Heathrow Hell

When I was 6 years old I got on a plane for the first time in my life to go to Disney Land in Florida. About 4 months later my parents were divorced and my mum had moved to Montreal and I was taking the plane every few weeks. Even then I somehow knew I looked a little pathetic taking my 4 year old brother by the hand into the airport with a little suitcase in tow. Flying back in those days was at least a somewhat civil experience. Today modern flying is constituted by part cattle farm, part prison, part Kafka novel. This adventure starts at Brussels airport, probably the most inept airport I’ve ever been to. I was there only one week prior for a flight to London, and now that it’s Christmas its thrice as bad. Tatevik and I barely catch the airport bus, and only because it is stalled by the huge volume of people lining up for it to get to the airport. While in the queue we stand next to two Frenchmen who almost break into a fist fight while trying to get on. We get to the airport with almost 2 hours until the flight but quickly realize that its gonna be a bit of a crunch. The check in line alone snakes far down the terminal. I bought the ticket with Air Canada but they don’t fly to Brussels, so I have to take a connection to Brussels with their “partner”, BMI which is basically a cheapo charter which sells tickets for as little as 10 euros but with absolutely no frills.

We’re in the line for almost 30 minutes, and I’m anxious because I have last minute gifts to buy from the duty free. A lady comes to line and announces that the flight to London before and after mine have been cancelled, and that people can come with her to see about taking the train to London. I’m really thankful that mine’s still going because my connection to Toronto leaves at 1pm from Heathrow. I get up to the check-in lady, she’s just arrived and I’m her first customer of the day, she’s sweet in a way that I know can’t last with the unruly mob of angry travelers behind me. My flight is still going but due to fog its going to be delayed, in all likeliness the flight will arrive at noon, which gives me 1 hour to connect from Terminal 3 to terminal 1, its tight but I might make it. I shop around duty free when Tatevik calls me, I forgot to give her the key to my flat. I’m on my way to passport control to try and find her when I decide to check the departures board, my flight is listed now and its got a gate number, and the time reads to original departure time of 9.45, which gives me 30 minutes to get through security and to the gate. I rush to the passport control and give the key to a passport officer who hands it to Tatevik and haul ass down to security. The line is enormous so I pick the one that seems to move fastest, and I’m right. I move so fast I notice that there are xray machines to the left and right of me, but where’s the machine for my line? I look down the line to see it is the only one to trail far ahead, I check my watch, 15 minutes, this line could easily eat that. Out of sheer desperation I jump to the right line and ask the security guard if I can go through, and that my flight is leaving in 10 minutes. He ok’s me and I go through. I run down 20 gates and see a small crowd in front of mine, good its still boarding! I’m right by a duty free and run to grab an armful of Belgian chocolates and beer. The lady’s almost rung me through when she stars a conversation with someone, I feel like smashing the glass counter with the cheap watches underneath. She packs the beer in a special clear plastic bag glued at the top and I go to the gate.

I’m shocked to see a huge crowd just sitting around, no one is boarding, but people are also lined up. I get in the line and divine that the flight is still delayed, and these people are trying to find alternative routes to their destination. I’m furious, if the flight is delayed why not write that on the departures board, worse, why write the original time next to gate number!! The lady at the gate tells me the flight will probably leave between 11 and 12, so I haul off to get a coffee. I’m sitting at the cafeteria when I get a strange and sudden impulse to go to my gate, I have no idea why. I’m strolling up to it when I see that there is no one there anymore except one woman at the check-in desk. I run up to her, she’s boarded the plane, they’re getting an earlier departure slot!!! Why in God’s name then don’t they announce in on the speaker system!! I run to the plane and get into my seat and we wait, and wait and wait. The captain comes on:

“This is your captain speaking, as you know Heathrow has a dense freezing fog and is working on a time slot system and we’ve been given an earlier time slot. Unfortunately we have to depart in the next 5 minutes in order to make the slot. However a number of passengers for this flight are not aboard, and due to security regulations we now have to take their bags off the plane. This is being done now, and we will request an extension of our slot from Heathrow, and hope for the best”

The pilot, probably sensing the frustration of all the people behind him, has also omitted one other security policy. That passengers cannot disembark a flight once they have boarded, this is because there is the possibility of leaving “something” behind. So if we don’t get an extension on our slot, we’re waiting, and we’re waiting in this tiny airplane. Luckily we do get one and we taxi out, I’ll arrive at Heathrow around noon, its gonna be tight, but I might make it.

At Heathrow I run as fast as I can following the connections signs until I get to the security check. I’m going to the security line when some low-level Heathrow grunt tells me I can only have one bag, I look at my hands, I have my laptop bag and duty free. I tell him I bought the duty free in Brussels, he says I can only have 1 bag, I ask him what I should do, he tells me I can check the bag, I tell him my flight leaves in 45 minutes, he says I can only take 1 bag. So I step aside, I tear open my duty free bag and take 2 glass beer goblets that come in a kit and stuff em in my coat pocket and toss the coat over my arm. Tim might not get beer, but at least he gets something. I go back to him and drop the beer next to the rubbish bin. He says I can’t leave alcoholic drinks near the bin, I ask him what I should do with them, he says I should check them. Now I can feel the blood start to rush to my face. “I can’t check them I have a flight in 40 minutes!!” “You cannot leave them here!”, “So I can’t take them with me, I can’t check them, and I can’t throw them away, exactly what am I supposed to do with these!!”

At this moment one of his coworkers comes up, “What’s wrong here?”, I say “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with these”, he replies “Why don’t you take them on the plane?”…..

At this point the two Heathrow men argue about what exactly is the policy about duty-free and carry-on when a supervisor comes, and she listens to them for all of 5 seconds before just passing me through. I’m relieved to still have my duty free but now I’ve torn open that special bag with the big lettered instructions, indicating that it is against the law to tamper with the bag. I’m not too worried, worst case scenario they’ll take it away, but they’re still xmas gifts so I roll the top of the bag over and over and grip it tightly getting the glue to kinda stick. I gently put it on the xray belt and it goes through to a woman on the other side, she says “Oh this is from Brussels airport, who’s is this” and holds the bag up, my rolls start to unfurl and any moment all that beer is gonna drop out. I quickstep up to her saying “mine mine!” and gently rest it on the ground.

Partly out of stress and exhaustion, and partly because I’m a bumblebrain, I believe I’m in Terminal 3 going to Terminal 1 and not vice versa. So I hurry off to the terminal 1 signs and see the departures board, my flight isn’t listed. Confused I run back to the connections desk and get into the line for Air Canada, I spend almost 10 minutes in the line and its in mid-conversation with a lady behind me that I realize my mistake. I run down the terminal 3 signs which leads to a bus stop where a bus has just left. Its 25 minutes to go, I’m convinced I’m not going to make it and call my Dad to say so. The bus comes and I spend the entire ride patting my pockets constantly rechecking for wallet, passport, flight tickets, I don’t trust my brain anymore.

I run up to the departures board and see my flight, in big red letters it says GATE CLOSING. I’ve got about 5 minutes to go and I’m at gate 52!! I’m running like a madman when I see one of the trolleys parked, I jump on and tell the guy, an old friendly British fellow, that my flight is leaving in 5 minutes, can he get me to my gate? “We’ll try!!” he says. He turns on his little light and beeping sound and he races his cart as fast as it will go, honking past people and rushing on, gate 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 and finally 52. He radios “I’ve got one more passenger coming, hold the plane!!” I thank him as fast as I can and run down seeing the dock drivers standing there, I yell out “I’m coming” and jump over a row of seats to the gate. A lady rips my ticket and I haul down the corridor and hop the plane, and walk as a sweaty heap to my seat. I slump in my chair too exhausted to watch “My Super Ex-Girlfriend”, which in the end is probably for the best.