As of this past weekend, my faith in the potential goodness of human beings has been (at least somewhat) restored. Here’s the scenario: I left home on Friday with the plan of flying to Virginia for a three-week adventure that will include the arrival of my bonus daughter, Amanda’s, second baby. I was filled with happy anticipation as Karl dropped me off at the airport in Denver an hour earlier than was necessary for my flight since he had to be back in Cheyenne for work.
And there I sat. For a very long time. Despite the clear blue skies I could see overhead, first one, then two, then three flight delays were posted. With the second posting it became clear I would not be making my connection in Dallas. Despite being rushed and harried, the agent at the gate took time to find me a later flight. She booked it for me and handed me a new boarding pass. No problem.
Eventually I did get to leave Denver, once again filled with revised but still happy anticipation that I’d arrive at my destination before the (now longer) day’s end.
Hope began to crack as soon as I turned my phone back on after landing. The first text I received was from the airline, informing me that my flight to Raleigh/Durham was cancelled. The link supplied for use to rebook let me know that the next available flight to said destination was a mere two days in the future. What? Two days in Dallas? Really? Still feeling positive and certain at a better solution, I sought out the customer service desk. Found it. Found it along with literally several hundred other passengers. My one little flight, it turned out, was only one of many, many flights cancelled. I was not just one little lady seeking to rebook a flight, I was part of a throng. I stood in line for FOUR HOURS!
Now here is where the restoration of hope in humanity begins. Four hours is a very long time. The line moved agonizingly slowly. It took over two hours before I could actually see the help desk and realize that it was only manned by two clerks. The potential for flaring tempers, anger, and ugliness was a real and present eventuality.
Except. That eventuality never materialized not even once. The line was calm. People began to converse. When a lady nearby asked me and the woman next to me if we would be willing to hold her place so she could go to the bathroom, we readily agreed. Folks shared snacks and stories. We encouraged one another, smiled, laughed. When they added first one, then a second and finally a third clerk to the help desk, there were cheers and good-natured applause. When one of the clerks left, we gasped. He assured us he was only going on a mandatory break and would be back. It was the truth.
As a spectator with a prime seat, I watched people. At first wary and on heighted guard for trouble but soon delighted at the positivity. I saw representatives of every economic and social slot. Skin color and age. Languages and accents abounded. At one point, an elderly gentleman and his wheel-chair bound wife stood at the counter for close to an hour while the masculine clerk with bright pink eye shadow worked and worked to find a travel solution for them. When at last they turned from the desk smiling and relieved, I and those around me congratulated them on their success and I silently began hoping that when it came my turn I’d get that clerk as my helper, he’d been so positive and tenacious.
Sometime after eleven o’clock (I’d arrived in Dallas at 7) it was my turn. The clerk (no pink eye shadow but kind, tired eyes) managed to find me a Saturday flight and soon sent me on my way to a hotel she’d reserved for me, vouchers for taxi rides and meals and the hotel room in hand. I left the airport with a tired back, sore-ish feet, and a light heart that in this world of ugliness within every news story in the media, human kindness still exists.
