the story of my bicycle: part one
i got to the airport early with the giant cardboard box strapped on to the ass end of my bike. the ride through mexcity was cheesecake and gravy. it was at the airport where things began to unravel.
at six in the morning two security guards came by and ran me off from my little squat in the cold bright hallway of the mexcity airport. i was confused and disoriented, not knowing if my mind had lapsed into sleep. i must have slept, however, because the cleaning crew - who kept me awake throughout the night dusting ceiling fixtures from a cherry picker that emitted a series of high pitch beeps (not unlike that of a digital alarm clock)when placed in reverse - and the beautiful peruvian girl camping next to me in the hallway were gone.
my first mission before heading to the ticket counter to check my bike and pick up my boarding pass was to remove the pedals on my rig. this became a giant pain in the genitals because my crescent wrench was too big (i forgot that i had used matt's wrench the last two times i removed my pedals). looked all over the damn airport and couldn't find a proper wrench. managing my frustration, i did manage to take off the wheels and handlebars and make the bike fit nicely into the box with the pedals on. i then taped the piss out of the box so that it would be nice and stout. good and beefy-like so that no flaws could be found in my packing job thus not allowing me to check my most valued posession on the airplane for the trip home.
i proceeded to push the freshly-taped box to the inspector and she then proceeded to cut it open with a utility knife. kind of disheartening. she looked into the box for all of five seconds and hastily taped it shut. i pushed the now poorly taped box up to the ticket counter where i was asked for $100 to check the box. i told them (puro en espanol) the continental airlines webpage said it was only $80 to check a bicycle. silly in retrospect as the story shall reveal. the continental agent smiled an evil smile and went to check out this discrepancy on her computer.
she returned from her computer with the same evil smile to inform me that upon further investigation continental airlines would not be able check my bicycle at all. this is where the wheels really began to fall off of the wagon. i calmly explained that i would be happy to pay $80 or even $100 - that was all the money i had anyhow - to check the bike. she informed me that an "extra baggage embargo" was in place and it was impossible to check the rig regardless of price. i proceeded to tell her the story of the greusome ride into el rosario in the cold dark night and the kid passing semis with no headlights on at 40 mph with morocco belly and how beautiful and joyous all 3,500 miles of my journey were, and consequently, just how important this particular "bicicleta" was to me.
i thought, for just a fleeting second, about making a big scene with many profanities and broken telephones and monitors and hordes of police and restraint and paperwork and missing teeth and blood and international authorities. i thought real hard. after a moment of chilling silence - at which point i realized that every last person in line at the continental ticket counter was staring at the feverish maniac with crazed eyes presiding before a large, slightly bulging, poorly taped box - the agent stared at me with a look of pitty/concern/fear and said nothing. she gave me a baggage tag with the customer service number for their baggage handling department. i asked to use her phone. she said no.
i had an hour and a half until my flight started boarding to make some phone calls. in order to accomplish this feat a small amount of mexican currency was necessary. i had zero pesos left and only $100 to my name. i desperately clung to the hope that with a phone call i could convince just one of the customer service agents at continental into checking my bicycle and still have enough loot remaining to pay the extra fee required by the airline to provide this service ($80).
needed phone card to make the call. needed pesos to buy goddamn phone card. got some loot and i bought the phone card. spent two and a half hours waiting on hold and desperately pleading my case with various authorities. every conversation was the same. once in spanish, and then a second, more desperate and truly gut-wrenching rendition in english. everyone had the same response. they would tell me about the extra baggage embargo, and how no exceptions could be made to this embargo. then they would recomend a shipping company providing a service costing roughly what the bicycle was worth on ebay. at this point i would insist to speak to their supervisor. then i was placed on hold. then the line would click. and it was always one of Kafka's characters speaking in spanish on the other end.
under the bright sterile lights of the mexico city airport with my bicycle torn apart and piled in a box on which i rested my head while waiting on hold for yet another nameless faceless authority to recite to me verbatim en espanol the continental airlines corporate policy on checking bicycles - boxed or not boxed - during a "baggage embargo" i found that nothing i could say would change my fate.
the muzak droned on as i waited for my last chance to plead my case with the highest authority in their telephone heirarchy of "customer service" - he was called the baggage director or minister of claims or some such orwellian designation. over and over i practiced the spanish translation of my epic rant that would end this horrible nightmare and bring my bicycle home with me...for christmas.
"bueno" said a voice in the now warm and moist handset. it was the minister of luggage himself. in the calm voice often employed by those of sound mental health i went through the story of el rosario and the kid passing the semis and the beauty of life on the road. i told him in crisp castillian spanish about going home to see my family in ohio for christmas and just how happy i would be to show my mom the bicycle i rode all the way from vancouver to mexico city.
the unseen authority on the other side of the receiver was not moved. again, he restated verbatim the continental policy towards claiming bicycles during their embargo. again, he recomended a shipping company in the airport that would offer me a "fair price" to send my bike back to the states. with my last hope of checking the bike dashed i quickly returned to the ticket counter to find a new group of agents and new plastic smiles unfamiliar with the sad details of my pee wee hermanlike story. resigned to leaving my bicycle in the airport i walked past everyone in line and straight to the counter to check my panniers and catch my flight.
at this point the plane was already boarding and it was too late for my baggage to be checked. my ticket was non-refundable. i had to make this flight with or without my bicycle, and potentially without the remainder of my luggage. the new continental agent assigned to my case informed me that i had five minutes to pass through security with my four carry on bags to make my flight. i took off through the concourse like oj in the old hertz rental car commercials. i was not about to miss my flight.
at six in the morning two security guards came by and ran me off from my little squat in the cold bright hallway of the mexcity airport. i was confused and disoriented, not knowing if my mind had lapsed into sleep. i must have slept, however, because the cleaning crew - who kept me awake throughout the night dusting ceiling fixtures from a cherry picker that emitted a series of high pitch beeps (not unlike that of a digital alarm clock)when placed in reverse - and the beautiful peruvian girl camping next to me in the hallway were gone.
my first mission before heading to the ticket counter to check my bike and pick up my boarding pass was to remove the pedals on my rig. this became a giant pain in the genitals because my crescent wrench was too big (i forgot that i had used matt's wrench the last two times i removed my pedals). looked all over the damn airport and couldn't find a proper wrench. managing my frustration, i did manage to take off the wheels and handlebars and make the bike fit nicely into the box with the pedals on. i then taped the piss out of the box so that it would be nice and stout. good and beefy-like so that no flaws could be found in my packing job thus not allowing me to check my most valued posession on the airplane for the trip home.
i proceeded to push the freshly-taped box to the inspector and she then proceeded to cut it open with a utility knife. kind of disheartening. she looked into the box for all of five seconds and hastily taped it shut. i pushed the now poorly taped box up to the ticket counter where i was asked for $100 to check the box. i told them (puro en espanol) the continental airlines webpage said it was only $80 to check a bicycle. silly in retrospect as the story shall reveal. the continental agent smiled an evil smile and went to check out this discrepancy on her computer.
she returned from her computer with the same evil smile to inform me that upon further investigation continental airlines would not be able check my bicycle at all. this is where the wheels really began to fall off of the wagon. i calmly explained that i would be happy to pay $80 or even $100 - that was all the money i had anyhow - to check the bike. she informed me that an "extra baggage embargo" was in place and it was impossible to check the rig regardless of price. i proceeded to tell her the story of the greusome ride into el rosario in the cold dark night and the kid passing semis with no headlights on at 40 mph with morocco belly and how beautiful and joyous all 3,500 miles of my journey were, and consequently, just how important this particular "bicicleta" was to me.
i thought, for just a fleeting second, about making a big scene with many profanities and broken telephones and monitors and hordes of police and restraint and paperwork and missing teeth and blood and international authorities. i thought real hard. after a moment of chilling silence - at which point i realized that every last person in line at the continental ticket counter was staring at the feverish maniac with crazed eyes presiding before a large, slightly bulging, poorly taped box - the agent stared at me with a look of pitty/concern/fear and said nothing. she gave me a baggage tag with the customer service number for their baggage handling department. i asked to use her phone. she said no.
i had an hour and a half until my flight started boarding to make some phone calls. in order to accomplish this feat a small amount of mexican currency was necessary. i had zero pesos left and only $100 to my name. i desperately clung to the hope that with a phone call i could convince just one of the customer service agents at continental into checking my bicycle and still have enough loot remaining to pay the extra fee required by the airline to provide this service ($80).
needed phone card to make the call. needed pesos to buy goddamn phone card. got some loot and i bought the phone card. spent two and a half hours waiting on hold and desperately pleading my case with various authorities. every conversation was the same. once in spanish, and then a second, more desperate and truly gut-wrenching rendition in english. everyone had the same response. they would tell me about the extra baggage embargo, and how no exceptions could be made to this embargo. then they would recomend a shipping company providing a service costing roughly what the bicycle was worth on ebay. at this point i would insist to speak to their supervisor. then i was placed on hold. then the line would click. and it was always one of Kafka's characters speaking in spanish on the other end.
under the bright sterile lights of the mexico city airport with my bicycle torn apart and piled in a box on which i rested my head while waiting on hold for yet another nameless faceless authority to recite to me verbatim en espanol the continental airlines corporate policy on checking bicycles - boxed or not boxed - during a "baggage embargo" i found that nothing i could say would change my fate.
the muzak droned on as i waited for my last chance to plead my case with the highest authority in their telephone heirarchy of "customer service" - he was called the baggage director or minister of claims or some such orwellian designation. over and over i practiced the spanish translation of my epic rant that would end this horrible nightmare and bring my bicycle home with me...for christmas.
"bueno" said a voice in the now warm and moist handset. it was the minister of luggage himself. in the calm voice often employed by those of sound mental health i went through the story of el rosario and the kid passing the semis and the beauty of life on the road. i told him in crisp castillian spanish about going home to see my family in ohio for christmas and just how happy i would be to show my mom the bicycle i rode all the way from vancouver to mexico city.
the unseen authority on the other side of the receiver was not moved. again, he restated verbatim the continental policy towards claiming bicycles during their embargo. again, he recomended a shipping company in the airport that would offer me a "fair price" to send my bike back to the states. with my last hope of checking the bike dashed i quickly returned to the ticket counter to find a new group of agents and new plastic smiles unfamiliar with the sad details of my pee wee hermanlike story. resigned to leaving my bicycle in the airport i walked past everyone in line and straight to the counter to check my panniers and catch my flight.
at this point the plane was already boarding and it was too late for my baggage to be checked. my ticket was non-refundable. i had to make this flight with or without my bicycle, and potentially without the remainder of my luggage. the new continental agent assigned to my case informed me that i had five minutes to pass through security with my four carry on bags to make my flight. i took off through the concourse like oj in the old hertz rental car commercials. i was not about to miss my flight.
posted by Yonder Vittles at 12:21 AM
7 Comments:
hope you dig the story mr. seely. looking forward to your comments.
hey there
That is a damn fine and heartbreaking story.
"hey there" i really do not speak internet very well. i'm not too sure if it is some kind of cyber pickup line or just a poorly formed sentence fragment with no context. this forum is home to plenty of both.
part two!!! comeon comeon...
matty, you are right to break my balls. i have become quite lazy of late in my postings. perhaps a more resolute new year's resolution would have cured this issue. yours in procrastination and not following through with goals, aaron joseph maier.
dónde está la parte dos
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