United We Cannot Stand (plus a big thank you!)

United Airlines. I'm done with you.Showing up to a United flight, we’ve realized, is basically a miniature version of the Hunger Games. Everyone shows up, expecting the absolute worst, tense with fear with what is about to happen. Is this the time I’m chosen? Is this the trip that will send me into the cut-throat re-booking battlefield? I witnessed it for myself. Twice.

After our snafu on the way out of America, which consisted of 5 re-routes and 2 flights cancelled entirely (making it to Sao Paolo based solely on a lottery system), we expected next to nothing from United. In fact, the night before, I checked my computer to check in for what was confirmed by United as a 2:35 flight from Iguazu to Sao Paolo. They just went ahead and changed that one. 11:40 a.m. to Curitiba, and from Curitiba on to Sao Paolo. “Just give them an extra flight, whatever. Warning? Meh, they’ll figure it out.“ No text, no e-mail, just left in the dark and discovering by accident we were to leave 3 hours earlier than expected. In the Sao Paolo airport during our 6-hour layover, we started a game called “How delayed will this United flight be?” Obviously it wasn’t going to leave at 9:10 p.m., as planned. That’s not what United does. Becca was the closest: she guessed 10:10 p.m. The answer? Infinity. It was never leaving.

We weren’t allowed to check in until 3 hours before the flight, because United decided that was the best way to create an absolute cluster-full, disastrous mess for themselves. We arrived at the airport to a line of purely comedic length. United doesn’t use ticket kiosks abroad, because that’s a clear violation of their strict “Pre-2000 technology only,” practices. The line was so long that a line to wait in the line had formed. Estimated wait just to get a boarding pass: 1 hour 45 minutes. Becca was having none of it, and after 20 minutes of moving 20 inches, we found ourselves in the “Special Needs” line, our special need being that we demand some semblance of rationality by our airline. We were through after 20 more minutes. We reached the gate, shopped for a bit and sat for longer. The plane had landed that morning 12 hours previously and was sitting at the gate. This was good. Surprisingly, we were slated to leave on time. Also good. No delays, no warning, nothing. We were relaxed, we were golden. And then: the hammer. Cancelled. Suddenly: chaos. Within minutes, the ticket counter was rushed by rabid tributes that were selected to join the Hunger Games of Re-Routing. The people were revolting. Horror stories of cancellations by United on the way to Brazil were surfacing. We were standing next to a guy who had just been cancelled for the second night in a row with no explanation. It was time for action again, and we had a simple plan: find another United agent and get re-routed as soon as possible. Over 150 people were trying to do the same in this free-for-all which was beginning to feel more and more like a battle royale, except we didn’t have any weapons because they aren’t TSA-friendly.

Finding an available United agent to help you in times of need is a bit like spotting a narwhal – it’s only been done a few times, and some even believe it’s a myth that they exist altogether. We found one at a neighboring gate, he gave some useful information, said he would be right back, and then, poof, gone. Never to return. Just…gone. He left a group of 10 passengers in line alongside 6 members of the flight crew (!) with no information. Just…gone. Becca went to another neighboring gate – that agent didn’t know how to use the computer, and directed us back to the original gate for someone to talk to. We waited for the mythical helper to return. He didn’t. Minutes later, THREE MEMBERS OF THE UNITED STATES SOCCER TEAM SHOW UP AT THE GATE. Deandre Yedlin, Brad Davis, and Chris Wondolowski – flightless. A day after putting their hearts and souls on the line for their country and coming up just short there they were, trying to get re-routed from their own troubles with a chartered flight. A friend we met in the airport ran into Tim Howard. He had just had the best individual performance of the World Cup, now he was waiting in line at a United ticket counter, trying to make it home. Picturing Tim Howard waiting in line with hundreds of other angry customers, just checking his watch and looking around helplessly as he tries to find a flight home is one of the most hilarious images I’ve ever had in my head, but this is 100% real. I asked Wondo if he had any room on his flight – he said he was just hoping there was room for him on anything. Unbelievable.

Yedlin having a blast

Brad Davis's only smile of the night

We circled back to our original ticket counter, which appeared to be the remains of a war zone. No passengers remained – they’d all been cast aside by the United tyrannical leaders. There was one agent left (the rest had presumably been slaughtered within the hour). This mid-20s guy was being attacked from all sides, including by another flight crew who had no idea what was happening or where they were staying that night. He doesn’t know. Nobody knew anything except that: a) there was a plane there that morning, b) there were “mechanical problems,” c) United apparently realllllly sucks at fixing “mechanical problems,” and d) the one young surviving gate agent explained that everyone was being re-routed the next day at 1 p.m. There were no other options, so we went with it. What happened next was one of the most backwards circus acts I’ve ever witnessed.

We were shepherded like a herd of sheep (frustrated sheep) to pick up our bags, against our will. There was yelling, there was crying, there was possibly some blood. We were instructed to get on a bus, which was to take us to the Holliday Inn 20 minutes away. This was United’s best idea: get these people away from us, promise them food, that should shut them up for a bit. We were not given any boarding passes for the next day, no confirmation numbers, and had no idea if we were actually going to fit in the hotel. Just herded onto buses with the giant crowd and shipped off into the darkness.

I wanted some sort of confirmation. ANYTHING. So I called, and was placed on a short little 25-minute wait on the phone (sorry for the July phone bill, Dad!). Someone finally answered, and I was completely bewildered because at that point I was putting the phone on speaker just to listen to the ‘hold ‘music that was playing like it was a radio. I finally find out what we feared the most: the 1 p.m. flight the next day we were all “automatically re-booked” on was cancelled. Mechanical problems. United has the worst mechanics of all time. So we were re-booked again, this time on Delta, and immediately begin celebrating since we knew we were in an infinitely better position with a new airline. In the middle of the conversation, I was asked if I want to cancel the flights we were originally re-booked on after the 1 p.m. flight was cancelled. “Oh, when are those?” “You would be leaving July 6^th, arriving July 7^th.” “You’re kidding, right?” A 4-day delay. Thanks anyways.

After our quaint 26-hour delay spent in the Museum of Futbol in Sao Paolo and other spots around town, we were off again the following night at 11, headed home from an inevitably life-changing trip. Delta did it. No delays, no cancellations, the flight left and arrived on time. Seems easy enough. We’ve learned an incredible amount, from ‘obrigado’ (thank you) to the frustratingly small coffee sizes. We’ve seen an incredible amount, from some of the world’s largest waterfalls to Olinda, one of the world’s most adorable towns. We’ve eaten an incredible amount of carbs. We’ve consumed more sugar in caipirinhas than was previously considered possible. Thanks for reading and thanks to those who made this trip possible.  Notably, thanks to my parents Mark and Jane, who basically shook their heads and agreed to my newest ridiculous adventure, Becca’s awesome parents Deb and Greg (Deb served as our daily/hourly weather forecast updates), Megan’s parents, who let her leave the country for the first time in her life, and Goose’s (/Magellan) parents, who basically didn’t know he was going until he was already gone. I appreciate everyone following and keeping tabs on us through this blog, it’s been another surreal adventure. So for one last time: obrigado.