My co-worker took the early shift this morning, so I slept in until eight. I would normally do a workout, but I haven't got any workout clothes with me and I don't want to get what I have all sweaty. WestJet says my bag is in Grande Prairie now and they promise to send it here on the 12:45 p.m. bus, to arrive about three hours later.
My co-worker calls. She's not flying, right now, but she has heard from our boss who says he wasn't able to get a hold of me. WestJet phoned him about my bag. That must be because I gave the WestJet agent my business card with my cellphone number circled. I guess someone decided to call my head office instead of me. The boss couldn't reach me because he was using a phonelist on which he hadn't updated my cell number since the last time I was up here, and had to get a new cell phone so that people could reach me. A communications difficulty because I was proactive about solving an earlier communications difficulty.
"It's okay," I tell my coworker, "I talked to them already. They're shipping it by bus--"
"Wait!" she interrupts, "We're supposed to take the airplane to Grande Prairie tonight for scheduled maintenance. You can pick it up yourself."
I'd love to go get my bag, if it isn't already on the bus, but the customer won't want the airplane yanked out from underneath them yet. We told them we had an extension. The customer is sufficiently not pleased that phone calls go back and forth until it is decided that the airplane will be released some time in the next few days, at the customer's convenience. The mechanic can wait there until the airplane arrives. The customer is delighted. Crisis averted.
Then another call, from the mechanic who is en route. His flight was delayed and he's missed his connection in Calgary. He's not impressed to learn that he may be cooling his heels for a while. Happy customer, pissed off mechanic. There's a law of conservation of pissed-offness somewhere, I'm sure.
After all that phoning, I realize that it's after 4 p.m. I call Greyhound to see whether I pick up the suitcase or they deliver. "Twelve forty-five?" says the agent, "There's no 12:45 bus to here from Grande Prairie."
WestJet sent my stuff on a 12:45 bus. Where, I wonder, did they send it? I'm beginning to suspect that WestJet has a shelf somewhere with "random eggs" on it. Does anyone else remember the random eggs? WestJet baggage opens again in Grande Prairie between nine and ten pm so I'll find out then.
The bus from Grande Prairie will arrive tonight, but the baggage office is closed then, so if it is on that bus, I can't get it until 6:30 tomorrow morning.
"Aviatrix," I tell myself, "These readers are tuning in to find out about your job, not your company communications and lost luggage." But dealing with company communications and lost luggage is my job. Anyone who thinks it's all about soaring majestically above the peaks and lakes needs a strong dose of reality.
But okay, you want flying, here's flying. The customer wants a flight at eight p.m. tonight. The good news is that this far north it probably won't even be dark by the time I land at two in the morning. The bad news being that I'll be flying an airplane until two in the morning. Night will come and go while I'm in the air. And then WestJet, Greyhound and the hotel will all try to wake me up while I'm trying to sleep the next day.