I’m standing in line at JFK Terminal One, having found the Air China ticketing desk, which was actually in row J, not row G as it is labeled in the airport directory on four different walls. I’m sweating, because my fleece jacket is too warm for the non-air conditioned terminal, which feels a little like a bath after your uncle gets done showering.
Yeah, that kind of icky feeling.
I’m feeling upbeat about my trip, but a little dismayed that it will take so long, and prospects for a business class upgrade — or simply finding a roomy exit row seat on this 747-400 — don’t seem good.
In fact, to be perfectly honest, I am griping with myself. But I will soon learn that my own plans have other plans for me.
“Why are you going to Beijing? It’s dirty, the people in this line are pushy, the people in China will be pushier.”
“And remember last time? The crush of people when the plane lands, the grandmas who even try to climb over seats to get to the exit before the door has even opened.”
But I’ve planned this for months, and a head cold and slight jet lag from Israel, and the idea of being squished for 13 hours in a tiny seat are not going to deny me my interests in China.
Then I look at my passport, which I have been absent-mindedly flipping against my leg. How did I miss this? My visa is wrong. The dates won’t work. I had misread my original visa, and I am now stepping out of line, picking up my phone and dialing the travel agent. I need to re-route.
How could this happen?
It’s not important how. I overlooked something critical.
Normally, I would have had a freak out. I would have tried to plead for an exception. But in this case, I saw the futility of getting past this kind of mix up.
I didn’t get angry. I called my dad and said, “I might need a plan B, but I am going to try to fix this.” He said, “do what you got to do.”
Soon, I am talking to Kyle at Orbitz, and Kyle hooks me up with a refund (minus a minor cancellation fee), and a rebooking straight to Hong Kong on an All Nippon 777-300ER (nice!), stopping in Tokyo – Narita for a couple of hours, until I am again on a plane, a 737-800 long ranger in the back row, but comfy, I hope. Then I will land in Hong Kong.
Kyle is an amazing customer service representative.
And how does this work out for me in the end?
I get my airBNB refund from Beijing in full, minus the Airbnb fees. The woman, Cindy Xie, was so kind that she said I was actually the “knight in shining armor” for the Australian lady who wanted to extend her stay in China but needed a place to stay. Now she has one.
I will be couch surfing at my friend Punit’s house, until my new reservation kicks in.
And look at this awesome place I was able to rent for two days in Brooklyn. Airbnb is not only a lifesaver, it’s a life changer.
Rita and Shell are roommates. Rita is from Zimbabwe. Shell is from Puerto Rico. They cook for their guests. Rita and Shell both look at my hat and recognize the All Blacks logo. They are fans.
I get the tour. I am offered a glass of wine.
I am told about how the space, which is cavernous, is used as a startup hub every Friday and that, ironically enough, 12 customer service reps from Airbnb come to sit and work at this huge worktable I am working at this morning.
The night ends peacefully. We have dinner and Rita and Shell curl up on separate bed and a hammock, while Rita reads to Shell from the book Shantaram. (remind me to tell you the story about Shantaram, a book I have read)
I have not lost any money. I am not upset that I cannot get into China until much later. I have friends waiting for me in Hong Kong.
I have not lost my patience.
I have not lost much at all, it seems, except for some words. I don’t know what to say that things seem to work out so well without me getting in the way of them not working out. It’s a peculiar experience to be at peace with a snafu when they so obviously don’t work out.
And because my plans have made other plans for me, I am awake this morning when I get a call from a friend in San Francisco, who is in a troubled relationship and needs help, or advice, or agreement, or something, anything.
I don’t normally know what to do in a situation like this, ever. So, since I am already at a loss for words, I listen, without trying to do anything about it. And in the end, she makes up her mind.
She wants love, so she will listen to the soft still voice in her head that tells her she is already doing the right thing and needs nobody else to tell her right from wrong.
This must be the plan.
Douglas Crets is an intelligence officer and expert network builder for the social web. Using his training in journalism, digital media, anthropology and the humanities, he creates social media research projects for and about the leading social web entrepreneurs of today. His company, dB C Media provides companies and individuals with data, behavioral research studies, branding advice, consulting on social media execution and meaningful media content to create efficient interactions with consumers, and influencers and on the web, so that brands, companies and individuals can form relationships that matter. His traveling takes him to at least 12 countries a year. He speaks Russian and understands Chinese.
