Keep Calm, and Run Fast

They call me the Blur. Why?
That’s exactly how fast I ran, this morning, through Terminal 3 of London’s Heathrow Airport. 
Interesting story . . .what possessed me to sprint, weave, and duck between travellers, stores, and benches, with my backpack furiously bouncing and hair flying, all the way to Gate 31?

This is what I’d seen, only two hours earlier, as I strolled into the airport:

Destination:Toronto   Air Canada  12:05pm   Cancelled—See Airline

I stood in the middle of the Terminal 3 foyer for a full 30 seconds, while people chattered and jostled and bustled all around me. 

Just staring at that terrible word: Cancelled.  As in, no flight.

I’d travelled 3 hours by bus already; my ticket was booked; I had plenty of time for security; my (massive/heavy/deadweight) bags were packed; the passport was on hand.

What could go wrong?

I’ll tell ya what.

As I’ve mentioned before in previous posts, I've had a bit of a struggle with international flights in the past.  Random things, here and there. At the beginning of our trip, the Dutch KLM airline lost my bags, which I finally recovered 5 days into my trip.

This time, however, it wasn’t baggage or my neighbor's overpowering body odor that was the problem.

As I stood at the Air Canada Desk, I’ll be honest about my first reaction; I just wanted to burst into frustrated tears. This was the last thing I’d expected, and I was scared.  

Fortunately, I stayed composed, and spoke with any attendant I could find. There was a flight leaving at 11:05 am—one hour earlier than my cancelled flight—and I quickly requested the standby list.  “Please,” I said urgently, “I need to be on that flight.  Please.”  The next flight probably wouldn’t be until the next day.

I lingered around the desk, talking rapidly to my parents on the phone about my options.  At 10am, the main attendant asked for my last name, and I felt a ray of hope. 

Our prayers were answered—of the four passengers they selected from standby to get on the flight, I was among them.

I quickly checked my bags, and looked at the clock, with the words of the attendant repeating in my head. Better hurry.

Well, forget British propriety. I hurried down the terminal hall, and snuck into the separate rapid security line, for "priority" travellers only. More like "priority travelers" and one crazy American college girl. 

Once I got through, I took off, running through the crowds.  My gate was a 20-minute walk, according to the sign.  Well . . . I always knew staying in shape would come in handy . . . .

And so I ran as fast as my bags would allow, ignoring all sense of pride, past Heathrow’s posh stores—Burberry, Gucci, Miu Miu, Harrods, etc.  I arrived at the gate, breathless but exuberant; the lady scanned my ticket, while I smoothed my hair nonchalantly.

“Enjoy your flight,” she said.

Oh, I will.

So I guess international flights just have a way of keeping me on my toes, right when I think I'm in control. But that’s not always a bad thing. Because KLM lost my luggage, I can say I backpacked across Europe because I lived out of my bag for several days . . . right?

And because Air Canada cancelled my flight, I got to weasel into the rapid security line and show off my fabulously speedy skillz through the Heathrow airport.

It’s the important things to keep in perspective, as always.

Also, the British version of Dwight Schrute sat next to me on the plane...but that's a story for another time.

Keep calm, and run fast.

Cheerio.