National Lampoon’s Mexican Vacation

Back in May, we took a trip to Cabo San Lucas. We were able to go because we had some generous friends give us a week in their time share. When we checked airfare the tickets were over $600 per person. I thought about calling our friends and asking if they had forgotten to tell us that the airfare was included in their gift. Was their next “gift” to us going to be to pay to have cable installed at our house?

Then, with almost perfect timing, we learned that Heather has a cousin who works for US Airways/America West. She emailed him to ask if he could help us out. He said he could and for much less than $600 a ticket. Several days later four “friends/family” tickets arrived in the mail. Each ticket guaranteed us the best available seat on the plane. This is also known as flying stand-by.

We picked the first week in May to travel mainly because her cousin told us that travel was light that week and we’d have no trouble getting on the plane. The trip down was easy enough. DFW to Phoenix to Los Cabos. No problem. For the next week I didn’t think about the return trip. Didn’t think about it at all until we got to the Los Cabos airport and checked in for the flight to Phoenix. That’s when the ticket agent told us that there were three flights out that day and the first one was full and the other two had only two seats available on each one.

I knew as soon as he said it that we weren’t getting out of Mexico that day. My mind immediately flashed forward to the worst case scenario: spend all day at the airport waiting for flights only to be shut out and then load our luggage and two cranky, airport crazy kids into a taxi so that we could go looking for a cheap hotel in a place where there are no bargains.

I know this wasn’t even close to a worst case scenario, but it was enough to make my stomach tighten, my legs rubbery, and send my mind into hyper-drive. My self-talk was more toxic than the sewer water they use to water all the golf courses in Cabo (It’s a fact, check it out.). If we can’t get a flight today, who’s to say we’ll get one tomorrow or the day after? That’s what I kept asking myself. We were going to be stranded in Mexico for days, while paying luxury prices for a run-down hotel managed by our taxi driver’s uncle. I was starting to feel like the father in National Lampoon’s Treasure of Sierra Madre.

The guy working the counter was right. The first flight was full. Strike one. We had to wait an hour before the second flight started boarding. I couldn’t sit still. I walked circles around the small holding area where all of the sunburned, hung over, and yet relaxed because their tickets actually reserved them a seat on the plane, passengers were waiting. I went in and out of the Duty Free shop numerous times. With each visit, the expensive bottles of Tequila lining the walls looked more appealing and perhaps necessary.

When the second plane started to board, I sent Heather up to the counter with both boys. I told them all to look pitiful. We had already decided that if we had to, we’d split up and fly out in pairs in order to increase our chances. I leaned against the wall and prayed, begged, and bargained.

After everyone with a legitimate ticket had boarded, the counter-guy said something to Heather and she waved me over. It looked like there might be three seats available. My spirits brightened. I’d send the fam on to Phoenix and wait for the next flight. I’d treat myself to a nice souvenir from the Duty Free Shop. If I didn’t get on the third flight, then I’d tell the guy driving the taxi to take me to the best restaurant in town. From there I’d find a nice place to stay and then come back and do it all over again the next day.

But it wasn’t meant to be. The counter-guy said that he had a seat for each of us, but that we wouldn’t be able to sit together. No big deal. We’d just spent a week together in a one room condo. We were ready for a little space.

Heather and the boys boarded first and headed to the back of the plane. The flight attendant had already moved a single passenger so that Heather could sit with our three-year-old. Our five-year-old had a window seat next to a woman who had a10 year-old-son waiting for her in Phoenix that she was badly missing. She said she’d be happy to keep an eye on Caleb for us.

And me? Well, here’s the thing. My seat, as it turned out, was in First Class.

In less than five minutes, I went from thinking we were going to be stranded in Mexico begging our fellow Americans for some change to having a seat in First Class while my wife and a woman whose name I did not know took care of my boys.

Of course, a seat in First Class meant nothing to me. What really mattered was that we all made it on the plane. That’s what I had prayed for. Who am I to argue with God and his sovereign will? Since that was the only seat available and since the ticket I was holding had my name on it, what else could I do? Even though flight attendants sometimes allow passengers to switch seats, I’ve heard that it’s a practice the FAA frowns upon. I’ve never been one to bend the rules on such things. Otherwise, I would have gladly suggested that Heather take the seat up front.

When I realized that I wouldn’t be able to sit with my family, I gave a grim nod of acceptance and headed back to the front of the cabin. As I did, I searched for theological language that could appropriately describe my situation.

TV Preachers would have called it living under God’s favor.
I wanted to call it a reward for not buying a big ole bottle of Tequila.
Heather said she would have called it justifiable homicide.

Before I made it even halfway up the aisle, the flight attendant said, “Wait, I’ve got an idea.”

The last thing I wanted from her at this moment was an “idea.” A warm towel, a plate of grapes and cheese, and a glass of champagne-those would have been appreciated, but not an “idea.” Not now.

Her “idea” was to shuffle a few more people around until a lucky couple found themselves moving from Coach to First Class and I found myself sitting in Coach next to a woman whose ten-year-old son is apparently the best AAU basketball player in the greater Phoenix area. Boy was she proud of him. She wouldn’t stop talking about him, not even when I popped in my ear buds and fired up my MP3 player.

It was enough to make me think that I should have made one last trip into the Duty Free Shop, but not nearly enough to make we wish I was back at the airport hoping that some poor guy’s watch battery would go dead and cause him to show up an hour late for his flight.

I was really glad to be on that plane.

And I’ve definitely learned my lesson. Next time, I’m sprinting to the front of the plane before the flight attendant has time to start thinking of ideas.
Oh, and I may stop trying to fly stand-by with a family of four.