I was supposed to fly out to Houston today, so I've been keeping an eye on the forecast. That magical blend of guesswork and science. Past data coupled with future predictions. An all time low barometric pressure was coming our way. I didn't need the weather channel to tell me that. My bones do a fine job of foretelling changes, and they were spot on. This low is supposed to stall the storm, and help it produce winds and lots of snow. The standard definition of a blizzard, but this one is supposed to be a mother!
On Monday, I was all packed and ready to go. Even though my flight was two days away, I never put off packing. I'm a major procrastinator in every other aspect of my life, but not when it comes to travel. Being ready to go, and heeding the pleading of the weather beast, I called Spirit to see about changing my flight. I figured if I can fly out Tuesday, then why not? An extra day with my sister would be nice. Avoiding the hysteria of missed flights would be nice too. Not sleeping on the floor of DIA would add bonus points to my plan as well.
Yes said the phone agent, who I am sure was really named Cassie and was hanging out in Kansas. There is room on the flight tomorrow and we'd be happy to get you on that plane. So far, so good. There is a ninety dollar change fee. I can ponder that. She gets almost to the end and says - OK, there is also a $287.00 upcharge in the difference of what I paid and the new flight. I took a breath because that is how I avoid being rude when completely flabbergasted. So, I inquire, it would cost me almost $400.00 to fly out one day early? Yes, she calmly reply as though ridiculous surcharges are an everyday occurrence.
Here's the rub. I wasn't wanting to change my plans because of poor planning. Or even a great desire to arrive early in the Lone Star State. I thought I could avoid the hubbub of the airport following a storm. Take an empty seat on a plane that is heading that way anyway. I foolishly thought I was doing Spirit a favor. Not the other way around. They should have offered to pay me to avoid one less phone call, one less person navigating their bound-to-crash website, one less frazzled traveler in the aftermath. Really, this is how I think. Let me on the plane and I'll be out of your hair. Spirit, however has policies and procedures and a ching-chinging virtual cash register that cannot deviate from fees and folly. Of course I declined proffering 400 dollars to procure an early arrival.
Yesterday I was anxious. Would they or wouldn't they cancel my flight. This information is not as easy to find on-line as one might think. I could see that United was already offering no charge travel changes to their patrons. Southwest had proactively cancelled all flights. But Spirit seemed happy to procrastinate the decision. I used to be an event maven, so I decided to make plans concerning my upcoming trip to DIA. I would pack an abundance of snacks. I put a micro-fiber towel in my carry-on. This is a small rolled item and takes up little room. It could be a pillow or a blanket in a pinch. My medicines made it into the bag. Eye-drops and lip balm. Hand sanitizer, a toothbrush and lotion. If I had to sleep at the airport, my worst nightmare at 60 with RA*, I would be prepared. I just wanted to know before I left my house if my trip was being scrapped.
The e-mail came - FLIGHT CANCELLED - and I sprung into action. I dialed Spirit and googled them simultaneously. I was getting on Thursday's flight come hell or high water. Luckily the phone tree was easier to navigate than the website. I changed my flight pronto! I waited to hang-up until I received my confirmation. I felt a great sense of relief. No accommodations at the DIA motel. No driving out east in the storm to end all storms.
Yet - I'm a bit miffed. In retrospect, I wish Spirit had a better spirit and in the spirit of outstanding customer service had allowed me to change my flight to yesterday. Because if they had, I'd be on my sister's back porch right now. In 75 degree weather. With flip-flops on. C'est la vie.
PS - The photo is from the Denver blizzard of 1982. I lived on Madison and 6th Avenue.
