When the Kat’s away…she gets swallowed up in the ‘Denver Disaster’

At the end of last week’s column, I left you with this tease: That chain on your hotel door is there for a reason — use it! And that’s what I planned on writing about this week. Until Denver. Which changed everything. I’ll still write about hotel safety in an upcoming column, but first things first. I feel the need to write this column right now, because of its timeliness.

For those of you who follow the national news, you know that last week was a rough week for airline passengers, due to thousands of delays and cancellations. And if you follow the news closely, you know that Denver International was one airport where things really got rough. And if you follow the news super closely, you know that things were especially bad for United Airlines.

So… Steve and I had flown out to Colorado for a quick business trip and were scheduled to fly back home on United out of Denver on Tuesday, June 27. When we first arrived at the airport, things couldn’t have gone any smoother. We ended up getting there well before our scheduled flight, leaving us with plenty of time to get through security, eat some lunch, and even get a little work done before our flight. And getting through security turned out to be a breeze, as Steve had gone online the day before our departure and scheduled us an appointment for going through the security line — this is a service now offered by some airports, including Denver — which basically amounted to us immediately jumping to the front of a very long line.

With security behind us, we went to Quiznos and split a sub, then went from shop to shop looking for new driving glasses for Steve (he managed to lose his during an otherwise flawless security screening process). So far, so good (well, except for the lost glasses, which we never found a replacement for). I even had time to make a promo video for my Kat’s Away column, in which I said, “I sure hope our flight today won’t be delayed.” And that, folks, is where any sense of normalcy at the Denver airport ceased to exist.

Our flight was scheduled for departure at 5:47 p.m. At 3:30, we consulted the departure board, and found that we’d been delayed ‘til 7:07. This was confirmed by text a few minutes later, and the reason given was that an earlier delayed flight impacted our plane’s arrival.

At 4:08, we got a text advising us that our gate had been changed from A16 to B27. Approximately five seconds later, another text informed us that our new gate was now B23. Either way, we were currently in Concourse A so we knew we’d need to board the (always crowded) train to get to Concourse B, but we decided to hang around in A to see if there’d be any further changes. There were. At 4:27, a text alerted us that our flight was now delayed to 11:13 p.m., but the gate was still B23.

By 5:12, we had decided to head over to Concourse B, when we received another text letting us know that our new gate would now be B37. OK, so we still needed to take the train to Concourse B. Upon arrival there, we checked the departure board — and found that our flight had been canceled. Two minutes later, we got a text from United saying the flight was canceled due to “a crew-related scheduling disruption.”

We (and everyone else scheduled for that flight) headed straight to United’s customer service department to find out what would happen next. But, of course, ours was only one of many, many cancelled flights that day (and on previous days) for United. So, as I stood to the side with our luggage, I watched as Steve got sucked into a mob vortex surrounding the customer service desk. I lost sight of him for about 30 minutes, and when he re-emerged, he announced that the group of people crowded around the desk didn’t actually comprise the line. The line, he said, pointing, “is there.”

He indicated a stretch of people that disappeared into the distance, so far that in order to see the end of it, we’d just have to start walking in that direction. (And I’d just like to pause here long enough to say: prior to this trip, neither Steve nor I had any idea just how large — in terms of passenger volume — the Denver airport is. Turns out, it’s one of the busiest in the world, with an almost-constant constant swarm of people.) As we walked, we occasionally paused to chat with folks already in line, including a group of young ladies who’d dubbed the situation the “Denver Disaster.” By the time we reached the end of the line, we knew there was absolutely no way we would join it. It was literally hours long. (Later in the day, we talked with a woman who’d spent four hours in line, and when she realized she’d barely moved forward at all, gave up and walked away.)

Throughout the course of the next few hours, and spilling into Wednesday, June 29, we were able to book ourselves on another United flight (which got cancelled), followed by getting on the standby list for yet another flight (also eventually cancelled). Each time, the process played itself out in similar fashion: a series of gate changes and delays, and, finally, cancellation.

At 3:15 Wednesday morning, we were seated outside (on a wonderful deck, by the way) when Steve managed to book us tickets on a United flight leaving out of Denver at 9:40 a.m. on Friday. (And for those of you wondering why we didn’t just book with another airline, we tried. But for various reasons — including exorbitant prices and lack of availability since other passengers were vying for those same seats — that option never worked for us.) We weren’t thrilled about having to stay in the airport ‘til Friday, and quite frankly, given our experience thus far, we weren’t confident the Friday flight would even take off, but right now, it was all we had.

By 4:30 a.m., we had taken the cushions from our outdoor bench (all the other benches had already been stripped) and gone inside to find as quiet a place as possible to settle down (although many other travelers had been sacked out for hours, there were still pockets of conversation here and there, plus children occasionally running about). Steve ended up getting about two hours of sleep; I didn’t sleep at all. (Side note: At 4:50 a.m., with Steve conked out beside me, I sat up on my cushion and enjoyed a delicious brownie, because there’s never a bad time for chocolate.)

We spent Wednesday wandering the airport in a sleep-deprived haze. By that afternoon, we were on the standby list for a flight to RDU scheduled for take-off at 5:47. At 4:05, we began getting text notifications of gate changes, one after another. We’d been through this drill before. A series of gate changes had preceded all three of our cancelled flights. Plus, even if this flight did happen, it was unlikely we’d be on it since we were two of 15 standby passengers.

The end of this story is every bit as dramatic as it should be. The flight, it turns out, would be taking off. All ticketed passengers had boarded. All standby passengers were called to the gate desk. One by one, Steve and I watched as they all boarded the plane. That left just the two of us, along with a young woman who (because of circumstances) was behind Steve and me in terms of claiming a spot on the flight. Two or three United workers huddled around a computer, trying to determine how many available seats were left on the flight. Over and over, they counted one, although they said there was a possibility there might be two. (And if you find it curious that they couldn’t determine how many empty seats they had on the plane by this time, join the club.) We had all agreed: Steve and I didn’t want to be split up; if there was only one available seat, it would go to the young woman; if there were two, they were ours.

The United employees continued to frantically work the computer. The flight was now running behind schedule (surprise twist!). Finally, they grabbed all three of us and hustled us down to the door of the plane. The only way to determine the number of seats was for a flight attendant to go through the plane and manually count. Throughout our entire two-day ordeal, I had remained incredibly calm, proudly nonplussed, but as we stood at the door of the plane — this close to getting home — I told Steve, “If we don’t get on this plane, I’m going to cry.” And I meant it. Two seconds later, the attendant emerged and announced, “We’ve got three seats!” I have never in my life believed more strongly in miracles. Over and over, the seat count had been one. I knew the likelihood of finding two was slim. But three? It hadn’t even been a possibility.

The three of us were quickly ushered on board — and just like that, we were on our way home.

Next week: Reflections on the ‘Denver Disaster’