Day 4
After two days and three nights
in the City by the Bay, we prepared for a long day of flying.
But first we attended the
optional “Shell Owners Update,” a thinly disguised means of selling more
timeshare units, which is offered with every timeshare visit. The incentive,
this day, was a $100 USD Visa debit card and a free week of our choice at one
of hundreds of timeshare villas in the world. The so-called Update does actually train us in the
best use of our timeshare property. However, in exchange, we must listen to an enthusiastic and
well-rehearsed sales-talk on the benefits of buying X number of additional
shares, tailored to our portfolio and our needs.
In this case, the presenter
recommended we buy another fifteen hundred points in Shell Vacation Club
properties, at a cost of some $11,000. She, Pamela, did a topnotch job of
explaining the many marvelous benefits of same. This would bring us to a total
of 7000 annual points and the prestigious level of “Choice” which granted even
more goodies. Yes, it would be nice to own more shares. But, there was that
little problem of writing a quite large check. Uncertain as to whether our
children and grandchildren would really want to inherit this, we opted out, this
time. Maybe someday…Sigh.
Promptly at five to eleven, we
arrived at the front entrance, dragging our suitcases behind, ready to board
the shuttle for SFO where we would catch the airplane for our third leg of this
journey, SFO to LAX. Our shuttle was due between 11:00 and 11:15 AM, allowing
plenty of leeway for a 2:00 PM flight. By 11:18 AM, starting to worry, Dave
approached the doorman for assistance. A quick check of his computer showed
that we had no such reservation. Thus alarmed, we summoned the concierge who
(we thought) had booked us, on our arrival Friday night. The source of the
error was never uncovered. Heated words were exchanged between three hotel
employees.
Throughout this time, Dave
remained unflappable. After all, experience has revealed that stuff happens,
i.e. successful vacationing requires
flexibility. After a few tense moments, the Doorman and Bell Captain
settled down to work out an alternate means of transportation to the airport.
By God’s grace the streets were
less crowded than they were Friday.
Checking in, it stung a bit to
fork over another $50 USD to check our bags to Lihue, Hawaii, especially that
one suitcase was now patched up with three safety pins. But, why worry, Happy vacationing requires flexibility,
don’t you know?
We arrived with time to spare and
proceeded to our appointed gate, Number B45, only to note the sign
“Flight 1242 to LAX (with connections to LIH) was moved to Gate B41. Easy.
No problem. Pick up your luggage and move a few gates away. Plenty of time. On the way, I perused the overhead display which
listed all arriving and departing flights. Our flight was listed as “On time,”
and leaving from Gate B43. Well, now, that’s real flexibility, isn’t
it?
Evidence showed some confusion.
Duh!
A totally different flight was
arriving at Gate B45. Gate B43 was completely empty, except for one staff
person at the counter.
Dave and I approached her to
inquire. She knew nothing, however she acted immediately. “Wait here, please,”
she offered as she scurried off to confer with the Delta rep at the Gate B41
desk. We watched, in calm repose as the two of them conferred, hurriedly typed
on the computer and stared at the screen.
Realizing we were alone, we left
our post and moved to Gate B41 where customers filed past the gate and hurried
down the walkway, towing their little pull-a-boards behind. Clearly another
flight was loading. Not ours. This flight was leaving for LAX, with two empty
seats. Uh…er…wait for us! 
“The rules do not allow me to
permit you onto this flight, sir,” she said. “You have already checked your
bags on Flight 1215 right?”
“Well, yeah,” we agreed.
“You cannot fly on a separate
flight from your luggage,” she stated, unequivocally—another federal
regulation, designed to keep us safe from terrorists. (In addition, we already
knew that no passenger can board who has checked in within the last thirty
minutes.)
“But…” Dave protested.
Maybe it was his charm and good
looks. Umm…on second thought…maybe it was luck, grace, or bending the rules,
plain and simple.
After more whirring, pecking and
conferring, she changed her mind and pointed out, “If I put you on this plane,
you must understand that your luggage will probably not make it onto your
flight to Hawaii.”
“I understand,” we chorused,
eagerly, knowing we had supplies for two days in our carry-ons.
“But, if you wait for flight 1215
to arrive you will probably not make your Hawaii connection,” she continued.
“When is Flight 1215 leaving?”
“It isn’t even here yet. Probably
not until 3:30 PM.”
“Too late,” I said. “Put us on
this plane.”
Zoom. Tap-tap-tap. Whirl. Print.
“Here are your new boarding passes. Hurry.”
We were the last ones down the walkway. Last
to board. Other passengers frowned at us, plainly understanding who had held up
the plane.
Off we flew to Los Angeles,
relieved, slightly worried but flexible as
always.
Mindful of the gigantic size of
LAX we wondered: Would we arrive at the correct terminal? Thankfully, yes, not
only was it the same terminal, it was the same concourse and not far away.
At last our flight to Lihue was
called. Again we had the “Sky Pass” which allowed us to board in second place,
right after “Passengers with special needs and families with small children.”
Again, we paid extra for the “comfort seats.” This time we also took advantage
of the airline’s complimentary offer to ticket our roll-aboard bags, at the
gate. We have taken advantage of this option in the past, and always
appreciated the freedom—no struggling down the narrow aisle, no heavy lifting.
The bags would be waiting from us outside the exit door as we disembarked. More
on that later.
Our flight over the ocean was
another learning experience. The seats were equipped with personal tablets that
lifted out of a secret compartment. In time we managed to learn the
finger-tapping and scraping technique required to move through the extensive
menu of games, music, movies and entertainment.
As the family computer guru, I
was chagrinned to find that my finger didn’t work, whereas Dave’s fat finger
was charmed. After an hour or so of borrowing Dave’s magic finger I stumbled
upon the secret. For some reason the back of my fingernail worked. Go figure.
Arriving in Lihue, we felt right
at home. This place was familiar, but for one change—our carry-ons were not
waiting at the exit. “Pick them up at the carousel,” we were told. Darn it! Flexible, again. So much for walking
directly to the Hertz rental car.
Onward to the carousel, we waited
with the others as bag after bag popped out of a hidden birth canal like so
many guppies. Thinking we were done, we grabbed two carry-ons, only to pause in
surprise as my checked bag emerged, its tell-tale signature ribbon waving.
Well, yeah! Our luck was holding. Minutes later the rumbling stopped. No more
bags. Oh-oh, Dave’s didn’t make it. Must have been the safety pins. Did they
hold? Or were Dave’s belongings spread all over the bowels of the LAX automatic
baggage sorting labyrinth?
Another wait at the baggage
agent’s window, fumbling through our stuff to locate the necessary claim check,
resulted in another round of tapping on a computer keyboard. Ultimately she
looked up. “Your bag is in San Francisco.”
“Oh,” Dave’s voice fell.
“It will arrive in twenty-four
hours. Give me your address and phone number, please.”
Dragging our bodies and our
stuff, we boarded the last van to Hertz. Another wait. At last, we were settled
in our very own rental car, in control again.
After only one or two wrong turns
(it was dark), after nine PM, we arrived at Kauai Coast Resort at the Beach
Boy.
Check-in went well, except we got the last
suite, three stories up, with no elevator. Our other choice was a much smaller
studio apartment on the first floor. No bellman was around. Remaining flexible we huffed three heavy bags and
miscellaneous small parcels up three flights, reminding ourselves what great
exercise this would be for a week.
As promised, Dave’s bag arrived
the next evening, none the worse for wear, this time, delivered to our door. 
