Escape from Cabo

Whenever things are going too well, you can be sure something to shake you up is around the corner. We’d had a fabulous vacation in Cabo San Lucas. Now we were heading home. Two kids were on an earlier flight to San Francisco, another kid was headed to San Diego. Keith, their father, worried and worried until we had texts saying that they’d all arrived safely. That meant Keith, Christine, their daughter Lexi, and the two of us could relax into our later flight back to SFO. We had a non-stop flight which we figured was just short enough to ensure the fifty pounds of Dorado we were bringing back in a cooler stayed cold on ice. Scratch that ice. At Security, they let us keep the fish, but confiscated our ice. Then when Andy duct taped the cooler closed after Security checked it, they confiscated his duct tape. Because you never know what an Englishman can do with ice and duct tape. But, with a three hour flight and our fish frozen solid, we were sure we could make it back to San Francisco with our catch intact.

Relax. Get our first drink. Then wait. And wait. And wait. After about four announcements that it would be “just about half an hour more”, the flight attendants finally told us to “get off the plane and stretch your legs and get something to eat”. This is never a good sign. Once they are letting you off a checked in flight, you know you are into hours and hours of delay. Nevertheless, we tried to make the best of it.

We checked out Duty Free. (Bugs musta taken a wrong toin at Al-be-quoi-kee.)

We spent our last pesos on Starbucks coffee.

And very large chocolate bars!

At least we had a celebrity sighting in the airport. A big celebrity. Huge. International.

SANTA! Clearly taking a break after a long Christmas season.

After several hours, the restaurants and stores were closing up at the Cabo airport, and our flight crew finally came clean: our flight had been cancelled and we were being bussed to the nearest hotel for the night.

Of course, there was the matter of those 50 pounds of Dorado in the cooler. The cooler that was now without ice.

But rotting fish is nothing compared to the ugly scene at the gate.

And the even uglier scenes at the re-check in.

If you’ve ever experienced SNAFUs like this, you know it’s not the delay, it’s not the inconvenience, it’s your fellow passengers who might be the most horrific thing you face. We had one of those. Well, several of those. But one was the most obnoxious as evidenced by a brief conversation unwittingly unleashed by our friend Christine:

Christine: Oh, this delay is a hassle.

Obnoxious Passenger: Well, for you. But my father has a million billion frequent flier miles and he can get me upgraded and out of here in a minute.

Christine: Oh interesting.

Obnoxious Passenger: Yes, my father just calls United and tells them what to do and they do it.

Keith (muttering): So your Dad calls United and says “I don’t care if this flight is going to LA, I want it to go to San Francisco now.”

Obnoxious Passenger: Did I tell you my father has a million billion frequent flier miles?

We finally got ourselves to the Best Western where the airline was putting us up. We secured alcohol and water. Only to find ourselves seated next to Obnoxious Passenger.

Obnoxious Passenger: Did I tell you my father has a million billion frequent flier miles?

Us: Can we order more alcohol over here?

We finally grabbed our bottles and fled to our rooms.

Meanwhile, our fates are still up in the air — so to speak. A new flight has been scheduled, but our friends Keith, Christine and Lexi are for some explicable reason not booked on it but scheduled for a flight on the next day. Our fish — well, we’re not sure if it will survive by the time we get to San Francisco.

And the last time I ventured out into the hallway to get ice, I heard Obnoxious Passenger.

Obnoxious Passenger: Did I tell you I don’t have to take this because my father has a million billion frequent flier miles?

I wonder if I can get another bottle of wine sent up by room service.