Raven's Roads
Living an interesting life: the travels and musings
of motorcycling author Linda R. Moore

Mar 15, 2007

Thinking Out Loud: Flight reservations as a blood sport

Oh. My. Giddy. Aunt.

I have spent roughly four hours in the time between nine in the morning and five pm, trying to get a flight to Charleston. I have tried Oakland, and San Jose, and San Francisco. I have tried Travelocity and Expedia and United (my airline of choice) and Cheaptickets and Cheapflights and Hotwire and Yahoo Travel and something else that my husband came up with. I have tried Wednesday and Thursday and Sunday and Monday. And I have tried Wednesday and Sunday and Wednesday and Monday and Thursday and Sunday and Thursday and Monday. And standing on my head and doing rain dances to summon the gods of good flight mojo.

I started with a simple desire. I wanted to have Friday morning as a tourism day. Don and I had discussed riding to Charleston and back, but for my birthday I asked him if I couldn’t just fly instead. See, we’re in the middle of losing our home, and I really sensed that while it would be lovely to ride, no matter what we did at this time it would feel rushed and I would have this great big thing–Losing My Home–looming over me the entire way. Not fun, not relaxing. When you can’t view your travel plans with joy, you shouldn’t be traveling at all.

So, he said yes. I’m donating two years’ worth of saved-up birthday and Christmas money, and hope to make the rest up selling books (are you listening, readers?) :-P

So, back to that simple desire. I knew it would be a long flight. So, I needed to arrive Thursday. And I needed to leave Sunday. Only I couldn’t. Because the cheapest flights, which aren’t cheap at all, are all tied to a 6 am departure on Sunday, which is no use because I’d miss the Sunday festivities. No matter which combinations I chose, I would butt up against a problem: either the flight was more expensive (and it’s expensive enough, thankyouverymuchta) or the timing was utterly off.

Okay. I’ll fly back at six in the morning on Monday. Unless I can persuade someone to let me shower before I fly, I’ll be smelly and tired, but c’est la vie. Maybe my co-passenger will be smelly and tired, too, in which case we’ll make a pair and fly united against the non-smelly non-hostel-affording world. (Man, Charleston is expensive.)

I can’t get to all the sites I need because in the fight of cookie vs. firewall the firewall has munchies, so I ask a friend to look something up for me in the hope that there really is a $100-cheaper flight to Charleston as suggested by one of the discount sites, but alas, it is not so. She recommends yet another site and suddenly I’m lost in a world of cheap flights and going round and round and other sites that require cookies to work properly.

So now I start looking at the flights for Thursday. And realize there isn’t a single one that will get me to my hostel before midnight. But I notice there’s one for 11:30 pm and I can fly overnight (semlly and tired, but probably not as smelly and tired as Monday morning). I’m about to start looking at Wednesday night flights (to get me in on Thursday at noon) when my network throws up its hands in horror and dies. Don’s still asleep, so I start sulkily pulling books off my bookshelf so we can take a set of shelves to the storage shed sometime soon.

I take my bike out for a short attitude readjustment. When I return, Don fixes the network and prevents the firewall from eating any more cookies. By now, my grouch level is in full working order as I have been at this for hours and could have used the time more productively or pleasurably. It’s not just the flight booking. It’s the house moving. And the house losing. And the phase of the moon. And the time of the month. And.

Don takes over for a little while and, once he gets the right town (no, I’m not going to Charlotte, NC, though that would actually be nice too) confirms that yes, indeed, I have found the cheapest available flights. My only cheaper option is a real gamble: I can wait until the last minute for a last-minute fare, but if I don’t get one (it would be $120 cheaper) then I’ll pay $200-$300 more. What do you think my odds are? No, I didn’t think so, either.

I figure I’d better make sure that my hostel is still available, since if it isn’t I can’t afford even the cheapest hotel. I try to book online. They want to charge an extra $2 for booking online. I’m cheap. I call, and communicate loudly with an indifferent clerk who can’t hear me because cartoons are blaring out just off from one ear. I want to shout at him to turn off the darn cartoons. I send an email to confirm the booking, since the clerk wants my credit card and not my address/phone number and I think this is bogus and he was not paying attention properly.

So. The planets are finally aligned. Breathlessly, ready to make the kill, I run through the sites all over again Just In Case(TM).

And the late-night flight has disappeared from United.com. Waaaaaah!

I had just resolved to travel overnight on Wednesady (finally! A decision!) and suddenly I have to change. But wait, what’s this I see? As if my magic, a new flight has materialized, one that didn’t exist ten seconds ago, which leaves SFO at 6 in the morning (that’s a pain in itself). And suddenly there are several other flights for two different airlines. They’re a bit cheaper…but…poo. They don’t run on Sundays. And their Monday flights are later in the day and actually, given all there is to do, I just want this to be a there-and-back again. Anyway, to get back to the point, the 6am flight gets me in at 4:45 pm on Friday which is just hunky-dory, and while I will not get much sleep I’ll get more than if I had booked the 11:30 pm flight on Wednesday which I could still book if I went through Expedia but it’s cheaper through United and I get extra air miles and what does this sentence need now…oh, I know. A period. Here’s one :: plink :: “.”

You know when you’re a little kid and you want to win and you hold your breath and screw your face up to make it happen?

Imagine someone adult doing that.

I go to United.com as it’s the best deal for me. My flight of choice is not showing. Huh? I try a “by flight number” search. Magically, it reappears. It’s even highlighted in yellow as if they knew I were coming along to book that one. I click some nice clicky boxes and it asks me to log in. For the third or fourth time today I copy my membership number. It doesn’t like my membership number. I remove spaces and cross my fingers. I’m logged in. Woot! Home straight? Check the flights. Do I want to choose my seats? Sure. Do that. Change mind. Do it again. Okay, four window seats, check. I’m changing in Chicago on the way there and in the mystery airport, IAD, on the way back. Oh, okay, that’s Washington, DC. The one with the rainbow-colored glowing panels, maybe.

Ooh, the home straight! I’m holding my breath, all muscles tensed. The computer knows me and I type in my credit card details. I can scent the prey, just coming within my grasp. Will it go through? Will it? Huh, huh? I’m squirming in my seat with my fingers crossed.

Yes! It’s through!

I’m going to Charleston!

So can I have a cookie now?