Lessons from the Road: Hipless in Seattle

What is the appropriate behavior for a man or a woman in the midst of this world, where each person is clinging to his piece of debris? What’s the proper salutation between people as they pass each other in this flood?

-Buddha Shakyamuni

Just before this last Christmas I flew from Los Angeles to Seattle to spend the holiday with my family. A sudden snowstorm closed the airport in Seattle and forced our diversion to Spokane, which ironically was itself sitting under 3 and half feet of snow, but where the airport was at least open.

The scene at the airport was a kind of panicked chaos. It was now well past midnight and the tiny airport was overwhelmed with rerouted travelers from up and down the West coast. There were no facilities, no food, not much information, and many unhappy people.

After braving 6º degree weather in a T-shirt and jeans (a frequent traveler’s faux-pas for me) I was at least able to find a hotel. The next four days were spent in a round-robin of harrowing trips to the airport, followed by canceled flights, closed airports and a mad scramble for lodgings. The cold was bitter and the snow was deep. The different shuttle buses crept through the icy conditions; falls and accidents were a common sight.

I was faring batter than many people I encountered: my top tier frequent-flyer card helped with the morass of booking problems and overloaded phone lines, and I at least had the resources to secure a hotel room. Many people had no choice but to sleep at the airport, which was beginning to resemble a refugee camp.

Finally, on Christmas Eve, the weather eased a bit and I had a confirmed ticket on an afternoon flight to Seattle. Even with a late checkout I arrived at the airport hours early. Soon it became clear that another wave of storms was rolling through: flights to Portland and other nearby destinations were being canceled. Damn it. I was angry, sad, and tense. I felt like I had been through such a ridiculous ordeal. I just wanted to get home for Christmas and this was making me deeply despondent.

Sitting a few seats down from me was a young man who, oddly, had an aluminum walker nearby. I couldn’t help but overhear his phone call with his mother.

“They’re canceling more flights. I’m on standby for the flight to Seattle, but they say there are three times as many travelers as seats, so if I don’t get on the flight I should just go back to the hospital. Maybe after Christmas I can get home.”

Wow, this was upsetting. He was a young man in the midst of an obvious medical crisis. I had a confirmed seat on the flight that he was only on stand-by for. Now that I knew this, I felt I had a spiritual obligation to offer him my seat if he didn’t make it on the plane. Damn it.

I struck up a conversation with him. He had just had his second hip replacement surgery at the age of 32. He chose Spokane because he was so happy with the surgeon who had replaced his first hip that returned here for the second operation. A congenital deterioration made these major surgeries unavoidable. He was on four painkillers, six antibiotics and two anti-rejection drugs.

The day after his surgery he was scheduled to fly back to Seattle to stay with his family, recuperate and celebrate the holiday. Just as he arrived at the airport his first flight was canceled because of the weather. Like me he had spent the last four or five days trying to make it home. Like me he had packed and unpacked and traveled to and from the airport. But he had done it with a walker and new piece of titanium implanted in his body. The icy sidewalks and slippery paths that I bitched about and resented were, to him, potentially deadly obstacles. While I might have bruised my ass, his fall could have been catastrophic. He couldn’t afford a hotel close to the airport, so he was staying at the motel 6 at the far edge of town. His insurance only paid for the hospital through the day of his surgery. He couldn’t afford to go back there.

As we killed time waiting for news of our flight (Would it leave? Would he have a seat? Would I?) we talked about many things: travel, food, cities, politics.

We shared many common interests. We spent 30 minutes comparing notes on San Francisco, Prague and Seattle. Soon we were both grinning and laughing. The time flew. Suddenly an airline employee approached him and handed him a boarding pass. “I made sure we got you a seat.” He smiled from ear to ear and I shook his hand. He called his mother just as they announced that the flight to Seattle was boarding.

He turned to me. “I’m so glad we talked. I feel so much better about things.”

We were on a small turbo-prop plane – the only available aircraft not grounded in other cities – so fewer than a hundred of us made it out of Spokane that day. It was the only flight to leave. I folded his walker and helped him board the plane, just as the evening sun appeared for the first time in days.

That night in Seattle, sitting with family around a glowing Christmas tree, I remembered that man and I gave a silent prayer of thanks: for my family, for the blessings of my life, and for my health.