Michael and I were beyond excited to embark on our European journey together. After months of anticipating this Parisian workcation, pre-packing, overpacking and some last-minute deletions, we headed to JFK just after the Friday rush. Expecting a two-hour trip, we were pleasantly surprised that the slow-moving traffic crawled at a consistent pace and we made it to Terminal 4 in just under an hour. (If you live in the Tri-State New York area you totally get this!)
Our three free checked bags weighed in at 47, 48 and 17 pounds– all under the 50-pound limit. Whew. (Yep, that lighter guy was a half-packed Big Agnes duffle with which to stuff dirty clothes on the return trip so that our precious carryons could house fancy or delicate Parisian purchases.) Side note: if you’re looking for an indestructible duffle that comes in various sizes, I have to say that I’ve beaten up my Big Agnes in the Big Joe 45L size pretty well and it’s in perfect condition due to the coated, waterproof shell! Ok, back to the journey… We were well on our way.
We passed through security unscathed and meandered downstairs to the food hall, opting into a restaurant meal instead of choosing to battle the freebie-loving Delta Sky Lounge crowd to fight over sweaty triangular cold cuts, a basket of tasteless dinner rolls, and bottomless house wine. After Michael polished off his steak and I ate most of my bunless burger at The Palm, we walked toward the gate. We picked two seats close to the boarding door and settled in; big smiles plastered to our tired faces. Moments later we each got the text alert that our checked bags had indeed made it onto the plane. We were winning.
Little did we know that we would have a front row seat for all of the chaos– it was literally impossible to miss the frenzy. Three agents behind the desk were chatting feverously with a bevy of concerned passengers that did not yet have seat assignments because, as it turned out, we were in an oversold situation. Amidst our yawning, Michael and I huddled together to play the exciting travel game, “Name Your Price.” Have you ever played? It’s when you negotiate the fantasy gift card level at which you’d be willing to scrap your otherwise perfect plans to roll the dice, pray your luggage makes the transatlantic flight successfully, swap your Comfort Plus digs for unreserved seats in coach coupled by the dreaded Main Cabin Three boarding corral, and finally trudge home after an emotional rollercoaster spanning several hours at the airport… knowing full well that you’d signed up for the very same rodeo in less than fourteen hours.
Had we not been staying a whole month in France we never would have considered such a hasty exit. Michael kicked off the bidding at $1500– fifteen hundred dollars to about face and head home, missing a whole coveted day in Paris. I said no way. It was a lowball offer and our time was too precious! I chimed in at what I thought was a hefty sum– $2000. So when our very friendly gate agent Mohamed grabbed the mic and announced that all ten lucky volunteers would receive $1500, eyes wide, I hopped up to ask a few questions.
Here’s what I learned. We would have to take a 4:30pm flight to Boston the next day and stay for a two-hour layover. At such time, we would change terminals, and therefore go through security again, finally boarding an 8pm flight to Paris that got us in at 8am the following day. Our checked bags would be pulled from the current flight and remain at the airport, traveling with us tomorrow. We would be guaranteed seats on both legs, but Mo couldn’t promise that we would be sitting together AND it looked like coach was going to be the only play at the very back of the gigantic aircraft. As we mulled over the offer, we expected an anxious crowd to storm the desk. But nothing happened. Not a single taker! So Mohamed upped the ante.
Moments later Delta was offering $2000 for eleven passengers to change their travel plans. Wow! Michael and I locked eyes. Two thousand each? For a one day of inconvenience? We joked that at that rate we could even splurge and helicopter it back into the City for the low low price of $299 per person for the five-minute ride! When opportunity like this knocks, we decided that we had to answer. We sprinted to the desk and put our names on the volunteer list. And then the games really began.
After just a few minutes beyond the 10:30pm scheduled boarding time, several of the standby passengers experienced meltdowns of varying degrees. One kid was running around his sister’s stroller while his parents shuffled bags and dropped passports and spoke quickly in clipped French. (Point and eyeroll is the universal code of airport argument translated from any language.) Impatient first-class passengers unfazed by “you problems” were swarming the gate getting ready to board. Andy hey, who could blame them? I too would want to get cozy in my flatbed seat to prepare for the overnight adventure. Several infants screeched in the background. We yawned in unison. Delta wasn’t holding up the flight until the mess was settled. Instead they were running parallel tracks hoping to get enough volunteers. We were told to stay close and be patient. And then they dangled an even bigger carrot.
Two thousand became $2500, then $3000! I knew from prior experience that the early handraisers were guaranteed the final offered amount– so we were now looking at a larger sum. Exhausted, we were running on pure adrenaline. At approximately 11:30pm, our original departure time, the going rate was $4000 per person and we were two of seven lucky travelers who made the cut! Oh my Lord and Taylor!! Amex vouchers were emailed to us immediately, and we waited another thirty minutes slumped over the desk to be reticketed, assured that our bags would travel with us the next day. Back into an Uber we went, high-fiving and giddy the whole forty-five minutes home until we completely crashed.
We woke up late Saturday morning feeling like we were living in The Matrix. Was this all really happening?? With access to our regular toiletries, extra clothes, and all the comforts of home, I cooked us a nice breakfast, threw in a mini load of laundry, and we lounged until we had to head back to JFK. We were just a tad bit concerned that our bags were woken up early and decided to jetset to Boston without us… so said the new Delta progress text. Hmmm. This could NOT be a good sign! Undeterred, back to JFK we went, this time to Terminal 2 where we enjoyed sushi at Shiso, the local spot underneath the Sky Lounge. When it came time to board, I went first and got the green light after I scanned my boarding pass. Unfortunately Michael’s boarding pass was deemed invalid and they refused to let him on. Holy shit!
I stepped aboard tentatively, telling the flight crew that I might have to deplane if the error was not fixed in time. A harrowing thirty minutes later, I was forced to collect all of my belongings and with tears streaming down my exhausted face, deplane. Michael was calm and I was about to start a riot! The gate agent had been on hold with the literal mother ship in Atlanta trying to fix or override the error– but to no avail. With our checked bags possibly making their way to France that evening, we strongly asked (i.e. quietly demanded) that we be rebooked (again) on a direct flight for Paris leaving as soon as possible to catch up to our luggage. Our wish was granted– seats together and back in good ‘ol Comfort Plus. I took a deep breath.
We took the shuttle back to Terminal 4 and beelined for the Sky Lounge since we still had a few hours before our 8:30pm departure. The line was out to the door to even enter, but we persevered. (How long is this tale? Are you still interested?? Ok, we are almost in Paris… I promise.) This time around we were grateful for the sweaty cold cuts and even opted to store a few slices of cheese and some crackers in a handy dandy Ziploc I just happened to have in my purse. We took pre-bagged pita chips and crumbly chocolate chip cookies too, anticipating others shoes might indeed still drop.
The flight was uneventful and not very comfy. Michael slept a bit while I watched The Tourist and a few episodes of The Sopranos, yawning the whole time. Mystery meat dinner they called “chicken” led to middle of the night turbulence and then full cabin illumination with a side of wilty egg and cheese muffins as we made our initial descent in the early morning hours of Sunday into the City of Light where it was pouring down rain.
Customs was a breeze but our nervousness was warranted as only one of our three checked bags was twirling on the arrival carousel when we approached baggage claim not thirty minutes after that elusive Boston flight touched down. Ya, we sort of knew this was the risk! We spoke with the claims agent, and he tracked our two runaway rollerboards to Paris (yay!), however they were already off campus being stored in a warehouse. He was confident that we could see our belongings as early as that very same day. Ummm, yeah. (You can take the girl out of New York, but I assure you that the intense skepticism will remain forever.) I was positive we might never see our luggage again, so I allowed the windfall of the Amex gift cards to quell my sense of dread.
Fast forward to the third full day of our trip, yes we were still bagless, but we managed to enjoy the hell out of every Parisian moment! (Details on our escapades coming in future posts.) We spoke to Delta stateside three times, emailed the delivery service no less than ten (TEN) times, tried to call them, left a message, found out they tried to deliver twice but never called first to let us know they were coming so we had no idea they were local, and still we had no luggage.
It wasn’t until day four that we hunkered down in the apartment with a post-it note stuck to the door of the apartment building. One of us was standing watch from the balcony and the other one made regular visits to the lobby and street to check for windowless vans. We were on a rotation. Eventually we both camped out on the bench at the cafe on our corner until we spotted the delivery vehicle. Finally our bags were safe in hand. Hallefreakinlujah!
So was the bump and grind worth all the hassle, you ask? Well… we pocketed some unexpected and very welcome cash. We were able to spend another night in my cozy abode with minimal hassle to return to the airport and we lost less than a day from our original trip. We definitely had a little drama between the Boston flight and with the bags being MIA, but we started this great adventure together and decided to just roll with the punches focused on the upside. And to boot I have this crazy tale to tell!
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