The Day I Was Denied Boarding

At 5.55 am Sunday, 28 April 2024, I got my comeuppance.

Some might call it karma.

I have had to sprint too many times, through too many airports. My problem is I do not allow enough buffer time and leave everything to the last minute.  I have never been one of those people who get to the airport early and sit back and read a book.

No.  

Too many times I have plonked myself down in my seat on the aircraft, scraping in by the skin of my teeth, with my heart thumping out of my chest from the mad dash.

You’d think I would learn. But, old habits die hard.

That Sunday I was to meet my clients. I was hosting a tour through Italy, and it was starting that evening. Everyone in the group had the arduous task of the long-haul (24-hour +) flight from Australia to Rome, but not me. I had the luxury of an easy short flight, from London to Rome to meet the group.

The worst part for me was getting up ridiculously early for the 6.20 am departure. All went according to plan. I drove to the airport, dropped off the hire car and checked-in, with plenty of time to spare. I even had time to buy myself a cup of tea as my gate number wasn’t even on the departure board yet.

At 5.55 am, I wandered down to the gate with cup of tea in hand, feeling relaxed and almost smug. That smugness came to an abrupt end when the staff told me I was too late; boarding had closed.

There were no announcements, no warnings, no calling passengers.

My luck had run out. Karma had found me.

It seemed so unfair. The plane was right there. I could see it, a stone’s throw away.

Little did I know this was standard procedure for low-cost carriers. You must be at the gate 30 minutes beforehand (I was there 25 minutes) otherwise they will not let you board.  Rather than letting me (and the other passengers in the same predicament) onto the plane, which would have taken 3 minutes, they spent over an hour searching for our luggage to off-load.

I followed the instructions on what to do next. I went to the carousel designated for the ‘disgraced’ passengers’ bags.

While waiting, I sat on the neighbouring carousel, took out my laptop, and purchased another (extremely expensive) flight to Rome for that afternoon. I had no choice, I had to get there, today.

I was all sorted.

When I finished, I noticed a lady, about my age, slowly pacing up and down. She had been crying, her eyes were red, and she looked completely bewildered. She looked so lost, and overwhelmed. I was immediately drawn to her to check that she was okay.

She was not.

In her softly spoken American accent, she told me how the security had been through all her luggage. Twice. Sending her to the back of the line each time which caused her to get to her gate too late to board. There would not be another plane to her destination for three days.

She was a long way from home, travelling alone and completely defeated.

I gently squeezed her arm in a show of understanding and solidarity, guided her to sit down on the carousel with me and said we could work this out.

She told me her name was Beth. It was her lucky day, even though she was feeling far from lucky. She found herself stuck in a foreign land, all alone, and the first person she talked to just so happened to be a travel agent.

What are the chances?

Beth was meant to be flying to a small airport in the south of Italy to meet with friends the following day. She was at the point of cancelling all her plans and flying straight home.

She had had enough.

I got my laptop out and we got to work. I explained that all the prices that came up on my computer were in AU$ not US$, as I was normally based in Australia. She said, that’s perfectly fine as although she was American, she had lived in Australia for 30 years.

What a coincidence, although I was English, I had lived in Australia for about 30 years too!

I needed her date of birth as it was required for one of the bookings, and she told me it was the 14th of March. I slowly looked up at her from my computer screen, in amazement I exclaimed,

‘Are you kidding me, my birthday is the 14^th of March too!’

Soon we had everything under control; a new flight was booked, this time to Rome. We made a hotel reservation for that night and booked a train for her to take to southern Italy the following day.

We both went through security for the second time that day (or fourth for Beth) without a hiccup. As we parted ways we made a pact to catch up again at the departure gate in a few hours.

At the departure gate, I must admit I did something I have never done before. Normally, I wait until everyone has gone through the boarding gate before getting up. I know I will join the queue in the tunnel.

Queuing is NOT my thing.

This time, here I was standing in one of the lines, ready to board before the plane was even at the terminal. I was one of ‘those people’, the ones I generally roll my eyes at as they are so keen to get on the plane and sit there for an extra 30 minutes while everyone boards.

Finally, the aircraft arrived and soon after, the line was starting to move.

When I say the line, I mean the line I WASN’T in, there were two lines, one was moving, and one was stationary. What made it even more weird, nobody was complaining. The other line had let dozens through, and no one was jumping lines to the fast-moving one.

Finally, my confusion got the better of me and I asked the elderly couple in front of me what was going on. The man informed me, ‘Those people,’ he said, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the other lane, ‘are the mad fools who paid for priority boarding.’

One thing is sure with low-cost carriers, you pay extra for everything.

There’s a queue for mad fools!

I checked my boarding pass and saw the words ‘priority boarding’ under my name. Realizing I was one of those ‘mad fools,’ I quickly jumped lines. Just as I jumped the line, I found my new bestie, Beth, another of the mad fools. We were together again, and we were going to make it on board this time.

It almost felt like we should hold hands, and lift them high to cross the finish line (or boarding-pass-check line) together. However, just as we were about to hand our boarding passes over, one of the ground crew staff put her arm across and stopped us from proceeding.

I think the look on both our faces must have freaked her, she assured us it was ok; we could go and sit down, and she would call us back when boarding was going to continue. She didn’t tell the people behind us to sit down because she saw the absolute fear on our faces and knew to treat us gently.

A few minutes later the boarding was starting again. After being ushered to the front of the queue we were on the plane.

What are the chances?

At this point, the coincidences continued, as we found ourselves seated together on the plane.

What are the chances?

We spent the first part of the flight chatting. Beth had two boys 20 and 24, I had two kids 20 and 23. Her youngest child had not completed high school . . .  same! But both of our kids were doing great after some tough years as teens.

Dinner at a laneway restaurant in Rome

I invited Beth to join my group at dinner that night at a restaurant in Rome She was all alone in a new city, what else was she to do?

She was happy to join in. We had experienced so much together that we felt the need to stick together.

We grabbed a taxi from the airport and drove straight to the restaurant. The group had just gathered and were getting to know each other. Beth and I joined the group with great fanfare; not only did I arrive late, but I also brought my new best friend, and we both had plenty of stories to tell.

We had a great evening together as a group. It was a shame that Beth wasn’t coming with us. She fit into the group so easily, it’s hard to believe a few hours earlier she was a complete stranger in a foreign airport.

We parted ways in a sad farewell at the end of the evening, promising to keep in touch. We’d been through so much together in such a short period. We couldn’t ignore the numerous coincidences that had brought us together. She went to her hotel, I had booked her, almost next door to ours. My group and I went off to ours.

The morning after the night before

The following morning before going to breakfast I was thinking of all the coincidences that connected Beth and me. The airline declined us boarding on our flights to Italy even though we were at the gates well before the departure time. We both lived in Australia for the last 30+ years even though we were born in other countries. Our birthdays were on the 14^th of March. We both had two kids of the same age. We were both on five-week long trips, she had one week left to go. I had done one week and had four to go. We had both started our trips in the towns where we had respectively grown up. And finally, even though the airline allocated our seats, we found ourselves seated next to each other on this flight.

I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of connecting on socials before we departed company the previous evening. So, as I lay in bed in my hotel in Rome, I went on Facebook and put in Beth’s name. I knew so much about her; she should be easy to find.

There were a few people with the same name as Beth, but only one was based in Melbourne, where she told me she lived, so it had to be her. I clicked on the name I assumed was hers to check the profile photo.

It made me sit immediately bolt upright. This could not be for real. I zoomed in on the photo.

Are you freaking kidding me! 

There was a photo of Beth, a man with his arm around her, who must be her husband and two boys, just as she told me she had.

I immediately sent her a message stating,

‘Are you freaking kidding me, is this really your family????’

I attached a screenshot of her profile photo.

I then panicked, as that probably didn’t read well. As I stared at the photo of Beth’s kids who were not Caucasian like Beth and her husband, but rather African, and looked Ethiopian.

Her kids are adopted! In all our conversations yesterday, she had not mentioned this. And why would she?

I then quickly scrolled through my photos of my family to send one to her, just in case she had read my message and took it the wrong way. I sent a photo, stating, ‘This is MY family!!!!’ The photo showed her my kids, who were also adopted from Ethiopia.

We weren’t just friends. We were now family! Brought together by missed flights and interracial adoption!

Was it karma that caused this to happen?

Was it karma that caused me to miss my flight that day? I believe I am a good person, so karma (fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it) was kind to me.  In Beth, I found a bond that transcends coincidence. And for that, I am grateful.