February 03, 2006
Speechless
I was waiting as patiently as i could in the line at the passenger services desk in Las Vegas McCarran Airport.
It was 11:10 PM. The flight i was supposed to be on to Atlanta left with out me.
Red Eye flights don't usually depart much after midnight, and I was determined to be on one, if it be the last one, leaving Las Vegas that night.
I was standing at the front of the line. Behind the desk in front of me was an exasperated ticket agent pantomiming to an Asian couple. And they were just standing there.
"What language do you speak?" she asked the couple.
They just stood there at the counter.
11:15.
"Chinese?...." no answer.
"Japanese?....." no answer.
"Korean?..." no answer.
The ticket agent picked up the desk phone. "Do we have any available agents who can speak any Asian languages that can assist me at the service desk?" she pleaded then hung up the phone.
the tractor fed dot matrix printer began unrolling their transfer tickets.
11:20.
My blood pressure began to simmer. The slot machines were ringing. The Asian couple was still standing there. I still needed to get to Atlanta.
The ticket agent picked up the phone again. "Can anyone escort a non english speaking couple to meet their connecting flight to Atlanta?" she asked, with desperation in her voice.
My eyes let up like 3 cherries on a slot machine. Before she could set the phone back down, I picked up my pack and jumped the rope to the desk.
"Mam?" I said, "Get me on that same flight and i will get them there." I said.
Her expression brightened. "Oh bless you!" she said and took my old ticket.
"Well, just get me on the plane first." I said lightly.
The Asian couple just stood there.
Airline ticket agents quite possibly can type the most words-per-minute of any human beings on earth. Even so, as her 10 digits peppered the terminal keyboard like bullets from a tommy gun, the clock kept ticking.
11:25.
Finally the tractor fed dot matrix printer began unrolling my transfer ticket. She handed me 3 tickets.
"Ok." She said, and took a deep breath.
"Here is your ticket and both of theirs. You will be flying Delta. You will need to exit this terminal by heading to the eating area. Take a right at the Burger King and go the end of the hall and out past security. You will need to go down the escalator and turn left. Go to the very end of the Departure gates. You will see the Delta desk. Give them these tickets for the three of you. she will exchange these for tickets on the last flight to Atlanta tonight."
Then I took a deep breath.
"When does this flight leave?" I asked.
"12:15 AM." she said.
That was the last thing she said to me. I turned to the Asian couple. They were just standing there. I gave them an attentive look like a quarterback in the huddle. I pointed to my watch. Then i gave a navy seal two finger point to my eyes and then karate chopped the air from my elbow out, pointing towards the Burger King at the other end of the sea of slot machines, then I took off.
11:30.
Slot machines with their luminescent crowns and flamboyant facades sit in rows like marching soldiers quelling a riot the in Las Vegas airport. The come in waves perpendicular to the foot traffic flow. I weaved my way against the crowd and the slots, back out towards the security gate. The combined height of my two new traveling companions was certainly less the 8 feet, and I continually had to stop and stoop to look through countless quagmire of roller luggage and slot machine stools to make sure they were following my trail.
11:40
We reached the Delta ticket desk and handed the woman my transfer ticket. Again, a rain of keystrokes blanketed her keyboard like a hailstorm. A few minutes later, out came my new ticket to Atlanta.
"Okay, now here are two more for my 'friends'..." I said and pointed to the Asian couple. They were standing behind, not saying a word.
The Delta lady looked up at me from her keyboard, her fingers still beating the keyboard like a Neil Peart drum solo at a Rush concert.
"This flight leaves soon. They won't wait for you." she said with a dead pan look.
I noticed myself jogging in place. I looked back at my followers. They were just standing there. I thought about leaving them there. Technically there were now under Delta Jurisdiction. No matter what Delta plane they got on, chances are it would be going through Atlanta, i thought. And I did keep my promise. I got them this far. But i waited.
11:50.
"Here you go." the Delta lady said. "You better hurry."
I grabbed the 3 tickets and saluted her with them, then turned the couple. They were just standing there. I gave the the football huddle look and the navy seal hand signals, stressing the pointing at my watch and then took off in a healthy trot back towards the escalator and back up to the security gate.
I passed out the tickets to the couple like an organized parent at the security gate and showed mine to the attendant, then headed for the metal detectors. From behind, I heard: "Ok, Mrs. .....uh Suksho.....Xiason.... you two get to go through the special line."
I stopped in my tracks and pivoted around on my heels. "mam, they are with me, we are late for a flight."
"Well you can go with them through the special line." she said.
What is the special line?" I asked.
She pointed to a door that led to an enclosed plexi-glass tunnel that circumvented the x-ray machines and through a door way in the wall.
"Okay." i said. Maybe she knows they can't communicate and knows they are likely going miss their flight. It must be the express lane, i thought to myself.
We ran down the plexi-glass tunnel and though the door way. I came a stop at red plastic saloon doors that looked like the start gate for a downhill super G ski race. Behind it was 2 men with side arms showing and what looked like 3 oversized portable toilets stacked end to end. On the red gate, in 5 languages read: International and Special Security Screening Checkpoint.
"Hi!" an TSA employee cheerily said to me. Step right up. take off your shoes, your coat, belt, hat, and follow the lights."
The lights, were a series of green and red beacons through the port-o-pot looking human carwash, that must have scanned and sniffed to the very core of my bone marrow. I walked and stopped and walked again, as the lights told me to do.
Once through, i looked back through the gauntlet to see my followers. They were just standing there. We had 10 minutes to make it to our flight.
Had i never watched "Black Hawk Down" nor ever been instilled with any midwest dedication to the task at hand, I would have just kept walking. As it were, i walked backwards through the machine, risking untold security risks, not to mention permanent health consequences, and began undressing the man, pulling his belt from his pants, and pointing to the woman's shoes, beckoning her to do the same.
Finally, at just after midnight, we made it to the last checkpoint, an evasive search of our personal belongings. After a woman with latex gloves deconstructed my camera bag, then reassembled it, she took the Asian man's fanny pack and unzipped it.
To say it exploded would be a bad choice of words at this juncture. But that is what it did. He must have been carrying more paperwork in that 8"x6"x4" black pouch than every filing cabinet in the INS department combined. and one by one, the woman with the latex gloves swabbed each one with a white circular pad and, as if it were frozen breakfast waffle, put it in the giant toaster looking explosive detection device idling behind the table
"Please, mam, we are very late for a plane." I finally said as my blood reached it's boiling point.
"What gate?" she asked.
"C29." I replied.
"You know, you still have to get on the tram and take it out to the C terminal." she replied from behind the stack of papers hemorrhaging from the fanny pack.
"These people don't speak english. In fact i don't know if they can speak at all." I began to rant. All i am trying to do is get them on this flight that happens to be the same as mine. I am trying to get to a surprise birthday party for a buddy of mine, and still have a long way to go. Are we going to miss the flight?"
"Nah" she said, as she began stuffing the documents back into the fanny pack.
12:15.
I nearly sprinted off the tram and down 29 gates. I hoped they were behind me. I wasn't looking back anymore.
Had the flight not been 10 minuets late, this story might have turned out bad. As it was, Zone 1 was just boarding as we made it to the gate. When their boarding zone was called, I sighed, handed them their tickets, felt good - thought not as good I thought I would - at doing my job as citizen of this esteemed country, leveraging karma, and doing a small good deed in the present day global community of international travel.
i pointed to the boarding door, smiled, and without saying a word, took this picture, then bid them a silent farewell.
