We just had the most exciting, action-film-like, and comical boarding experience I’ve ever seen, heard about, or experienced.
We got off the flight I had written the previous blog post on with only minutes to spare until we needed to be at the gate of our connection. Upon purchasing the tickets, Scott had been told it was a real long shot, and that it was at our “own risk” that we purchased the tickets.
It was an “illegal” connection, as far as the airline was concerned, but we took the risk anyways.
While we descended on the flight before, we strategized for our escape. We planned out the movements we would take (thankfully we were near a door) to collect our bags (well…their bags, as I do not place mine in the overhead bin) and b-line for the door.
The exit actually went fairly smoothly, and we were on the tarmac, walking towards the door marked “arrivals” within minutes of the opening of the doors.
We were told to “kindly proceed” to the “transfers” desk. We did, and found no employee. The clock was ticking.
Finally, the employee arrived. He had a buzz cut, was short, and was effeminate in his way of speaking and walking.
We explained the situation, and, after brief consultation on the meaning of “e-ticket”, we were beckoned to follow. We were moving a bit slowly, and were all biting our nails as we weaved through the scores of people in baggage claim.
Joao and I were told to wait as the employee and Scott went to the ticket office. This was a strategic move, we learned later on, as we would have just had to shuffle all of our stuff back in the direction we had came to reenter security later on. At the time, we were not so confident of the judgment of the employee, and continued our tense worrying and clock-watching until Scott returned.
It took quite some time for the employee to return, and when he did, he did not mess around. He beckoned for us to follow and started out at essentially a run, with us in hot pursuit, through lines of airport security, and baggage checking agents. He put us at the front of every line, and told off any security guard who tried to stop us.
Anyone who was at the manila aiport around 11:39am on the 13th of April would have seen three frightened-looking foreigners racing after a pseudo-relaxed “Cebu Pacific” employee, knocking people and suitcases as we went.
After a short screaming match between a security guard who was uppity about Joao’s liquid vitamins, and the employee, he conceded and wet galloping off to expedite the checking of her bag (it was not approved as a carry-on).
At around 11:49am (the plane was scheduled to depart 60 seconds later) we made it to the gate. After a brief struggle between the employee and Scott as he tried to jam a one-hundred peso note into the protesting employee’s pocket, Scott conceded, and we ran towards the aircraft.
We had made it.
— LATER ON –-
All of the employees efforts ended up being pointless, as the plane had to land in Cebu due to bad weather (we were told REALLY bad) in Butuan. We were then informed we would be flying BACK to Manila, spending the night, and flying back the next morning. In other words…we’re officially in a mild version of travel hell.
