Halifax Crew Mutiny worse worse Than Taxed departure
This week wrapped up my (initial?) assignment in Geneva. I busied myself writing descriptions of my work so that I could “hand-off” responsibility. Unfortunately for continuity, “hand-off” was interpreted by the local staff as “Mains!” (Hands Off!) I tried to explain the situation to Nazy.
“..so no one wants to take over what I do.”
“Because?”
“Perhaps I am unique.”
“Perhaps you’re doing boring things.”
“Perchance, I’m doing complicated things that..”
“Maybe you’re making a simple thing too complicated.”
“Inconceivable, my dear. I believe in unvarnished simplicity.”
“Could it be that your work is not a good route to promotion and a big bonus?”
“ “, I replied. Speechless.
Before packing and cleaning, I went to nearby park to watch the moon rise over the Russian Orthodox Church.
There were, of course, other important things going on at the office. The bank has a home-grown Intranet application that displaces company “organigrams” (organizational charts.) If you click on a name, you can see detailed information about the associated person. (Including whether he is in the office that day - it reads and stores the entry card.) The website also contains a photograph - of most people. There was no photograph of me until..
“You want to take my picture for the intranet?” I asked the young lady standing by my desk.
“That’s right.”
“She doesn’t know that I’m leaving tomorrow,” I thought as I followed her into the corridor.
“Just stand right there,” she said - pointing to a nearby wall.
“That’s right next to the men’s room..”
“I’ll crop out the door.”
“Good idea,” I replied.
I spent my ‘off-hours’ of the final week in Geneva preparing for departure. I had acquired a lot of ‘stuff’ that simply couldn’t be brought back. (For example, my helicopter. and my night-light) I didn’t have time to do exciting things and I wasn’t mugged so I didn’t know what I’d do in terms of material for The Weekly Letter. And...
“No worries,” I thought. “I am going to (attempt to) fly home. Air transport has proven to be an inexhaustible source of material.”
I focused on cleaning the apartment so I’d be ready for the check-out process. It wasn’t easy to clean because luggage and garbage bags covered every inch of floor. I discarded remnants from the refrigerator, concluded that it was impossible to bring my pillows and wondered if the agent would keep Nazy’s yellow rubber ducky. I did it all in sticky and humid heat.
Note: It has not been super hot in Geneva, but it has been humid heat. It’s been Houston Humid Heat. However, unlike Houston, it gets cool and pleasant in the evenings. Like Houston they keep the weather outdoors - where it normally belongs. In Houston that means that the heat stays outside. In Geneva, that means that the cool stays outside.
Even after the cull, my suitcases were heavy. I piled them onto a baggage cart and joined a huge line in front of the United Airlines ticket counter in the (not air conditioned) Geneva airport. Both bags were overweight. I was counting on my (still) exalted frequent traveller status on Swiss to get me past the excess luggage fee. I started to explain, but the check-in clerk welcomed me.
“Why are you standing in this line,” he asked. “You have gold status.”
“I have no status,” I thought. “This is a mistake.” Naturally, I said something else: “Wonderful!”
The clerk checked my luggage, handed me the claim checks and wished me well on my flight to Los Angeles.
“Santa Barbara,” I corrected.
“No, you are going to Los Angeles.”
I fired up the MacBook Pro and showed him the flight schedule. At that point he realized that another “Daniel Martin” (this one with gold status) was flying on the same schedule - to Los Angeles. It was too late to charge me for the luggage, but he did rip off the old claim check tags (“Priority Access&rdquo
before replacing them with ones that correctly delivered (“peon class&rdquo luggage to Santa Barbara.Although the lines at security and immigration were long, they were also slow ‘moving’. I didn’t get to the gate in time to find a seat in the waitng area. Carrying a few kilos of cheese, a couple of hundredweight of chocolate, a few stone in electronics and a partridge in a pear tree, I was hot, tired and ready to go. I collapsed on the floor.
They announced a short (15 minute) delay for “technical reasons”. After 15 minutes, they announced a continued “technical situation”; additional information was promised in 30 minutes. Thirty minutes later they said that an update would be made in half an hour. Then..
“The pilot on this airplane unexpectedly took ill. Because of crew work regulations, we will fly to Halifax to get a replacement crew. The flight will arrive in Washington a bit late. Onward connections will be automatically updated. We will begin boarding momentarily.”
“If the pilot is ill, who is flying the airplane to Halifax?” I asked the guy standing next to me.
“Is this crew going to like spending the night in Halifax?” He asked me.
They began boarding, but just before my group was called.. everything stopped. The previously ‘boarded’ passengers were trudging back to the gate area. I overheard snippets of conversation.
“The crew ...”, “door closed..”. “ wouldn’t allow,,”
I turned to my neighbor. “I think there was a Halifax-induced mutiny,” I said.
After rebooking the business and first class passengers, United (finally) announced flight cancellation. (They used the sick pilot excuse.) They would give us a 15 Franc meal voucher (It costs 15.90 for a Big Mac Meal) and an overnight stay in the nearby Movenpick (an expectedly good hotel with functional Air Conditioning). All 242 passengers queued to collect the hotel voucher and..
“Can’t I just leave my luggage here?” I asked. “It won’t fit into the hotel room.”
I couldn’t. I queued for the shuttle to the hotel, I queued to check in. Afraid that I would never be able to repack the suitcase, I decided to take the train back to the city centre to buy underwear and new shirt.
I awoke early the next day. having relished the air conditioned room (I had set the temperature to refrigerate). The shower had water pressure and, unlike the one in the discarded apartment, it dispensed water from above my head. I took the shuttle bus back to the airport and joined a long queue at the United Checkin counter. (United Airlines’ core competency is generating queues.)
“Your luggage is overweight and you have to pay for the second piece,” the clerk explained.
“I checked it yesterday and didn’t pay,” I replied.
“That was a mistake.”
“We both agree that yesterday was a mistake. It is not fair that I have to pay because your flight was cancelled.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Well..‘flying’ United was a mistake too,”
“You have to pay.”
“I’d be happy to pay, but someone in your city stole my wallet and I don’t have a credit card.”
She looked at me.
I looked back.
She added baggage routing stickers to my luggage.
I watched. “What do I do now?” I asked.
“You have a pleasant flight.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
And so, I left on the first leg of my trip - 24 hours late. Little did I know (see next week) that this was the pleasant part of the journey. United had, in fact, done the impossible:
“I’ve learned,” I told my sister, “that there is nothing I can hate more than FATCA.”
“You won’t get sympathy in the US, Dan. People like punishing the banks.”
“This (stupid) American law is punishing American citizens who live abroad.”
“Most people think that the only reason people live abroad is to avoid taxes. They think expats are all rich and..”
“ ... on vacation. This FATCA and citizenship based taxation is a dastardly vexing policy. I had nothing more than FATCA.”
Correction: Now I hate United Airlines more than FATCA.
More about my journey home (think Shackleton and Antarctica) or Moby Dick and Ismael or Custer and Little Big Horn or Prince Charles and Diana or Nuclear Power and Tsunami... more next week.
BTW: I left you dangling in last week’s letter. I was not able to get a replacement residency permit in Geneva. But the authorities in Zurich said I didn’t need to come there either. So, I was able to leave the country.
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