Penalty Box

I remember the first time I traveled on an airplane.  It was the winter holidays and my family took a trip up north to visit my grandparents.   My mother took me shopping for new “traveling clothes.”  I could not wait to dress up and parade through the airport hauling my little bag of activity books with a sense of purpose.  Everything about the occasion was wrapped with importance.

Over the decades, I have earned a lot of notches on my traveling belt, arriving in cities across the US and abroad.  I remember a time when everywhere I went, signs bid me Bienvenue or Willkommen.  Airport officials in foreign countries smiled at expatriates, each playing the role of ambassador on behalf of their homeland.   Sadly, these days are long over.  Airports are now somber places where workers are burdened with regulations and restrictions, each a reminder of a wound that refuses to heal.  There is no smiling and no sense of humor.

For our return from Italy, the airline served notice to arrive a full three hours before our flight—a requirement to accommodate the heightened security of a decade ago.  Obediently, our car pulled up promptly at 6:45am for a 9:45am flight only to find that the terminal was deserted.   Dragging our roller bags, we stood in the middle of the International Terminal and looked in vain for airline personnel.  We had entered the first traveler’s “penalty box.” 

It was a full 40 minutes before an airline representative arrived to check our paperwork, permitting us to advance to the next penalty box.  We moved through a set of automatic glass doors only to find a duplicate set of airline counters on the other side.  First in line again, we waited another 25 minutes for the late-arriving airline staff to set up their ticketing stations.  Finally, they scanned the barcodes on our iphones and accepted our pre-checked bags.

The wild card in this process occurs between check in and immigration, when the international traveler must navigate the highly mysterious “tax-refund” system.  We purchased 4 items that exceeded the threshold, allowing us to claim the 11-15% VAT discount on those items.  It turns out that tax refunds are facilitated by four different companies—we had one from each—only three of which have booths at the international terminal between check in and security.  From the fourth we had an envelope that needed to be mailed at the airport only after getting a custom stamp (another 15 minute wait for an agent to appear) but before leaving the country.  There was just one catch:  the only mailbox was at Gate G1, while our flight was at Gate H11.  The only way to complete the tax-back protocol was to take a shuttle to G, a situation that would require us to clear airport security screening a second time before shuttling to H.  Basically, we had to choose between serving time in the penalty box or being ejected from the game.

We skipped the detour to G and went straight to H.  In the airport lounge, we were fortunate to find a worker who was willing to drop our paperwork in a mailbox on her way home.  We will not know whether she followed through for at least three months, when we will see whether or not we have been granted a credit on our Master Card.  If not, we have no further recourse.

After an eleven hour flight, we arrived at Atlanta airport, happy to be back on American soil.  The first order of business was passport control, another penalty box if ever there was one.  We were happy to be one of the first people off our plane, yet we ended up queued behind scores of people from other arriving flights.  The endless serpentine line was serviced by just 3 agents, each as deadpan as Tommy Lee Jones.  There was no air conditioning.  I suppose if you survive this major penalty, you are then certified as fit to re-enter the US. 

From there we had to claim our luggage in order to move through Customs.  Once again there is a glitch in the systems engineering, penalizing anyone who is not terminating in Atlanta.  Although we are free to purchase bottles of wine and spirits at the Duty Free Shops in Rome, once we claim our luggage and clear US Customs we are required to pass through TSA security screening in order to connect to our next flight.  Now, any Duty Free purchases are subject to the 3 oz. limit.  This is the Yankee penalty.

After clearing all these expected penalty boxes, Delta pulled a delay of game.  The bank of monitors displaying connecting flights was out of service.  Instead, there was a poorly trained agent who lacked command of touch-screen technology searching for gates while frustrated passengers shouted destinations at him.  It seems that penalties are only for the passengers; there are never penalties assessed on the opposing team.

I have great respect for those who aim to keep me safe while I travel.  But I have nothing but disdain for the faceless bureaucrats who have stolen the mystery and glamour from travel.