"I don't have a seat assignment," I told my work associate as we stepped into the line for airport security. I had checked in hours earlier, so I was more than a little annoyed.
"Uh-oh," she replied. "Uh-oh" was exactly right.
Once we had cleared security, I beelined my way to the gate to try to get a real boarding pass. "The flight is overbooked. We're going to need A LOT of people to volunteer before we'll be able to give you a seat assignment," the gate agent reported.
"Uh-oh" quickly turned to a series of curse words in my head.
There were two hours until boarding was scheduled to begin, so I tried to figure out the best way to use that time. I could sit at the gate and try to be the loud squeaky wheel, or I could go grab some french fries.
French fries will ALWAYS win over sitting around and being frustrated.
Later, I tried to assess the situation. I had purchased a ticket for the flight. I wasn't standby or anything, I had actually paid a ridiculous amount of money for the right to sit on that exact plane. Apparently, so had way too many other people. As I stood in line waiting to talk to a gate agent again, I realized that the two dozen or so other people milling around the counter were in the exact same situation. Everybody wanted to get out of Chicago and find their way to Pittsburgh, but apparently United Airlines doesn't know how to count. I understand over-selling a flight by a couple of seats, but it appeared the flight was oversold by at least 20 seats. Each person who was standing there without a seat assignment seemed more annoyed by the inconvenience than the last.
Options were offered that included a hotel room for the night and a $400 voucher for future travel, but as I told my work associate, seeing my kid is worth more than $400 to me. I refused to voluntarily give up on getting home just then.
So had everyone else.
The gate agent finally told everyone without a seat assignment to line up so they could start booking alternate travel. "I just want to get home to my kid," I muttered under my breath.
Several minutes later, I realized that someone who was in line to board the plane was staring at me. I wasn't sure what to make of the kid with the curly brown hair, so I went back to staring at my phone. I'm not sure what I thought my phone was going to do for me at the moment, but staring at it was slightly more productive than glaring at the gate agent. After all, United set that employee up to fail. It wasn't his fault the company had allowed such a FUBAR thing to happen on a Friday night.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that The Starer had gotten out of line. He was headed straight for me. I'm sure the look on my face was one of pure annoyance by the time he reached me.
"Come here a second," he said as he walked towards the counter. His words were weighed down by a heavy dose of Pittsburghese.
"Hey, I'll volunteer, but only if she can have my seat," he said. "She needs to get home to her kid."
Words got stuck in my throat. I barely managed to squeak out a "Thank you" as the young man explained that he wouldn't mind hanging out with his friends in Chicago for one more night and that he wasn't headed home to anybody anyway.
Thank you, Brad. You are a big part of what makes Pittsburgh so amazing.
(She thanks you, too.)