The Misadventures of Flying

This blog would be just another travel blog if not for posts like this and "So Un-Glam", posted on Sunday 27th January.

Though not half has humourous, this one denotes the realities of flying.

As we arrived at the Sydney International Airport, we did the usual; stand by the rear of the bus to collect our luggage, drag our bags looking as if they don't weigh a thing to the baggage check-in counter, formed a line (naturally, starting with the most senior down to the most junior) and sent our bags down the conveyor belts into Check-in Baggage World (picture the scene in Toy Story 2 where Woody and gang try to save Jessie, The Prospector and Bullseye from being sent off to a toy collector).

That done, we walked in unison to the immigration area to get our passports examined. I unlatched my handbag flap and reached into the inner zip pocket, as I usually do, to whip our my passport while waiting for my turn.

To my horror (and I mean HORROR!!!), my passport wasn't there! You know how people say one's life flashes before one's eyes before death? I had the similar lightning effect, except that it rewound back to when I last saw my passport.

I had left my passport in my other handbag, which I used to go about Sydney and forgot to transfer it back! And that bag was checked in! Horror of horrors! How would this happen!? This should never happen to me! I ALWAYS check my documents before flight. What's gonna happen now?

Bearing all embarassment and without a second to lose, I quickly told my IFS and dashed out to the check-in counter, but not before suffering looks conveying pity, how-could-you? and thank-God-I'm-not-in-your-shoes from my fellow colleagues.

I told the ground staff at the check-in counter my predicament in my most calm and clear, but urgent voice. They reacted immediately contacted their colleagues in the baggage area to identify my bag and bring it up as soon as possible. I took them only ten minutes to locate it and bring it up, but I felt like forever.

While I sat behind the counter waiting for my bag to be brought up, all I could do was look at the watch, imagined and prayed. I imagined how far into their duties my colleagues must have been and who would have to cover by share of the ground duties while I was here. And how they must be bickering about it and how it would tarnish my name (news spreads like wild fire in the airline). God help me! Please!

I pictured what it would be like to board the plane with the passengers due to my delay and what it must be like to spend the next eight hours on the plane with colleagues who must by now think of me as that Probationary Crew Who Checked In Her Passport. God, why is this happening to me?

I envisioned the worst that could happen with so many different endings. God, You know my predicament, You've always been there for me. I know I should trust you. Just prompt me about how to handle this.

I sat there looking patient and calm with glam still in tact.

And all through that time, the ground staff assured me that this happens all the time (really!?) and that they'll sort it out without a problem.

As they said it would, the bag was brought to me. I took my passport out and was escorted by one of them named Nicole all the way to the gate. She was there to make sure I could cut queues and that I got through immigration okay (when first we arrived, the Customs officer who attended to me took my crew customs form, asked me to exit and didn't return it to me. There was a concern there because we were to retain our forms and give it to the immgration officer when we leave).

I was on board to complete my ground duties in time before passengers boarded and the flight went pretty smoothly.

But of course, I had to perform one of Anne's (of Green Gables) dramatic apologies whenever I got the chance to my colleagues for the "trouble" I gave them to ensure as much as possible that I don't get written in. Yes, they do that here. It's like canibalism.

I am touched and impressed by our Australian ground staff. Instead of fussing about the trouble I gave them (not easy to locate a bag in the luggage area), they in turn showed kindness, which was more than I could expect.

So there. One for the book of memories.

In retrospect, I'm glad I got into the pickle and got out (let's hope there's no call from the office about this), because it's one more lesson learned, one more been-there-done-that.

As Murphy's Law suggests, if things could go wrong, they will. Sometimes we can avoid it, sometimes we can't. So what do we do? Just do our best, think positive and trust that someone up there is looking out for us no matter what.