Saved
by the ghost of Julia Child
After
a late departure from Sky Harbor
to JFK two weeks ago, my 9‑month‑old
son and I missed our 6:40 p.m.
connection to Berlin. It was not
a good sign that after landing
in New York, our pilot announced,
“Well folks, it looks like we’ve
landed, but we’ll be sitting on
the tarmac for a while because
we don’t have a gate. Welcome
to the most dysfunctional airport
in America.”
At
JFK, Delta does not have a special
counter or agents to help customers
re‑book after missing flights–even
if those missed connections were
Delta’s doing. So we, along with
about 50 other rerouted travelers,
lined the filthy, warm and humid
corridor adjacent to the Delta
counter to await our fate.
As
my mates and I were waiting to
be served, Delta agents were pulling
other passengers, those checking
in for the first time, out of
the line and directing them to
the front. The result was a line
that didn’t move and mounting
tension that only served to thicken
the already murky and negative
atmosphere.
Another
injustice to this affair, was
that people were ducking out of
line and rushing the agents as
their counters cleared instead
of letting the next person in
line go. The agents seemed to
care a whit, even as people still
in line shouted obscenities at
the line cutters and the agents.
It was utter chaos.
My
son was behaving perfectly as
usual. And in fact, several of
my line mates commented that he
must be the happiest person at
JFK on that unfortunate evening.
But after about an hour and a
half in line and still some 25
passengers ahead of us, he was
growing hungry and impatient being
in my arms and in the stroller.
And there was no chance I would
allow him to crawl around on that
nasty, sticky floor.
As
I bounced him about in my arms,
the woman behind me in line asked
for my attention. I turned to
find myself face‑to‑face
with the incarnation of a young
Julia Child.
“You’ve
been waiting here with your baby,”
she said, “and he’s been so good,
but he’ll be hungry soon and you
both should get some rest. Surely
you should go to the front of
the line. Why don’t we ask?”
I
explained that I didn’t feel comfortable
cutting in line, even with permission.
After all, the entire line‑up
had somewhere to be and had missed
international connections through
no fault of their own. Collectively,
the people in line had saved money
for their vacations, took time
off work, or were missing important
business meetings. We were all
in the same boat when where we
wanted to be was on a plane and
the heck out of JFK.
There
was a couple from Rome on their
way to a San Franciscan honeymoon.
They were quarreling. There were
two elderly American ladies making
their first journey to Ireland.
There was a church group of nine
people who would have to spend
hundreds of dollars apiece to
re‑book all their European
connections.
“Nonsense,”
she said.
Then
she tapped the shoulder of the
gentleman in front of me and said
in a faint Parisian accent:
“Sir,
it may be better coming from a
man. Please go to the front of
the line and tell them there is
a woman traveling alone with an
infant. We’ve been here nearly
two hours and these two need some
rest. Just ask them for their
kindness.”
I
could tell he was uncomfortable
but this ghost of Julia Child
was so commanding, he couldn’t
refuse.
But
he didn’t have the power of this
woman. For when he approached
the passengers at the front of
the line, they wouldn’t even make
eye contact with him. He returned
with his head hung low.
This
outraged the famed chef look‑alike.
Upon hearing that no one took
pity on my case, she decried it
was unjust and began a brief tirade
on the selfishness of people.
“This
is absurd. I will do it myself,”
she said. And with that, she ducked
under the rope and strode to the
front of the line.
I
could see her gesticulating and
leaning toward these people to
engage them. She pointed toward
me and my child and then continued
her plea. Then she returned to
her place in line.
“OK,”
she said. “The Italian woman at
the front of the line is a beast
and won’t let you in, but the
two ladies going to Ireland will,
and the three people behind her
are fine with that. Now, go!”
I
offered my profuse gratitude,
but she insisted I had no time
for that. I should go before being
further delayed.
When
I saw a fellow traveler back at
JFK the next evening, she related
that after I left for my night
in a seedy airport hotel without
our luggage, that she spent an
additional three and a half hours
in line before proceeding to an
equally suspect hotel for the
rest of the evening.
I
thought of Blanche’s famous line
in “A Streetcar Named Desire.”
“I have always depended upon the
kindness of strangers.” Well,
I’m no Blanche, but I suppose
we all depend upon the kindness
of strangers at one point or another.
