me.

       Betty calmed down and rode comfortably the whole flight.  I believe in my heart the reason this particular leg of our trip was halfway pleasant was because we were on the plane with Oregonians.  Or maybe it was because they were all leaving Oregon, either way the four hour trip was a pleasant experience, with one exception.

Mayonnaise (or any liquescent material) begins to shift and move, especially when contained in the human skull and during flight. This occurs as the pressures in the cabin differ from the pressure in your ear.  Normally a yawn or gum chewing will allow the Eustachian tubes in the ear to open and the pressure is stabilized.  That is, unless your

Eustachian tubes are clogged with snot, as it was in my case. As we reached cruising altitude, I lost about 60% of my hearing.  “No big deal”, I thought.  I wasn’t feeling well and I could just retreat into my snot cave and wait for my ears to pop.

At about this time I began to crave Rice Krispies.  I would never be able to taste them, of course, but still, I could almost hear them, snapping and crackling, and…

“Oh, this is unpleasant.” I thought.  

Normally I crackling fire is a comforting thing, but not when it’s crackling against your eardrum.  I began to open my mouth, similar to

how a hippopotamus does when it yawns.  I tried massaging around my ears and moving my jaw back and forth.  Then I tried holding my nose and puffing out my cheeks to balance the pressure.  I stuck my finger in my ear and wobbled it around.  Nothing worked.  Though I’m sure it answered the question some passengers wondered about.

  I had begun to lose the coffee buzz I’d obtained during our ‘in-flight service’ and my wellbeing had begun its final decent.  Eventually so did the airplane and I waited for my ears to pop so I could hear again.  They did not.  As what I am guessing were the “prepare for landing” instructions were announced, I began to feel like Lou Foriggno - only not a huge body builder, or famous, or green. He’s deaf, okay?  He played The Hulk? Oh,…never mind!

With no time to spare between flights we hit the ground running – me, Betty, the guitar, and the slippery folder.  Luckily they were just boarding our flight from Dallas down to Miami.  I walked up to the gate and handed them the official American Airlines form for Betty.  The woman taking boarding passes looked as if I had handed her a dead possum.

She stared at the form then directed me to stand aside so others could board.  At least I think that’s what she said.  Then she turned and gave

the form to you I assumed was her supervisor, a starched, thin lipped woman, who looked at it and said (and I quote) “Oh, I thought she was a real service dog.” Then she went back to her side of the kiosk and stood reading the form while the rest of the passengers filed passed, looking at me with a cross of anger and pity.  “Welcome to Dallas.” I thought.

I was angered by the fact that she called Betty anything but a real service dog, even though it happened to be true. “How dare she?!´ So, I stood off to the side trying to burn holes in her head with my anger-vision until my eyes started to water.  When her head did not catch on fire I began to panic, and switched to my next level of attack.  I raised my voice.

       “Look!” I said, “This is a connecting flight!  I’ve already been through this!”

       My own voice sounded muted and far away.  The woman picked up the phone and turned her back to me.  Finally, I broke protocol and left my assigned corner, and walked up to the woman’s station. She hung up the phone and began to explain that I “was to have sent this form ahead of time for approval.”

       “What!?” I barked (which literally sounded like a bark).

       “It says right here…” she started.  Then her phone rang.  She help up her index finger.  And began explaining to who I assumed was someone in charge of bull-shittery at corporate. 

       By now the ropes had been replace at the entrance to the boarding ramp and the flight attendants had boarded the plane.  I was delirious, but knew getting angry never serves me well.  I could tell that she was now on hold, so I thought I’d try one last tactic.

       “What is your name?” I said.  She instantly stiffened.

       “Waa-waa Meh-uh-wa”.  I was leaning in, trying to read her lips, but the phone was still up to her face.

       “I’m sorry?!” I said, way too loudly. I cocked my head so at least one ear might focus on the answer.

       “Chismbel MefendorlK”, she snapped.  I’m fairly sure that was not her name, but it is what I heard.

“Here, I’ll write it down for you!” she said defiantly,

       “I’m sorry, if I’m speaking too loudly!” I started, “I can’t hear anything.” I said.  I gave her my best hang-dog look.

       She put her hand over the receiver. “We can get you on another flight once we get this resolved.” Now she was leaning in and speaking up.

       “But…” I coughed and snorked.

       “Don’t worry,” she said with a grin (she was softening), “We’ll pay for a Hotel overnight.  It won’t cost you a thing.”

       On any other day I might have been relieved, even happy.  I could

relax and take a hot tub, order a nice meal, watch a ball game.  But I had already paid for my flight from Panama City to David, Chiriqui which departed at 7:05 the next morning, and was non-refundable.  Plus I had no way of contacting the ride who was traveling from Boquete to the airport in David to taxi me back to Boquete where I will be living.  I was close to tears and I put my sack of mayonnaise on the counter.

       Just then she came to attention as someone came back on the line.  She listened for a few seconds and then called to another attendant.

       “Is she still there?”

       The girl looked down the gangway and shook her head.  The woman on the phone quickly motioned back to the attendant, who started down the corridor toward the plane.

       “So, he does not have to send the form to us?” she said, “Okay. Okay.”  She hung up the phone and started typing.  Without looking up she said,

       “Go on board sir!  I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again in Miami.”

       I should have felt justified or at best indignant, but I was stunned, and said,

“Oh my God, thank you!” as I grabbed the guitar, picked up Betty, and sprinted down the ramp.  As I boarded I could feel the tension.  An attendant grabbed my guitar and pushed some things around in the first class overheads and stowed it while I sat down. 

We made it!  Still sweating, still deaf, still only halfway to Panama.

Next: Miami, Florida                   To Be Continued….