Off To a Rough Start

I'm at the airport in Kansas City. Well, I’ve made it this far. I thought the security guy was suspicious of my Tibetan prayer wheel, but he searched my bag because I forgot to take the little Ziploc bag full of toiletries out. I can just see someone suspecting me of wanting to beat up a flight attendant and pilot with my Tibetan prayer wheel. Not good karma.

Yesterday I did some errands after work, and they included dropping off Cheetah at Aunt Ethel’s house (and petting the dog and cat, of course). Cheetah wasn’t happy and sat staring around with huge yellow eyes and hissed, while the dog Zoe sat in an armchair and wiggled her butt and wagged her tail in excitement. Cheetah didn’t even want me to pet her, but I think she’ll be fine after a week. She’s been there before.

Anyway, without a single cat in the house yesterday evening, I lay down to take a nap at the ridiculous hour of 7 pm and I didn’t wake up till after midnight. No cats were there to wake me. I checked my e-mail at about 1 am (after taking a steaming hot shower). Bina had sent me an e-mail saying that I needed to fax a copy of my passport to a certain fax number, because my passport info wasn’t sufficient for the airline. So I sent her an e-mail saying I’d go do it at my workplace first thing in the morning.

I was up till about 2:30 and awake past 3:30, lying in bed and mindfully breathing. I had my alarm set for 6 am but woke at 5:50 and got up—did some yoga and felt so cold that I sat in bed to comb out my hair in order to wash it in the morning, after the visit to Tandem. I absolutely didn’t want to show up at my workplace before 6:30, because I wasn’t sure anyone would be there earlier. I showed up at about 6:45, and people reacted as I expected, surprised that I was there.

Elaine showed me how to use the fax machine—you type “9” and “1” before a long distance number, and then the number. I did this, and the first few times received a print out with the message: “No response/ Busy.” The next two times, the machine acted as if I were using a phone, made the tone for a wrong number and a machine said, “We’re sorry, your call cannot go through…” Elaine suggested that I call the fax number on the theory that it was really a phone number, with her phone card, which requires first dialing an 800 number and then another number before the one you’re trying to reach. By doing this, I learned that you have to dial 110 before an international number, so I tried that on the fax machine. I again got a print-out saying “No response/ Busy.”

Finally, I decided I’d make another attempt with a fax machine at the guesthouse in Delhi, where I’ll also check for an e-mail from Bina. I numerous times again attempted to fax before I made this decision and gave Elaine back her phone card.

So I’ll check with the guesthouse if they have a fax machine—they should at least have an Internet computer. I should do this before I go exploring Delhi. And if all else fails or I’m not sure whether the fax went through, I can give Bina the photocopy of my passport, which I have with me, along with the index card on which I wrote the fax number.

I definitely wasn’t feeling Buddha-like while this was all going on, but at least I have a cunning plan. I said to Karen, who sits by the fax machine, “I thought this was all going to be simple and straight-forward and I’d be done with the fax machine in five minutes.”
She said, “These things are seldom simple and straight-forward.”

2
I’m still at the KC airport. When it was almost 5:30, my alleged departure time, I was really suspicious and went to the desk in the center of the gates. The digital sign behind the clerk or flight attendant showed the number of my flight, 7367, but it gave a departure time of 7:40, not 5:30! I was kind of trying not to panic. Let’s face it: I was very nervous. I waited in line and asked the clerk about the situation, since the flight from Washington, DC, was supposed to leave at 10:25 this evening. She confirmed that I wouldn’t make it in time and said I need to go back to the ticket counter and rebook my flight. So I went back to the ticket counter where I had gotten my boarding pass. I ended up sticking with this delayed flight—now it’s scheduled for 7:55 tonight. And I have the same times and flight numbers for the other two flights—to Doha and to Delhi—but twenty-four hours late! I asked if the airport has an Internet café, and the guy behind the counter said it does not. I was freaking out, hoping the Washington airport would have Internet access.

Latest update, at 6:45—the departure time is now scheduled for 8:20. Arrival in Washington Dulles at 9:40?!

Then, as I went ahead and took the tickets and headed back to gate 10, I thought of all those people sitting with notebook computers. If I could summon the courage to accost a stranger and ask them to let me use their computer, then I could contact Bina immediately.

I got back through security, being very flustered and making an ass of myself—I forgot to take off my glasses, forgot to take my watch and glasses case out of my pockets. Without putting my hiking boots back on, I went to the restroom, carryon luggage and all.

After I returned to Gate 10 and sat down, many more people were seated in the rows of black vinyl seats. Feeling very nervous and wondering how on earth I’d contact Bina—I was thinking about how someone was supposed to meet me at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, someone from the guesthouse, and there’s no way they’d wait twenty-four hours for me! A guy was seated across from me, diagonally one seat over, and he had a notebook computer open in his lap. It took me several nervous minutes, perhaps ten, to just summon the courage to ask him…but I did! I said, “Excuse me, does your computer have Internet access?”

He smiled slightly and said, “Yes, it does.”

“Are you logged onto it right now?”

“Actually, I just logged off,” he said, and smiled again.

I said, “Oh. Could I please use it? My first flight was delayed, so I’ve had to rebook and I’ll be landing in Delhi, India, an hour late. I mean, a whole day late!”

He logged back on and asked me what my Internet provider was, and I said AOL. After a wait—it was a wireless connection but not as fast as you’d expect—he handed me the computer. I thanked him profusely, and holding it on my lap and feeling instantly less nervous, I typed up a message for info@buddhapath.com:

“Hi, Bina! My first flight has been delayed—it’s the same flight number—and I’ve had to change my other two flights. I’ll be leaving Washington for Doha flight 52, departure at 10:25 pm on February 20 and arrival 7 pm on February 21. The flight from Doha is # 232, departure at 12:50 am, arrival in Delhi at 6:45 am, terminal 2.”
“And I’ll be arriving in Delhi exactly a day later than planned. Can you contact the guest house so that someone will be waiting for me on the morning of the 22?”

I sent the message. By the time the screen said, “Your message ‘Flight Delay’ has been sent,” I felt a great deal of relief and let out an enormous sigh. I clicked on the X at the top right corner to get off the Internet, and with a smile passed the computer back to my helper and thanked him profusely again. I added, “I can buy you a bottle of water!”

He smiled and said, “That’s all right.” Actually, he had to get in line to board his flight to Denver shortly after that.

I just hope Bina doesn’t assume I brought my notebook computer with me! Actually, I don’t think she knows about my new computer. Anyway, I’ve contacted her on time; now it’s 7:09 pm here, so it’s about 7:30 am tomorrow in Delhi, and she reads her e-mails promptly.

I’ve been at this airport since 3:20 in the afternoon, and now it’s 7:22 pm. Good thing I brought plenty of reading material. I just got my second big bottle of water, and the Indian sales clerk cheerfully asked, “Are you still here?” I told her about the flight delay and gave her a tip.

I’m going to camp out at Dulles Airport in Washington, DC. I hope that airport has an Internet café and a food café or two. On the shuttle to this airport, I listened to some of the conversation between the driver and the passenger in the front seat, and the driver mentioned flight delays and people spending the night at the airport. Now I remember the train station in Lucknow, India, where people were sleeping on the floor while they waited for their rides, and I’m thinking I’m not alone. It makes me feel better that many people have had similar situations.