Conference Catastrophe

So I went to a conference to present a paper in March. Travel date: March 18. Destination: Corpus Christi. Presentation time: 9 AM, Saturday March 19. I almost did not get there at all, due to no fault of my own, except that I booked my travel with Continental Airlines. I blame the whole fiasco entirely on them.

I had connections from Salt Lake to Phoenix, Phoenix to Houston then Houston to Corpus Christi. I arrived in Houston as scheduled, and was enjoying an awesome layover in the airport, when an amiable gentleman sat next to me to await his flight to Corpus Christi, which happened to be the same flight I needed to reach my final destination. At one point while we were waiting to board, this man asked if I could watch his stuff while he went to the restroom. If you are up until 4 AM the night/morning before, frantically composing a paper that is due by noon on your date of travel to Texas and you're in an airport with a disabled internet connection and none of the nearby book stores carries Catching Fire and you cannot fall asleep because of the incessant intercom announcements that say something to this effect:

"Hello. Passengers of flight 17 bound for Caracas, with stops in Atlanta and Miami. The departure gate has been changed to 30B. Also, there will be a slight departure delay due to inclement weather outside. The ground crew is in the process of deicing the wings in preparation for departure. It also looks like the flight is slightly overbooked, so we are offering complimentary round-trip tickets to a few passengers willing to take a later flight. We should be boarding about a quarter to the hour. Thank you for your patience..."

Then you have nothing better to do because you are fit for nothing but staring at the wall and the people sitting in front of you, hoping they don't think there's something terribly wrong with you. So of course I watched his stuff. The man came back from the rest room, thanked me, and I continued staring at the people in front of me.

Thirty minutes before our flight was scheduled to board, a new intercom announcement interrupted my reverie: "Flight such and such to Corpus Christi has been canceled due to a lack of a pilot. We can put you on the next flight to Corpus Christi for Saturday at 9 PM... blah blah blah blah."

While we were waiting in line to harangue the customer service agents who were about to be inundated by obscenities from angry customers, the man whose luggage I diligently guarded asked me where I was from.

"Alaska," I said, "the ugly, boring part in the middle of nowhere."
Said he, "Oh! I lived in Alaska years ago. In Fairbanks!" (also in the middle of nowhere, but not as ugly or boring as Kotzebue.)
"Where do you live now?" he asked.
"In Utah, outside of Salt Lake City," I replied.
"Oh! I lived in Salt Lake City years ago!" he said...or maybe it was Sandy. I don't recall...

How convenient. I tried to care, but inside I was fuming about the flight. What was I supposed to do now?

His name was Richard. Richard had to call his wife and say he would not be meeting her that evening because the flight was canceled. I told him of my predicament and said I didn't know if I should turn around and fly home or just scavenge around for an unclaimed square of airport carpet upon which to attempt to rest for the evening. He suggested that I just rent a car and drive to Corpus Christi, since it was only three hours away.

I wanted to say. "Mr., I just barely figured out how to drive my way out of a paper bag in Provo (there's a logical explanation for this, but now is not the time). I doubt I'd be so lucky in Texas. P.S., I've never been here before. I'll probably miss a key exit and take a detour to somewhere like Rabbit Hash, Kentucky before I notice something is wrong."

He said, "I'll give you a ride to the rental car facility, we'll pick up my GPS, I'll loan it to you, then you can just mail it back to me."

I thought, "GPS? What's that?" and "What if I get into his car and never come out again and become Texas Chainsaw Massacre victim #1,983,562??!! He's portly and going bald and old enough to have kids in college so I could probably outrun him..." and "Wait, did he say he was Mormon? Why else would he be so nice?"

But instead I said, "Really? Ok, sounds good."

All happened as Richard had promised. The GPS delivered me right to my hotel doorstep. I was so impressed that I put GPS on my Christmas list. Google Maps pales in comparison. Anyway, another weird coincidence--Richard's wife Renee was staying in the hotel adjacent to mine, and had I the time, I would have walked over to say hello.

No Richard was not LDS, but from his kindness and willingness to trust me--for all he knew, I could have chainsaw massacred him in the airport parking lot--you would never have known he wasn't. I had no pass along cards, darn it.

So I arrived in my hotel, presented the paper the next day, and had to drive the rental car back to Houston to avoid incurring further fees of depositing the vehicle at the Corpus Christi Enterprise office, and flew home. 

When it came time to mail the GPS back to Richard in Houston, I looked for the business card he left with me that had all his contact information and the address he specifically pointed out to me. I couldn't find the card anywhere. Again, I blame this on Continental Airlines, or airport sleep deprivation. Not sleeping can make you do stupid things. So I probably threw out the card without even thinking about it. DUMB.

Luckily, I remembered the address as soon I saw it among a list of countless others logged into the GPS after plugging it into our own car. I sent the box and a thank you note with a message that asked him to email me as soon as he received the box so I knew it had arrived safely.

A week passed and I didn't hear from Richard. Then, finally, he responded by saying that his act of charity had sparked interesting conversation at work; chiefly the conversation resulted in Richard being called an idiot for trusting a stranger. But his email ended with "Thank you for proving them wrong." I will always be grateful for his assistance, because even though the trip was a disaster, people like Richard are what make life worth living.

So it was a weird weekend. Continental Airlines refused to refund the Corpus to Houston return flight (because I was driving the rental back to Houston). So in the future, I will swim through a river of glass (without floaties), squeeze habanero chili juice into my eyes, or tattoo the insides of my nostrils before I ever book with Continenal again.