The Trip Home - Part 1

Part one - the flight, or how Delta broke my heart (this is a long story, so it is broken up into different parts. But just so you know, these shorter parts are also very long. Sorry.)

Checking in: The line didn't LOOK very long. However, after fifteen minutes of not moving forward AT ALL we realized that looks could be deceiving. Finally we arrived at the midway point, where a delta employee looked at our passports, and asked us about our bags - who packed them? where have they been? are there any electronic appliances inside? drugs or animals? plants? jam? where did we buy the bags, anyway? We then waited in the second part of the checkout line, where I had a better view of people arguing with the delta employees checking people in.

The first thing the check in lady said when we handed her our itineraries was "You will need to purchase tickets for the infants." I pointed to the itineraries and explained that they had tickets, and indeed they had seats, just as every other passanger on the flight. She looked profoundly dissapointed, but began to cheer up when we placed the stroller on the check in weigh system. She informed me that I couldn't check it in THERE, I had to bring it around to a different location. Then - and this is very interesting - she called another woman over to ask about my suitcase. Now, I packed a heavy suitcase - I am the first to admit it. But I decided that it would be easier to deal with one heavy suitcase and two kids than two medium heavy cuitcases. The checkin lady asked the other woman about the weight of my suitcase "It's for three people," she said. "Does it matter?" But the other woman said "No, it's over, just tell them." As though it were a small matter. They spoke to each other in French, and I'm sure they didn't think I could understand them. I was then informed - in English - that I had to remove seven kilos from my suitcase. No matter that I left sip cups, a camera, baby food and formula, not to mention several bath products and cosmetics behind. My luggage, acceptable at JFK, was too heavy by French standards.

I don't think I would be as upset about it, except that by then I had realized that every other passanger was being asked to either unload weight from their luggage or pay a $100 fee. The arguments and discussions that followed were what was holding up the check in line. I don't think the weight they were asking to be removed would make much of a difference. My feeling was that they were just out to make a buck that day.

I snipped at the ladies as I zipped open the bag and began pulling out plastic bags of dirty laundry, my tioletry bag - I had to remove my fingernail scissors - and the bigger books I had taken along for the boys. These I flung back to my sister and my father for them to stuff in various other carry ons. "I hope you have children one day," I barked," and I hope you get to travel with them." That's about as close as I get to calling someone names - wishing them a mixed blessing. At that point the ladies stopped speaking English to us completely. Which actually didn't make a difference, except that I know they thought it would. No one was at the special place - ten feet away from the check in desk - that they told me to take the stroller. I had to flag down a small man with excellent people skills who took it from me.

Getting to the Plane: I had to take the wheels off the car seats because they didn't have wands at the security check point. It took us 30 minutes to get through the passport check point - I'm not sure why, but I think it had something to do with a small woman in lavendre who wanted to bring extra bags with her or check her bags there or something. We joined the mob of people who pushed pass each other to get on the plane - HELLO PEOPLE! WE HAVE SEATS! THEY WILL NOT DISSAPEAR! Before we got on the plane we were questioned by yet another Delta employee who asked us the same questions about our bags as the firt guy. "Where have your bags been since you arrived at the airport?" she asked. " On line with us," I said.

The Flight: A first class passenger, seated well before everyone else, helped me carry Nathan's carseat to the back of the plane while the flight attendants watched. Emily pressed the call button so that she could get an extention for Nick's carseat, but the flight attendants ignored it. She had to go find one herself. Actually, the flight attendants never once responded to the call buttons, any of the 10 times they were pressed, including the time Nick accidentally pressed it in the bathroom. Once Nathan was screaming and all I needed was water to make formula, but after 10 minutes of no flight attendants in sight I got up to find water myself. I found it in back, in a basket with some rolls. Next to it was a flight attendant reading a newspaper. This was not the same flight attendant that wonked me in the head with the drink cart - an accident, I'm sure, but it still would have been nice to say either "I'm sorry" or "are you ok?"

The rest of the stuff that happened on the flight - Nicholas having a tantrum, needing to change Nick's entire outfit because of a wonderfully timed poop, and my forgetting the plastic bag of dirty laundry on the plane - cannot in any way be blamed on anyone.

That's the end - for now. More complaining to come.