“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to buy another ticket.”
Are you kidding? I asked, incredulous.
My plane was still there, on the tarmac. I was here, suitcase in tow. Why couldn’t I board?
I was headed home after two weeks overseas. I’d had a wonderful trip, even better than expected. I couldn’t believe how well things went the entire time.
And now this?!
I’m pretty detail-oriented, so I’d done my homework for this adventure. I knew almost exactly what to expect, and what I didn’t know, I figured out. Everything turned out beautifully.
But apparently I’d missed one key fact: for international flights, one had to be at the airport not two, but three hours early. So when I arrived at 9:30 sharp for my 11:30 flight, that wasn’t good enough.
The neatly attired woman behind the counter had little sympathy for a foolish American who couldn’t follow instructions. Her shift was almost up, and she was ready to go. “You’ll have to buy another ticket”, she said with an irritated sigh.
Buy a one-way, international ticket on the very day I needed to fly? I was looking at almost $1,000 out of pocket on the spot.
So I didn’t feel particularly friendly either.