Tempests, teapots and tickets...

“Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is

won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat.” 

- Ralph Ellison: Invisible Man

The whole thing began over six weeks ago. The ‘whole thing,’ meaning preparing for a short visit to Singapore.

This will be my sixth or seventh visit there over the past fifteen years or so, all of which have been great experiences. I had been asked to speak at a spine symposium, and as usual, it sounded so much more exciting when it was at a distance. It is not that I don't enjoy this sort of thing. In fact, I love it. It's just that I forget, as Molly reminds me, to look in the mirror and appreciate the guy staring back at me is not a spry sixty-year-old anymore…or less.

Getting to Singapore from Tucson requires more than one flight connection. For this trip, it will Los Angeles to Haneda (Tokyo), with the final leg to that Island city-state eighty-some miles north of the Equator.

As it turns out, my regular airline does not go all the way to Singapore and so part of the trip woule be on a different air carrier. In this case, it was a code-share with Japan Airlines (JAL).

Molly has gotten pretty good at airline reservations over the years, but when it is this kind of trip; I depend on my old travel agent Nancy. She has been getting me places for more than twenty-five years, and truth be told, I think of her as family. There is just something calming about this woman. When things seem too complicated, she just talks quietly to me with a consistently cheery voice.

This trip didn't seem to be much of a problem, except…except JAL would not give me a seat assignment until twenty-four hours before the flight.  I am one of those ‘trust but verify' kind of guys, so when Nancy told me this, I said okay. Nonetheless, when the date got closer, asked her whether she might check again, just to make sure. She did, and the answer was the same.

The JAL website confirmed that code-share flights with certain airlines prohibited seat assignments beyond twenty-four hours.

I have done a lot of calls, over the years, to Japan, India, New Zealand and Australia. It is just a matter of calculating the time zone difference to make them work. Familiarity, however, sometimes breeds contempt…or in this case complacent neglect. Only God and the Universe know why I imprinted a twenty-hour difference between Japan and Pacific Coast time – in fact, it's sixteen hours – but I did. That would be forgivable were it not that I had the days wrong as well.

I planned to make sure I called my airline at exactly twenty-four hours before the flight departed to ensure I did not find myself in the middle row with non-English speaking seat partners for the seven-hour leg from Haneda to Singapore.

I even called my airline help desk to confirm they would be there at four o’clock AM Sunday morning for me to get those seats. Planning – that’s the key. You know, “…measure twice and cut once…” and all that sort of thing.  The gal at the airline assured me there would be a representative available at the early hour. They would, she confirmed, call JAL and hand me off directly to them.

Alarm set, I tucked into bed early, to get as much of a goodnight's sleep as possible. Three-forty five I was up, making coffee and heading for the computer. At four straight up, I called my airline help desk, only to be told they never connected people with JAL, but she would be happy to give me their number...things were beginning to tilt.

After trying to sort out the auto-answering choices with JAL I finally got a representative who let me know, not only would they NOT give me a seat, but I would need to wait until I got to Haneda, where I could get my assignment just before boarding...

By this time Molly was up, and after having coffee and therefore wide-awake, she said,

"Hey Ted, two things: Japan is sixteen hours out from us, AND you called a day early! You will be in the air when it is time to try again. I’m happy to make the call for you. It might make a difference.”

The thing about Molly is that she can remind me just how out of sync I sometimes get and do it a way that seems like she is congratulating me for being so smart! The way she said it, allowed my ego to remain intact and land pretty softly.

All was not lost. Getting up early allowed me to quadruple check everything, to make sure nothing was missing, eat a hearty breakfast, say goodbye to the cats, do a little reading and watch the clock.

At eight-ten it was off to the airport, still preparing my mind for a shoehorned leg from Japan to Singapore. When I checked in, the gal at the counter verified my passport, asked whether I was checking luggage and printed my boarding passes. She handed me three.

There, long before the twenty-four starting line was a seat – 16A. "Sixteen A!" I exclaimed like a child receiving a surprise gift. It was a window on a two-seat side of the aircraft. Well, I thought, this is lots better than a middle seat!

"The JAL rep said I would have to wait until I got to Japan to get a seat,” I said to her. She gave me a knowing smile, wished me a safe trip and said, “I can help the next passenger here.” Summarily dismissed, I was happily on my way.

When I got to Los Angeles, I thought, Now that I have a seat, I wonder if I could change it to an aisle.

At one of the help desks, I asked the airline attendant what she thought. “Let me see,” She said. “I can give you an aisle on a three seat center section.” That would be lots better, even if my inside seatmate had to get up and out frequently. I wouldn’t mind.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “There’s an exit row seat open, but we can never get them. Let me try.”

An exit row, are you kidding me, I thought.

“Hey, you’re in luck,” she beamed. “Fifteen H is yours!”

I walked away from her desk a bit overwhelmed. It was one of those ‘…best laid plans of mice and men…’ situations.

The preplanning…the phone calls…the early hour wake-up…none of it, not one bit of it mattered in the end.

When Molly dropped me off at the airport, I had rationalized by remembering all the great seats I have gotten over the years and resigned myself to one cramped, seven-hour leg into Singapore…you know, in a strange way, balancing the universe.

In the end, I was delightfully surprised. It is not that eighteen hours in the air is the most pleasant way to spend one's time. 

On the other hand, as I readied to hop that second leg from Los Angeles to Tokyo, I was a happy camper.

- ted