Flying Home for Christmas: A True Story

 (This story is a first-hand account of real events that took place December 22, 2022. Dedicated to all you international travellers who have experienced delays, cancellations, and the joys of journeying home for Christmas.)

Needless to say travel through the UK in 2022 has been severely disrupted by the increase in frequency of strikes, engineering works on train tracks, and the obscenely understaffed airlines and airports. That being said, Christmas time has got to be the most stressful period world-wide to travel anywhere by any mode of transportation. I can personally attest to the fact that it is not as jolly as the holiday tunes make it out to be (with the exception of Chris Rea who is stuck “Top to toe in tailbacks” and still having a merry time).

My journey was overcomplicated from the start.

Birmingham, UK to Dublin, Ireland (BHX-DUB)

Dublin, Ireland to London, UK (DUB-LHR)

London, UK to Las Vegas, USA (LHR-LAS)

The first flight went smoothly, nothing to worry about there. We arrived in Dublin and all those with connecting flights went through security for a second time. After chugging almost a litre of water I forgot I’d had in my bottle, I took my seat in my gate’s waiting area and did just that. An hour before my next flight was due to depart, I double checked the board to find that my gate had been moved further down the terminal. Not an issue, it was a short stroll away.

This is where it all went wrong.

The irritating thing about having multiple connecting flights is that when there is a delay somewhere in the middle, the rest of the journey is affected, sometimes with devastating results. To this day, I have yet to meet someone who has experienced heavy delays in travel and managed to maintain a positive attitude. Sure, we can look back and laugh at these situations later, but in that moment it is the worst thing imaginable.

In the Dublin terminal where my second flight was set to depart from, there is an extra set of security doors and at the time they were closed with a hoard of hundreds of passengers anxiously waiting to be let through. I later discovered that Dublin airport offers this great service called ‘US pre-clearance’; those traveling to the United States from DUB were having their immigration documents checked before they even left Irish soil, making it so that when they arrived they would not have to endure American border control. 

What a treat! 

However, this service is only available because the part of Dublin airport is sovereign American soil, meaning security is especially tight. For some reason that has yet to be explained, one of the flights traveling to the States was not at the proper gate, and due to the world-famous American security, the rest of the passengers in the terminal were not permitted to enter that area until after the aircraft had left.

You can bet there was a stampede as soon as those doors were opened. Some people clapped, some whooped, but all were marching down the terminal with their heads down in determination. 

My flight was delayed arriving at Heathrow by one hour. I had just under an hour to exit my plane, change terminals, go through security for a third time that day and dash to my final gate. And this is where Murphy’s Law took one look at me and cackled.

55 minutes to take-off

I couldn’t check in for my final flight online (unknown reason, to this day), so I had to do this at one of the desks. In my desperation to make this final leg of my trip, I decided they would have to check me in at the gate when I arrived. I sprinted off my Dublin flight, nearly bowling over a sweet elderly woman. Shouting a garbled apology, I pressed on. Leapt onto the inter-terminal shuttle bus and within 5 minutes I was in T3. 

45 minutes to take-off

Navigating through their large international terminal at the highest speed I could handle, I arrived at a queue to check the passengers’ flight details and ensure they were about to enter the right area. I was. The man checking documents informed me that I had “plenty of time”. I entered the queue for a final round of security.

40 minutes to take-off

My patience was wearing thin and despite the TSA agents periodically announcing the necessary objects to remove from luggage, there was a frustrating number of mistakes, causing further delays.

30 minutes to take-off

I reached the front of the queue, removed my liquids pre-packed in their special plastic baggie, laid my laptop flat with nothing atop it, stuffed my coat next to my case and walked through the detector. Green light. Awaiting my bags on the other end, I saw the line of trays that were for inspection, six in total, and mine slotted in right at the back. 

No 

No no no 

NO

20 minutes to take-off

I finally gather the confidence to do something I’ve never done before in my life. I get the attention of an agent and politely say my flight is departing in 20 minutes, and my bag is now fifth to be checked, “Is there anything we can do to expedite this, please?” He replied with an affirmative, that was later not fulfilled. To my surprise, the man waiting next to me started to grumble. “No no no,” he shook his head, “No way. We’ve all been waiting here. You’re going to have to wait. Everyone is equal, everyone waits.”

A roaring started in my ears. I instantly felt homicidal towards this American man, particularly due to the commonly known fact that Americans are meant to be friendly. I turned to face him. 

“That’s a really great attitude to have around Christmas time," I seethed.

10 minutes to take-off

A young woman in front of me tried to pack far too many toiletries costing her her flight. The American woman who’s bag was in front of mine said I could go ahead. The Irish lady waiting behind me had also been delayed by the Dublin palaver. You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife. My water bottle was full, again. I downed my second litre for the day, repacked and sprinted away calling “Merry Christmas!” to the lovely women behind.

In this moment, I had very little hope of making my flight, but the hope was still there. The adrenaline was still coursing through me, propelling me through the terminal to what seemed to be the farthest gate away from TSA. Somebody blocking my path actually ran ahead of me for a little while to get out of my way.

I arrived at an empty gate and stopped in front of three Virgin Atlantic reps at the podium, ruddy, gasping for breath and barely able to speak. I spared a thought, ‘Christ, I need to do more cardio.’

I had missed it by literal minutes. The bridge had just been drawn back. One of the agents searched for my name, and declared to my already deaf ears, “You haven’t been checked in…” He looked up and properly saw the state of me. “Alright, take a breath, have a seat and just hang on.”

I had given everything I had left to give. I had’t run like that in months, certainly not burdened by a rucksack, suitcase, four layers of clothes and two litres of water sloshing about inside me. 

I collapsed on a chair and sobbed between gasps as the little strength left in me evaporated.

The heartbreaking event of missing one’s overpriced long-haul flight is immediately followed by a gruelling rescheduling process, which involves many more hours of waiting in queues with other disgruntled and sometimes belligerent passengers. This, for me, was topped when I was given new flight details for the following day and told I would have to sort out my own accommodation for the night which I could ‘claim back from the airline at a later date.’

Right…

One tumultuous night’s sleep and a shuttle bus ride back to the airport the following morning, I have my new ticket validated, go through security (for the fifth time in two days) and am sat in the waiting area 6 hours before my flight is due to leave. 

Here’s hoping nothing stops me from getting home this time.