IT was barely seven o’clock in the morning when my mobile phone message alert buzzed. For a late sleeper and a late riser like me, that was an ungodly hour. Still, curiosity got the better of me. So, bleary eyed I peered at the offending gadget.
HOMELESS: Residents whose homes were destroyed in a landslide rest in a shelter in Teresopolis, Brazil on Jan 13. — Reuters photo
“You wouldn’t believe it. Kuching airport is closed!” texted my friend Ben.
It took a full minute for the message to sink in. I was due to take the 2pm flight to Kuching from Kuala Lumpur and I had a meeting to attend that evening. “Are you sure?” I phoned Ben, half thinking that it could be a very early April Fool’s joke.
“Yes, I am at the airport now, supposed to take the 8am flight to KL.”
“What happened?”
“ A plane skidded off the runway last night and is now stuck in the mud.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I can see it. It’s an (name of the airline) plane. I will send you the photo.”
Ah, the wonder of modern technology – press a few buttons and solid evidence can be transmitted halfway round the world.
A strong cup of coffee put my mind into full gear. I had to call the airline to check on the status of my scheduled flight. It took me a while to get the number, but unfortunately, it was not much use, for I all got was the infernal talking machine.
“Thank you for phoning … for English, press one, untuk Bahasa Malaysia, tekan dua … ” I did not wait to find out how many other languages they had in store. I settled for “press one”. Then what followed was a series of “for this, press that; for that, press this; etc.” It was like being in a long dark tunnel of frustration. Eventually, I thought I saw the light at the end of the tunnel — for I got to the “flight schedule” section. But my joy was short lived.
“After the tone, please state the airport you are flying from … beeep.”
“Kuala Lumpur” I spoke into the mouthpiece and in as clear a voice as I could muster.
“Sorry, place not recognised (or something like that).”
I tried and re-tried with different intonations, but to no avail. So I resorted to mimicking different accents. Eventually, the machine was satisfied. If you are curious as to which accent it was that was accepted, sorry I cannot tell you, for fear that I might be accused of being a racist.
Unfortunately, that was as far as I got, for when we got to the destination bit I hit a brick wall.
The machine just could not accept “Kuching” — no matter how I pronounced it. After trying for the umpteenth time I was about to give up, but the machine beat me to it. It just cut off. Grrrr.
Then I realised that I had gone about this in the wrong way. Since it was an airport closure issue, it was not the airline that called the shots – it should be the airport authority. So, I phoned Kuching Airport. The lady was very nice.
“I can’t tell you when the airport will be opened. They are still trying to pull the stranded plane out of the way.”
“What about the afternoon flight? Any chance of that being on schedule?”
“Hmm, I am not sure. I really can’t say. Hmm, perhaps.” That hint of uncertainty (or was it certainty) gave me hope. Knowing that if I didn’t turn up at the airport at the scheduled time I would forfeit my flight, (and with no refund), I decided to play it safe and made my way to the airport. I was in the express airport coach for less than 10 minutes when a text message came in on my mobile phone. My flight was officially cancelled. “Grrr,” I thought, “now you tell me!”
Anyway, once I got over my initial frustration, I realised that going to the airport was the right thing to do. At least I would get to deal with a real flesh and blood person, not the wretched talking machine with poor listening skills. It took five attempts to get it to recognise “Kuala Lumpur” while “Kuching “ was just off its map.
The lady at the counter was under a bit of pressure. Who wouldn’t be? There was a line of very frustrated travellers in front of her. I must admit that I too was somewhat hot under the collar.
However, I cooled down when the two men behind me in the queue related their story. They were in the flight just behind that plane that veered off the runway and was within sight of the Kuching airport lights but had to be turned back to Kuala Lumpur.
“By the time we got into the hotel it was past 3 o’clock in the morning.”
“Oh, they provided accommodation. How was it?” I was wondering what star rating was the hotel.
He rolled his eyes and I knew “star” was not something associated with the place the airline gave him. “We hardly slept.” The pair of them looked really tired.
I felt ashamed for being irritated so easily because of my possible delay. At that moment the saying about a man complaining about having no shoes until he met a man with no feet came to my mind. So, when it came to my turn at the counter I was in a brighter mood.
“I am sure you had a very busy morning,” said I to the lady, trying to show my empathy.
“Yeah, it was like a madhouse.” I suppose in the midst of very annoyed passengers my nonchalant self must have been a relief. She even managed a smile. Regretfully, I had to deduct some Brownie points from her for the next exchanges.
“It was a mishap at Kuching Airport involving … (name of airline). Well, it could happen to anyone.”
At the mention of her airline her eyes flashed with defiance and she said defensively, “Who says it was our airline?”
On hearing that retort, my bad “chi” resurfaced. “I have the photos in my computer,” I retorted. And I had half a mind to turn on my laptop to show her the photos Ben sent me. Anyway I managed to bite my tongue and curbed my actions. She managed to get me a confirmed seat on the 4.25pm flight the next day, but she conveniently forgot to offer me accommodation for the night.
“Ask her about the hotel,” someone behind me shouted. “What about accommodation?” I asked.
“Oh, you want it? We can put you up in (name of hotel) in Nilai,” she replied.
Someone behind nudged me in the back. I looked and it was the man who was turned back from Kuching airspace the night before and who had to spend the night in that same hotel. The disapproval in his eyes told it all. I don’t mean to offend the citizens of Nilai, but the prospect of being holed up in a nofrills hotel in that little settlement for the next 24 hours didn’t sound very appealing.
So, I said smugly and rather loudly, “No thank you. I’d rather stay in a five-star hotel in the city.”
Well, as some celebrity smart alec said, “Everyone should have his 15 minutes of fame.” I was milking my 15 seconds of fame. Unbeknown to the people around, by some coincidence I was given a complimentary stay in a very fivestar establishment in Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur. It had nothing to do with any airline. Well, that is an entirely different story.
While on the plane the next day, I read about some passengers describing their experience as “harrowing”. One man even lost his shoes in the mud. Today as I opened the world news page, I was confronted with the headline ‘500 dead in Brazil’s worst-ever disaster’ and over the last few days I could see the stricken faces of the people in Brisbane as they witnessed their houses being swept away by the flood. So, let me go back to the “no shoes, no feet” proverb. It originated from the writing of a Persian poet, Sa’di (c 1213-1291)
“I never complained of the vicissitudes of fortune, nor suffered my face to be overcast at the revolution of the heavens, except once, when my feet were bare, and I had not the means of obtaining shoes. I came to the chief of Kufah in a state of much dejection, and saw there a man who had no feet. I returned thanks to God and acknowledged his mercies, and endured my want of shoes with patience.” – The Gulistan or Rose Garden.
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