Have Dog, Will Travel!

Airplanes seem to be the only place I feel motivated to blog, so here goes… We’ll see how much I can get down before I pass out.

I’m sailing through the sky, about an hour above and beyond my five months in Argentina. Perhaps later I’ll get super sappy and reflect and whatnot, but for now, all I want to tell you about is my absolutely absurd EZE Ministro Pistarini airport experience.

I had a hard time sleeping last night, and did most of my packing in the twilight hours. Today was spent tying up loose ends, and generally just relaxing away my final day in Buenos Aires. You can tell winter is approaching in the Southern Hemisphere-that’s my signal to take off

So here’s the thing: for someone who travels a bunch, I’m really bad at traveling. Arriving at the airport, dog in tow, I realized that my flight didn’t actually depart at 8:45PM-nope, that one took off at 8:10. Considering the fact that I was already late, I didn’t have a chance in hell. Se fue, it’s gone, but don’t worry, we’ll get you on the next one! At this point, Nevada’s tied up outside, as I try to navigate the bureaucracy that is American Airlines.

OK-I’m booked on the next one, miraculously leaving just an hour later. I take the dog for a quick walk, and return, checking my bag (which incurs a 50 dollar fee, as it’s 5 pounds overweight). Things aren’t looking up-check that, they’re about to get a lot worse. The lady at check-in went through all of the dog’s papers (which required a trip across town to Puerto Madero, as well as an appointment at the vet’s office). Everything is good, the t’s are crossed, and the lower case j’s are dotted, but wait… She checked her system, which tells her that its 17 degrees in New York-the cutoff for the dog is 20. THREE DEGREES IS GOING TO KEEP ME OFF THIS FLIGHT? I think to myself for a second; it’s early April-can it really be 17 degrees Fahrenheit in New York? The woman assures me that’s what the screen says.

Thinking on my feet, I ask about Miami-can I change my ticket, in the hopes I can contact either my aunt or my grandparents, all of whom live in FL? She checked the temperature there: 88 degrees, THREE DEGREES ABOVE THE LIMIT! This can’t be for real. It’s like an April Fools Day joke, but about 72 hours late. How about Dallas? Nope, the flight already left. It looks like I’m heading back to my apartment.

And then, all of a sudden, her face lights up about twelve shades of red. For whatever reason, Miami was in fahrenheit, but New York was in celsius. Us silly Americans don’t do much with the metric system, but 17 celsius is certainly a bit warmer than 17 fahrenheit! At this point, of course, as she realized her mistake, the NYC flight was more or less wheels up and heading north.

We put the dog through, and sprinted through the airport, nearly knocking over bottles in duty free as we dodged confused passengers.

I asked her to talk to the supervisor about an upgrade to first class, but no dice-my skills of persuasion are a bit rusty. So here I am, sitting in coach.

On the upside, the check-in lady was happy to wave the 50 bucks she was going to charge me for the overweight bag. What’s more, I’ve told my sob story to the stewardesses, and they’ve taken me under their wing (that was terrible, and I apologize). By that I mean they’re getting me drunk enough to go to sleep. In fact, here comes my New Orleans-based flight attendant sweetheart right now with my next round of cheap red wine. Next time you here from me, I’ll be on American soil!

[UPDATE: HERE'S THE EMAIL I RECEIVED ON SUNDAY MORNING, AFTER I GOT HOME]

Daniel,
It’s me, the airport agent from Buenos Aires…I know I shouldn’t be getting your mail (I hope it doesn’t bother you… because I would really be in trouble), but I’m REALLY SORRY for my mistake!!! I hope you and your dog get home safe!
Best Regards,
Estefania.

PS> I know I owe you the beer

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