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You Should Probably Not Ever Take My Advice

It turns out that it is not such a good idea to yell at the airlines the night before you are going to take a flight.

I turned up at the airport at 7 a.m. to find out that my flight to Boston was cancelled. Not delayed. Cancelled. Kaput. And no one had bothered to actually post this on the internet where I could have seen the information before I left the house. Not that I checked. But that’s beside the point.

I will not bore you with the story of me standing in line in front of reservations while I simultaneously attempted to call reservations. Suffice it to say that I got a seat on a later flight.

None of the ticketing agents seemed to find it a problem that my later flight was due to arrive twenty minutes after my connecting flight in Dallas was due to leave.

“It’s gonna be tight, but you might make it,” one of them assured me. Uh huh.

Shockingly, I missed my connecting flight. I stood in another line to try to get the next flight to Boston. I was told that I was on standby and to listen for my name.

Now, you might find this surprising, but I don’t use the last name “Firepants” when I travel. I use a clever pseudonym, bestowed on me by my husband, which no one can spell, much less pronounce. So, when people say, “Listen for your name,” they might as well say, “Listen for when I say the Pledge of Allegiance in Ukrainaian” because I’ve got to listen to everything said for the next hour in the hopes that I will recognize the new, butchered version of my name.

This time, though, my correctly pronounced name was called in a record five minutes. I jumped to the counter, amazed that things finally seemed to be going my way. The woman at the counter checked my non-Firepants identification. And issued me a ticket. I went back to my seat, and sighed in relief.

Until I looked at my ticket. Wrong name. First and last. Both wrong.

How could this be? I showed her my i.d.! Why do these people make me dig through every pocket in my super duper carry on bag to find my i.d. if they are just going to give me the wrong ticket anyway?

And, now that I had the wrong ticket, I had a huge moral conundrum. Hmmm.

I thought about getting to Boston before midnight. I thought about sleeping in the Dallas airport. I thought about how Wonderbutt would handle this situation.

And I ate the ticket. Because I knew the darn airline wasn’t going to feed me.

Sigh. I didn’t eat the ticket. I went back to the counter, where a rather long line had suddenly developed, was berated when I went to the front immediately to return the wrong ticket so the poor lady who tried to get it would not be turned away, and slunk back to my seat as a Standby again.

They called me back. Complete mispronouncing my name. But when I got the new ticket, everything was right.

The moral of this story is that you should not eat tickets that don’t have the right name on them. And do not buy fake i.d.’s in Mexico.

I’m just sayin’.

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