Connecting flight
We were running late.
I sat on the couch watching my old college friend, Ana, dart up and down the stairs of her older brother’s home.
“Are you sure you have everything?” she asked.
“Yup. I’m ready to go when you are,” I responded.
This was how we spent most of the last 10 days.
It was one of those vacations (for me) that was both miserable and memorable.
Miserable because I was constantly waiting on either Ana or one of Ana’s family members — due to a crisis or a delay — before going anywhere. The lost time made me irritable, and the waiting resurrected negative reminders of my own chaotic family.
However, this vacation had its highlights.
I experienced Colombia in a way that I would never have experienced it had I not been sequestered with Ana’s family.
I played out these thoughts in my mind as I sat waiting on the couch — annoyed — that we were running late again.
“We need two hours for international flights,” I exclaimed in Spanish (to anyone who was listening).
Ana’s brother, Josue responded in English, “I know Soledad. We’ll be fine.”
He and I created this new habit during my visit. I spoke in Spanish to work on it while he spoke in English to work on it.
Finally, the six of us piled into the car and headed for the Cali airport.
…
Maneuvering in and out of lanes like a taxi driver, Josue was a master behind the wheel. It was impressive. Despite his best efforts, however, our late arrival meant we had to rush our hurried goodbyes as we entered the long customs line to exit the country.
While I was trying to figure out what the delay was in front of us, Ana looked back.
I could hear her stifled sobs.
A good friend would have offered a hug and some words of consolation. However, my concerns were less about my friend and more about catching our flight, so I pretended not to hear her.
We finally reached the armed guards and unzipped our suitcases. I expected a quick check, a passport stamp, and a go.
Nope.
I made the mistake of bringing sealed coffee.
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In Spanish, I asked what the problem was, but the guard did not answer, and Ana grimaced as if to say: “Keep your mouth shut.”
Rather than responding to me, the guard called over another guard.
Without hesitation, I watched the second guard pull out a knife and stab each coffee bag, one by one. He sealed them back up with tape and shuttled us through.
…
We hurried through the gates to board our plane, and when we reached the front desk counter, the airline employee told us it was too late, yet we could see the plane.
It had not budged.
Ana argued in Spanish begging for her to let us pass, but the employee was impenetrable. The woman firmly told Ana that all the seats were booked.
I began thinking about how much of a debacle this morning had been, and how much I did not want to redo this day tomorrow, so I began to cry in front of this stranger. In tears, I explained that we had a connecting flight from Miami to Chicago and that we would be fired from our jobs if we did not make this flight.
The thought of her causing us to become unemployed resonated with her. She — a Colombian fortress — looked me hard in the face and saw the fear and sincerity in my eyes. What came next was that uncomfortable pause — that moment where you wait for a person you will never see again to determine your fate.
She made a call, put our suitcases aside, and printed out our boarding passes.
As we walked to our plane’s entry, a flight attendant greeted us but blocked our passage to the right.
Ana and I looked at each other stupefied.
Instead, the flight attendant used the arm extended, palm up Disney welcome — stage left: the first class cabin.
To avoid any suspicion and looks of disdain, Ana and I used body language to communicate.
Stealing shocked glances at each other, we sat down in the roomy, wide leather seats.
Up came another flight attendant who offered us lemon-scented steamed towels to wipe our hands.
We both looked up at the beautiful flight attendant and replied: “Yes, please.”
However, not a word was uttered between the two of us.
When our plane reached its optimal altitude, Ana and I felt comfortable speaking.
Neither of us had ever flown first class, so like a couple of giddy school girls, we giggled at all that had transpired in such a short amount of time.
Yes, this was a memorable and unexpected ending to our vacation.
…
I have never flown first class since, and I cannot say whether Ana has either. We drifted apart after that vacation just like we did when we graduated from college.
As for that coffee, I did find out why it was stabbed. Due to its strong scent, coffee is used to smuggle in cocaine.
