Remaining Calm & Collected When The Unexpected Happens.
I was on my way back into Europe for the second time last summer. I had just finished a pre-professional class in General Chemistry and couldn’t think of anything better to do than to travel and take advantage of the time off before starting another set of classes for Fall 2002. It was August, and I was going to visit my Dutch friend Selma. We met in Madrid, Spain during an earlier trip I was on through Europe that summer—it was a fast, fun and full trip that started out as a cross-country drive from Amsterdam into Germany. It later turned into a series of train and plane rides through France, Spain, and Portugal and back into Amsterdam to make it home. Some years early on in my life, I became convinced that, “life goes by pretty fast. If you don’t stop to take a look around once in a while, you might miss it (Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.).”
So, there I was on Northwest flight # 50 direct to Amsterdam from Minneapolis. I was chatting with Loren about my life, my love of travel and my trip plans when we finally arrived into AMS. It took a good 15 minutes to get off the carrier and another 10 minutes to get down the corridor when I began to advise Loren on keeping her personal goods in a safe place especially in the transfer halls. At that moment Loren stopped me in mid-sentence with a look of terror on her face. “I left my purse on the plane!” she said and started to make her way back to the gate. I’d like to think I’m calm and collected when unexpected things happen, but every now and then something comes up that makes it hard to pull off a James Bond-like smoothness.
I began to look for one of the flight attendants and see if they might be able to radio the remaining plane crew about the purse and have it located and secured. I can think of worse things that could happen to you when traveling, but I admit that losing a purse with all of your documentation is high on the list of things to avoid while traveling abroad. This situation seemed fairly controllable. At this point a few minutes had already gone by, and I figured it was time to start double timing it back to the gate and see if Loren had better luck. Finally, I ran into a couple of the flight attendants and made inquiry about Loren and her purse. They look at me as if I was speaking a foreign language, which, when I think about it, I was. English is one of two or three languages spoken by most Dutch people but not the first. They hadn’t seen her.
At this point, I was still calm and collected and continued toward the gate from which Loren and I had arrived. Finally, I saw a familiar face—it was the head flight attendant, Henna. I managed to have developed some level of familiarity with a few of the flight attendants from previous trips into Europe in my earlier life. Knowing people in the airline industry comes useful at times like that. As usual, we managed to have some dialog about our country’s “American-Cowboy” attitude in the Middle East. She had good news—she had found Loren’s purse and turned it into the head officer of the flight, whom later we find turned the purse into airport security. “Where’s Loren?” I thought. Henna didn’t seem to know and hadn’t seen her. She thought I knew and though we were traveling together. It’s why she offered me the information about the purse. “Hmmm,” I sighed. I had met Loren in Minneapolis at the gate while we were waiting to board the plane. You’d be surprised how being polite can go a long way in traveling culture. Apparently, we had carried on so well that Henna thought we were traveling together.
Now, I wasn’t sure what to do. I decided to check the gate anyway thinking Loren may have gotten her purse and was making a dash for her next flight. For a few moments, there was no one there…anywhere in the rest of the hall except a few airport police directing traffic. Then, I began to hear what seemed to be a woman crying. Sure enough, it was Loren. She was crying with good reason—the airport police followed by a couple of military personnel were bringing her into custody. She had managed to get back onto the plane without being noticed and got locked into it. I suppose she panicked and someone called the police. At that moment, she looked up and pointed me out. “He was sitting with me on the plane. He knows who I am!” she exclaimed. I thought, “This is not good.” I was being associated with a woman (who didn’t have any I.D., was found on an unoccupied airliner and happened to be hysterical) thought to have been leaving a bomb or something on the plane!
What happened next? Before I knew it, I was surrounded. “Calm and collected,” I thought, but I had started to lose it. One of the officers asked if I knew the woman and if I could I.D. her. I said, “Yes.” I began to tell him what I knew about Loren and her purse and that the head flight attendant had turned it into someone, but I wasn’t sure whom. “Nice way to start your vacation,” I thought.
I was still attempting to remain calm as I remembered a small 60-second digital video I shot of Loren at the gate in Minneapolis. I got the camera to take sound clips of the various accents one encounters while traveling. People like to talk about themselves when put in front of a camera. I offered it to the officer asking the questions, for which some I didn’t know the answers. He viewed the clip, and it seemed to verify most of what I had stated to him. Unfortunately, until the officials could locate the purse, we were going to have to remain in what was now detainment. And no sooner than I could put my camera away, a call came in on one of their radios. They found the purse with Loren’s stuff. What a relief.
Before long she was escorted to the next leg of her flight bound for Portugal. It had been put on alert as her bags made it to the plane and she hadn’t. You’re right! The Portuguese airline officials were trying to find her bag for safety purposes and had temporarily grounded the flight. Luckily, Loren did make the flight because of the official’s protocol. In the end, she stopped crying and gave me a hug and an email address. I wished her luck and went about my business of getting to Rotterdam and hopefully a beer with my friends. But before that, I needed a cup of coffee. It was only 6:55 a.m., and that last hour had seemed something like an eternity. There it is.
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