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I'm trying really hard not to beat myself up mentally now, and I'm largely failing. No self-deprecating comments coming from the demons of depression... I hope.
So anyway, Today was the day that I was going to fly back to Canada. Short version: that didn't happen. What did happen was a combination of problems small and large that conspired to keep me from the airport in time to make my flight.
My flight was to be at 6:50, and I aimed to be at the airport by 4:30. I was a little late getting to King's Cross, where I had stashed my luggage. Getting my luggage killed about 15 minutes of my leeway. No problem, I still had plenty of time.
Next up was trying to find a stamp for one of the postcards I needed to mail. Post office was across the street from King's Cross, so that blew another 15 minutes. Getting on the train, I still had 90 minutes to go, which is more-or-less what they tell you to do.
The train lurched out of the station and a 77 year old lady standing about 5 meters away from me fell backwards onto the floor of the train. There was immediate screaming and she was clearly in a lot of pain. Also she was immediately surrounded by people offering help. At this point she was in major distress and someone hit the train's emergency button. The train immediately came to a halt between stations and the driver used the intercom to ask what the problem was. Once he got an answer from one of the helpers, he slowly proceeded to the next station and asked the other passengers if there was a doctor or someone with first aid on board who could assist. A young lady arrived to help and showed the train officials her official "Me Doctor" card. She was quickly followed by another doctor, who opted to let her be the primary while he just hung around to run interference for her.
"Running interference" turned out to be pretty accurate, as the train officials really wanted to push the train to the next station for some reason (I'm guessing to route other trains around better). They really wanted his or her blessing to do this, and neither were having it (The old lady had apparently had spinal injuries in the past, and you don't just shake and rattle a possible spinal injury. The phrases "As a Doctor we're telling you to not move this train", "That's against our recommendation", and "If this was your mother, you'd agree with us". They eventually 'compromised' by driving really slowly to the next station.
At that point they announced that the train would be here for at least a half an hour, so if you wanted to exit and find other transport methods, to do so. It was at this point that I should have high-tailed it to the surface and grabbed a cab. I didn't, reasoning that - even with a half-hour delay - this was still my best bet to get to the airport in a timely fashion. I settled in to see how this all turned out.
First thing was that it took a really long time for the medics to arrive. I'm wondering if they arrived at the correct station, since they moved the train. The lady doctor stuck by that old woman the whole time, slowly making a prognosis. I fell a little in love with her. A random bystander was helping make her comfortable. Eventually a group of three showed up and took over from the two doctors. They stuck around in the background, just in case.
Next, a second set of medics showed up, so there was now a total of six. They repeated a lot of what lady doctor did, but also used more equipment than she and her stethoscope had. After much assessing, they administering of some kind of pain killer gas (and eventually, a shot of morphine). The gas and the morphine got her laughing towards the end. Then they finally got a back board under her and they were off. The male doctor took off and the lady doctor sat down and, after several stops of people swapping on and off the train, resumed just-another-commuter status. I should have given her the box of chocolates I had for bribing the flight attendants.
Now at this point I was fucked, but didn't know it. I was still in central London and it was 5:30. I had an hour until my flight. Unbeknownst to me, they won't issue a boarding pass after T-45 minutes, and security won't let you through at T-35 minutes. There was no way I was going to get to Heathrow from central London in 15 minutes. To add insult to injury though, they switched the train's destination from terminal 5 to terminal 4, saying that the earlier destination was "in error". NO IT WASN'T YOU COCKSUCKERS, YOU MADE THE DECISION TO CHANGE IT. That cost me another two minutes as I had to get off at a station and wait for the next train to terminal 5.
I got to the airport and ran to the departures level to print my boarding pass. The machine wouldn't let me, and I was directed to the British Airways agents.
"My flight leaves in 25 minutes. Can you help me get on it?"
"Short answer is no, but I can try to help you in other ways."
I explain the problem and she eventually concludes that there are no more Calgary flights that day, and she starts looking at other alternatives. I notice that she's frowning at the screen.
"That's a look that suggests there are no good options."
"Very astute. The only flight I can get you on is the same one, but tomorrow."
"So what's the problem?"
"It's very expensive."
She looks at a few other things and finally decides they're even worse.
"Normally I'd charge you the difference in fares and then £180 fee on top for changing a booking. Seeing as how missing the flight wasn't your fault, I'm going to just charge you the £150 because the system won't let me not charge you something. Is that OK?"
"It sounds better than the alternative, do what you have to do."
She didn't have to do that, so I gave her the box of chocolates, even though I still think lady Doctor deserved them more.
I left to find a hotel room. Heathrow has a kiosk where that's all they do and after some WTF moments ("I have a room for £350." "No!"), I finally got a room at the Marriott for £260 that included supper, breakfast, and wifi. When I told my tale of woe to the front desk clerk, he upgraded me to an executive suite. Note that an executive suite in UK parlance is a standard North American hotel room. Still, after two weeks of sleeping in broom closets, I'll take it.
I'm finishing up the night writing this, and dwelling unhealthily on alternate scenarios that are in the past: What if I had decided to get that stamp at the airport - then I'd have been one train ahead and would never have heard of this or old lady. Hell, maybe she wouldn't have fallen. Maybe I should have grabbed a cab - I'm sure even the most expensive cab would have been better than the near £500 pounds missing my flight has cost me so far. It's unhealthy and depression-inducing, and yet I can't find a way to stop it. Oh well, it's late, maybe if I sleep. Still, I was really looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight. I just want to go home.
So anyway, Today was the day that I was going to fly back to Canada. Short version: that didn't happen. What did happen was a combination of problems small and large that conspired to keep me from the airport in time to make my flight.
My flight was to be at 6:50, and I aimed to be at the airport by 4:30. I was a little late getting to King's Cross, where I had stashed my luggage. Getting my luggage killed about 15 minutes of my leeway. No problem, I still had plenty of time.
Next up was trying to find a stamp for one of the postcards I needed to mail. Post office was across the street from King's Cross, so that blew another 15 minutes. Getting on the train, I still had 90 minutes to go, which is more-or-less what they tell you to do.
The train lurched out of the station and a 77 year old lady standing about 5 meters away from me fell backwards onto the floor of the train. There was immediate screaming and she was clearly in a lot of pain. Also she was immediately surrounded by people offering help. At this point she was in major distress and someone hit the train's emergency button. The train immediately came to a halt between stations and the driver used the intercom to ask what the problem was. Once he got an answer from one of the helpers, he slowly proceeded to the next station and asked the other passengers if there was a doctor or someone with first aid on board who could assist. A young lady arrived to help and showed the train officials her official "Me Doctor" card. She was quickly followed by another doctor, who opted to let her be the primary while he just hung around to run interference for her.
"Running interference" turned out to be pretty accurate, as the train officials really wanted to push the train to the next station for some reason (I'm guessing to route other trains around better). They really wanted his or her blessing to do this, and neither were having it (The old lady had apparently had spinal injuries in the past, and you don't just shake and rattle a possible spinal injury. The phrases "As a Doctor we're telling you to not move this train", "That's against our recommendation", and "If this was your mother, you'd agree with us". They eventually 'compromised' by driving really slowly to the next station.
At that point they announced that the train would be here for at least a half an hour, so if you wanted to exit and find other transport methods, to do so. It was at this point that I should have high-tailed it to the surface and grabbed a cab. I didn't, reasoning that - even with a half-hour delay - this was still my best bet to get to the airport in a timely fashion. I settled in to see how this all turned out.
First thing was that it took a really long time for the medics to arrive. I'm wondering if they arrived at the correct station, since they moved the train. The lady doctor stuck by that old woman the whole time, slowly making a prognosis. I fell a little in love with her. A random bystander was helping make her comfortable. Eventually a group of three showed up and took over from the two doctors. They stuck around in the background, just in case.
Next, a second set of medics showed up, so there was now a total of six. They repeated a lot of what lady doctor did, but also used more equipment than she and her stethoscope had. After much assessing, they administering of some kind of pain killer gas (and eventually, a shot of morphine). The gas and the morphine got her laughing towards the end. Then they finally got a back board under her and they were off. The male doctor took off and the lady doctor sat down and, after several stops of people swapping on and off the train, resumed just-another-commuter status. I should have given her the box of chocolates I had for bribing the flight attendants.
Now at this point I was fucked, but didn't know it. I was still in central London and it was 5:30. I had an hour until my flight. Unbeknownst to me, they won't issue a boarding pass after T-45 minutes, and security won't let you through at T-35 minutes. There was no way I was going to get to Heathrow from central London in 15 minutes. To add insult to injury though, they switched the train's destination from terminal 5 to terminal 4, saying that the earlier destination was "in error". NO IT WASN'T YOU COCKSUCKERS, YOU MADE THE DECISION TO CHANGE IT. That cost me another two minutes as I had to get off at a station and wait for the next train to terminal 5.
I got to the airport and ran to the departures level to print my boarding pass. The machine wouldn't let me, and I was directed to the British Airways agents.
"My flight leaves in 25 minutes. Can you help me get on it?"
"Short answer is no, but I can try to help you in other ways."
I explain the problem and she eventually concludes that there are no more Calgary flights that day, and she starts looking at other alternatives. I notice that she's frowning at the screen.
"That's a look that suggests there are no good options."
"Very astute. The only flight I can get you on is the same one, but tomorrow."
"So what's the problem?"
"It's very expensive."
She looks at a few other things and finally decides they're even worse.
"Normally I'd charge you the difference in fares and then £180 fee on top for changing a booking. Seeing as how missing the flight wasn't your fault, I'm going to just charge you the £150 because the system won't let me not charge you something. Is that OK?"
"It sounds better than the alternative, do what you have to do."
She didn't have to do that, so I gave her the box of chocolates, even though I still think lady Doctor deserved them more.
I left to find a hotel room. Heathrow has a kiosk where that's all they do and after some WTF moments ("I have a room for £350." "No!"), I finally got a room at the Marriott for £260 that included supper, breakfast, and wifi. When I told my tale of woe to the front desk clerk, he upgraded me to an executive suite. Note that an executive suite in UK parlance is a standard North American hotel room. Still, after two weeks of sleeping in broom closets, I'll take it.
I'm finishing up the night writing this, and dwelling unhealthily on alternate scenarios that are in the past: What if I had decided to get that stamp at the airport - then I'd have been one train ahead and would never have heard of this or old lady. Hell, maybe she wouldn't have fallen. Maybe I should have grabbed a cab - I'm sure even the most expensive cab would have been better than the near £500 pounds missing my flight has cost me so far. It's unhealthy and depression-inducing, and yet I can't find a way to stop it. Oh well, it's late, maybe if I sleep. Still, I was really looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight. I just want to go home.
