Well, I thought my journey to Edinburgh would take some beating but it turned out that the journey back home was even more epic and included far more tears and histrionics. Pregnancy-induced absent mindedness, hormones, two Tiffany-style lamps and easyJet customer service (a misnomer if ever there was one) do not a happy combination make.
I found the two gorgeous Tiffany-style lamps at a bargain price. A feverish nesting instinct has taken hold of me of late and my desire for these lamps was positively visceral – they had to be mine; no matter how awkward it might be to take them home. As it turned out, once I had taken the shades off and wrapped them in towels they fitted rather neatly into my hand luggage and although a little heavy and slightly bulkier than I would have liked, I could manage. I caught the Monday red-eye from Edinburgh to Gatwick and, rather predictably, the plane was full to bursting. By the time I managed to waddle awkwardly onto the aircraft with my big bag and burgeoning belly, finding overhead locker space was out of the question. After a rather ungainly performance that may well have brought the Hippo dance in Fantasia to my fellow passengers’ minds, I managed to squeeze myself and my precious lamps into a window seat. Once the plane landed, getting out was not quite so easy. After much huffing and puffing I eventually liberated myself and my bag and once I collected my suitcase, made my weary way to Gatwick’s North Terminal.
Upon arrival I realised I didn’t have my passport. The thought of traipsing back with all my luggage filled me with dread so instead I headed to the easyJet service counter and explained my predicament adding that I was 99.9 per cent sure my passport was on the plane as I had shown it at boarding and with hindsight remembered it wasn’t in my pocket just after disembarking. The agent made a call and told me it wasn’t on board. Approaching mild panic I went down to the Information desk to seek their advice and they also called easyJet who repeated that they had looked on the aircraft but it wasn’t there. I then realised that I hadn’t given, nor had they asked for, my seat number so went rushing back to easyJet customer service who then informed me that the plane had taken off and that it definitely wasn’t on board.
Anyway, tons of phone calls later – I was trying to find out how to get an emergency travel document but that’s pretty impossible nowadays plus the passport office was on strike for two days so couldn’t get any joy there, I called my dad, told him that I was still pretty sure the passport was on the plane and could he talk to someone in Edinburgh. Once the plane landed he got hold of someone and guess what? Go on. Have a wild stab in the dark. Yup. The damned thing was there all along. Now, next hurdle was getting it back to me.
The lovely man at the Information desk tried to get easyJet to put it on the next plane but they refused saying they wouldn’t take responsibility for a passport. Fair enough under normal circumstances but when I’ve checked three times and been told it definitely isn’t on board I think they should have bent the rules. My poor dad had to drive to the airport to pick it up and then set about trying to find a courier to bring it to me. He was quoted £170 to send it same day. By this time mild panic had morphed into faint hysteria. While he was sorting out my passport logistics, I endeavoured to find a way home.
The next day’s Larnaca flight was full and I wasn’t allowed to transfer to the Paphos flight, I had to buy a new ticket at full price which worked out at £200. Added to that cost was overnight hotel accommodation and it was all totting up. I went back to customer service to reason with them and see it they would allow me to take the Paphos flight and pay the transfer fee of £43. The manager came to speak to me and I could tell from her blank stare and general demeanour that she was not here to help in any way and in fact she turned out to be rather vile. I honestly cannot fathom how some people get any job, let alone a job in customer services. How anyone can be so rude and so unpleasant to a clearly distressed pregnant woman is beyond me. But she managed with aplomb. By this stage I was a sobbing wreck.
Fortunately my dad had sorted out a guaranteed pre-9am delivery and I found an alternative flight for the next day as well as an address to have the passport sent to. Once ensconced in my hotel room I thought about the day’s events and realised that struggling into and out of the seat probably dislodged the passport from my pocket so decided not to make same mistake again.
On my flight home the following day I asked a man sitting behind me to put my bag in the overhead locker. Now, you know how overheads slope slightly so you have to put the fat part of a bag in one end in order to get the door to close? Well, this guy had other means. His method for closing the overhead compartment door was to put a bag in any-which-way and SLAM the bloody door down resulting in an almighty crack that could be heard halfway down the plane. Which could only mean one thing. The damned lamps which had seemed such a bargain at the time, but which had already cost me several hundred pounds, were now in little pieces in my hand luggage.
I came SO CLOSE to stabbing him with the shards of glass. Unbelievable. But there is some sort of symmetry to the whole thing isn’t there?
