Paranoia

May I offer this simple proposition in my defense: IT'S NOT PARANOIA IF IT REALLY COMES TRUE.  Turns out I didn't have to wait long for those aforementioned ills to take shape.  Not long after I finished my previous post, counting the ways I was comforted by odds that the little tragedies I was witnessing weren't likely to befall me… tragedy befell me.  Around 3:30, I began to feel suspicious that my flight had not been announced, my name had not been called, and the gate at which I was waiting was serving another flight.  I had already checked with the counter three times to make sure I was in the right place.  The first time, the United personnel told me that I'd have to wait for the Lufthansa personnel to take over.  The second time, a Lufthansa attendant informed me that it was probable that my flight would come to this gate because no other flights were lined up to take it's place.  And the third time, I was informed that yes, my flight would be boarding from this gate.  Even though it was only 3:30, it felt later.  It didn't feel like my full 4.5 hour layover had transpired, but it did feel like I'd been here longer than 2.5 hours.  Yet the clock on my computer–which I had been watching like a hawk with a video camera–read 3:30.

Then I discovered that the clock on my computer was incorrect.

The time was, in fact 5:30.  I had sworn that my clock was set to update according to the time of my current city, but apparently it was not.  That explains how the 4.5 hours which felt like 3.5 hours that I thought had only been 2.5 hours, had passed.  I asked another Lufthansa attendant where the Dusseldorf flight was, and if it was delayed, and he pointed me to the next gate over, adding "They have been calling you for quite some time."  I heard nothing.  I rushed to my seat in a panic and grabbed all of my gear, scampering to the counter and begging to be let aboard.  The plane was still right there (departure time was scheduled for 5:35, so I figured that with 5 minutes to spare, they ought to still let me on), and the gangway was still resting neatly against the fuselage.  I begged and begged.  "It's right there!"  But I was told by at least 3 different attendants in the most condescending German-accented tone they could individually muster "I'm sorry, but we have called you and called you and you did not come."  I was then informed that my bag had already been offloaded.  Even though the plane was right there, and I was certain that despite the load I was carrying, I'd be able to dodge the 5 flight attendants and the labyrinth of velvet ropes to dart down the gangway and onto the plane, it would be to no avail.  So I was ushered to the Lufthansa ticketing counter to a stereo soundtrack of "We paged you 20 times, Mr. Payne."  And as I was walking away, I enjoyed the eerie experience of watching my own plane taxi and take off.  I often wonder if I'm in a movie.

Thus the shortest 4.5 hours ever became the longest 8.5 hours ever.  At the Lufthansa ticket counter, I waited.  And waited.  Apparently their system has recently undergone a planned retrogression back to the 1970s, and all information must be input manually, every time, without the ability to save a search while looking at other options.  I don't really know, but it took a crazy long time.  My first sojourn to their kiosk was somewhat expedient, as the lady operating the computer seemed to understand the new old system, but she wasn't very amenable, and presented me with an unwavering $2500 cost to book a new flight, without giving me much of an understanding break, and without being willing to check for other options.  I think there was some vindictiveness there because the offloading of my bag had caused the original flight to be delayed.  My fault, to be sure, but no need to be vengeful about it.  She recommended that I visit the United counter (since my ticket was booked through United but operated by Lufthansa).  At the United counter, they were much more willing to track down alternatives, but none of their available flights would get me there with time enough to spare.  So I trudged back over to Lufthansa with the sad Charlie Brown music playing in my head, prepared to fork over the dough.  Both to my delight and my chagrin, the original woman was no longer there.  This meant that I would have someone much more agreeable helping me, but it also meant that they had to start from scratch, and this young lady was seriously overmatched by their outdated software.  I called several other airlines at the suggestion of my very helpful and amazing and supportive girlfriend, who was back in California searching for flights for me, but none of them were able to help.  Finally, after another hour they got me ticketed on the original $2500 flight, except that it only cost me $1000.  Now I'm routed through Munich, instead of Dusseldorf.  By this time, it was nearly 8:00, and my flight was scheduled to leave at 8:50, and I was on standby, and I had to go through customs and security again.  I rushed off, paranoid about missing my new flight.

I arrived back at the gate… THE SAME GATE I HAD WAITED AT FOR 4.5 HOURS and showed them my standby ticket.  They told me they'd announce me.  The problem was that everything over the loudspeaker was nearly impossible to hear and absolutely unintelligible, even when you could hear it.  I listened like a hawk with a video camera to every name that was called, paranoid that I'd miss it, and even then I still rushed up to the counter 3 times to be told that whatever it was that she had announced was not, in fact, my name.  I felt vindicated that there was no way I'd have been able to hear them "paging me and paging me and paging me" from two gates away, when I could barely hear it from right there.

Finally, the unintelligible name they called was mine, and I strode up to the gate with my real ticket in hand.  The attendant scanned my boarding pass and the machine yielded a loud and ominous beep.  Clearly not a good sound.  The digital readout displayed the words 'boarding denied'.  More paranoia.  By this time, however, the initial shock had settled, and I was able to respond with something that resembled levity, "Ooh, now that's not a good sound."  This guy had no idea just how badly I didn't want to hear any sounds that were not good.  He chuckled and typed something and scanned my pass again.  "You've just been upgraded to business class."  "Ok then," I responded, "maybe not such a bad sound after all."  Silver linings.

Aboard the plane, in my luxurious business class seat that reclines almost flat and has its own power outlet and a troupe of stewardesses just clamoring to present me with as much wine and orange juice and hot towels and delicious meals they can possibly find, I waited for quite a while.  Eventually the captain announced over the PA system that we were delayed because a couple of passengers didn't show up and their bags had to be offloaded.  Irony is a cruel mistress.  At least I get to enjoy Irony's sister, Business Class.  As I waited, just thankful to be on a plane again, I opened up my Bible without much of a plan, and was led to Ephesians.  I read the whole book, and honestly, nothing could have been more encouraging and uplifting.  Go read it, and as you read, imagine how it would sound to someone who had just been through an incredibly stressful and paranoia-filled few hours of wondering "Why?" and "Am I even supposed to be here?"  I was filled with a sense of grace.  Perhaps more will come of this ordeal (most of which I brought on myself), and I will discover other reasons the Lord may have had for allowing this, but even if it was only for the sake of leading me to a place of brokenness and filling me with a sense of my need to rely on him, it was all worth it.  I knew I had not had the time to prepare my heart as I wanted to, and showing up $1000 too late to my flight forced preparedness–or at least willingness to be led–upon me.  Now I have a new paranoia.  A good paranoia.  A state of constant alertness to and expectation of the Lord's hand working and guiding.