I just think it, okay, I’m not saying I do.
At this exact moment I should be on a plane bound for Tuguegarao. I’m supposed to cover a mini-summit on the preservation of the Philippine crocodile. (Insert your buwaya joke here. Yeah, you’re so clever.)
The Cebu Pacific flight to Tuguegarao was at 1125. I arrived at NAIA Terminal 3 at 1010 (based on the last text I sent out), and there were enough people in there to overthrow a government. There was one queue for all the check-in counters—this is supposed to be more efficient than having separate counters for each flight. I noticed a self-service check-in machine and tried to use it, but the attendant said you could only do this if there was an hour and a half before your flight. And I thought the point of automation was speed.
So I joined the long, snaking queue. I texted our trip organizer, who said she was also in the queue. Being fairly efficient, I used the time to copy-read an article on my Blackberry and email corrections. Then I noticed our organizer in the queue because she is always ridiculously stylish. We waved at each other.
A few minutes later I noticed that she was already at the counter. When she finished she came up to me and said, “Didn’t someone call you to approach the counter?” I said no. “Anyway I gave them your name and they’ll call you.” We weren’t worried because there were 6 of us traveling together and all our names were on the same ticket.
Nobody called me, and after a couple of minutes I decided to approach the counter uninvited. I told the man in front of me that I was going to ask about my flight. Just then the boarding call for my flight came on the PA system.
I walked up to the check-in counter and told the female attendant that my flight was boarding and I needed to check in pronto. She asked me if I had luggage to check, I said no. There was no sense of urgency in her manner, in fact she seemed bored, so I figured there was no problem. She told me to wait, then she went away.
After 2 minutes I told another female attendant that my flight was boarding and I had to check in immediately. She said, “Who told you to come to this counter?” So I repeated my conversation with the first attendant. She asked me how long I’d been in the queue, then she said to wait. This attendant seemed even less in a rush than the first.
In olden times I might’ve said something to the attendants. I don’t do that anymore because (A) It’s a waste of a good vocabulary, (B) Public meltdowns are tacky, and (C) It’s like scientists debating evolution with creationists: it enhances their reputation, not mine.
After a few minutes she took my ticket and ID and went off to talk to someone. More time passed. Someone announced that the flight from Tuguegarao had just landed. If that was the same plane I was taking, I still had time.
Then this male attendant, maybe a supervisor, came up to me with my ticket and ID and in a solemn, scolding manner said they had a rule. You can only check in 45 minutes before your flight; after that you just can’t. “So I can’t take this flight?” I asked. He said no. “When is the next flight to Tuguegarao?” I asked.
“There’s only one flight a day.” It would be pointless to fly out the next day, because the group was leaving early by truck to go to the remote Dunoy lake where 20 crocodiles raised by the Mabuwaya Foundation would be released.
I called our organizer, who was still at the gate. She said, “That can’t be” and went to talk to the ground staff.
Now I have a foul, foul temper, and if I’d been working around gamma radiation you know what would’ve happened. (Mmmm Mark Ruffalo.) But instead of blowing up I started feeling hilarious. I kept thinking of Claudine, Raymart and Tulfo having a brawl in the airport. Don’t lose it! I told myself. There could be a Tulfo taking video with his phone this instant! Do you want to be on youtube??
The thought of having a brawl with the Tulfos struck me as hysterical. As a matter of fact I’m supposed to interview the brothers next week. (I thought of it after I watched the entire first season of Justified starring Timothy Olyphant. I wonder why.) So instead of restraining myself from ripping off people’s heads I had to stop myself from giggling. Erwin and I used to write for TODAY—I suppose I could take him in a hair-pulling contest, but could I deal with Erwin plus Raffy and Ben? That’s a lot of hair.
Oh shit what if they challenge me to a Hagibis dance-off. Dammit where’d I put those steel-toed boots?
Our organizer called back and said she’d tried speaking to various ground crew but it was like talking to a wall. THAT’s the expression I was looking for. So I texted my editor that I was going to miss my flight and she said she’d call someone at Cebu Pacific.
Minutes later, a phone call from Cebu Pacific. “Can I help you?”
Holding back a fit of giggles I explained the situation. She said she’d call me back.
When she called back she said the flight had already boarded. Uh, Yeah, in the 45 minutes we’d been talking to walls, that would have happened.
And that’s the story of my non-brawl at NAIA terminal 3. I go to the taxi queue, and three taxis refuse to take me to Makati. Cause it’s really far. Or near. Or whatever rule governs their decisions. I come home with my bag, and my three cats look up from their naps with matching expressions of “What are you doing here?”
In short, this is a good day to be staring at a gif of Steve Rogers at the punching bag (See previous post).
Almost forgot thanks to my unnaturally good mood: CebuPac blows.
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Coming soon: A rehab program for people who love The Avengers too much.
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