A Hop to SJU on the Cheap
It only cost $75?
In the summer of 2010, I moved from my hometown of St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, affectionately called America's Paradise. I got a cheap seat a little seaplane on Cape Air, purchased only two weeks before, with a few coins I had saved up from working as a receptionist at the local college campus. Mind you, I did not tell my parents I would be hopping over to the neighboring island of Puerto Rico to await a Delta Airlines flight on standby with the ultimate aim of couch surf at a friends' place in Minnesota. (They would never have let me go; But, I wanted to explore.) I remember I had a one suitcase in tow that day.
Crying in SJU with Regret
Am I getting on?
I had no idea what I was in for when I landed in Puerto Rico. The shortest flight of my life, lasting about 30-minutes--if that. It felt just as similar as my humble life in St. Thomas, except I did not speak the language. Announcements overhead, all across the aiport, blared in Spanish, and thankfully, English right after. I fumbled my way out of the tiny jet and made my way to find the Delta Airlines gates. It was busy that day, and they were already calling names of people at the gate. In the confusion, I did not hear my name called to get a seat assignment, and so, I went up to the agent wearing bright red: She said, "You did not get on; I will roll you to the next flight." I was so confused, because what did she mean I-did-not-get-on. I was standing right in front of her, at the podium marked for New York City departure, with a ton of strangers prepping to board the plane, and I shamelessly cried at my grand age of 19...
No Friends in JFK
I'm supposed to sleep here?
Three hours later, imagine me, a skinny teen girl, wiping my face clean to hide the embarrassment of not understanding the standby flying experience. I remember being so relieved when my name was called over the intercom. Finally on my way out of the Caribbean regiona, I must say, I got a better ticket than Charlie did in the Chocolate Factory, as far as I was concerned--A ticket for the last row of the plane, stuck in front of the smelly bathroom, a non-recling seat, behind a toddler who wouldn't stop eyeing me between the seat. It was a long ride to New York City, but it was the final layover until I got to MSP. It was a beautiful sight to fly over New York at night. I simply did not realize I would be begging for a seat again, when I landed. I rushed over to my next gate and flabbergasted to find myself in the same predicament as in Puerto Rico:
- The gate area is packed with strangers.
- The gate agent looks annoyed at me.
- I start to cry.
- She tells me she'll roll me to the next flight departing at 7:00 a.m.
- Strangers begin to stare.
- I'm completely dazed and confused.
I start to scramble through my beat up Motorola Razr for telephone numbers of any schoolmates studying in New York, who could take me in for a night. I managed to get an answer from one mate from high school that was studying at Pratt Institute. I thought I was in luck, but she rejected me with the quickness! Her reasons at the time were:
- I called too late at night.
- I called too last minute.
- It would cost her too much to pick me up by taxi.
- It would be too far to take me back to the airport, if she did get me.
- I hadn't spoken to her since we graduated.
- I wasn't really ever her friend. Ouch!
I could not believe in that moment that I would be sleeping in an airport, like a bum. I was surrounded by strangers in the same predicament (except they did not lose a friendship over it). What I did not know was that it would not be the last time in my life I would be caught flying on jets as a standby passenger.
As for sleeping in airports?
Not by a long shot...