A Near-Riot and a Hero

 After we had been waiting for a good long time at the packed, trashed-out Fort Lauderdale airport, the word started to spread:  the Port-au-Prince flight had just been cancelled.

I walked over to the counter to get in line to talk to the agent. Already, in just a few minutes, an impatient queue had formed. Worried people were clumped together talking. All of the members of some large service groups were on phones trying to rebook.

The first flight news was very discouraging: there were only two seats available the next day--then, flash, those seats were gone. There were a few seats available out of Miami--then, flash,those were gone. "There are no seats available until Monday," someone from Operation Hope said, very distressed.

At the counter, we heard sounds of a commotion. An irate man accompanied by a priest and a number of other people shouted at the gate attendant, "You wouldn't do this is this were a plane going to the U.S.! You're just doing it because the plane is going to Haiti!" The gate attendant tried to shush him, and he angrily shouted back, "This is racism. It's because we're black, not white." The scene looked pretty volatile, escalating fast, with people shouting and gesticulating. The tension was thick.

Two hefty Broward County sheriffs strolled over, artificially calm, with facial muscles twitching, and started to intervene.

Behind me, I overheard someone say, "We'd better go to the main ticket counter--nothing good is happening here."

Yvonne and I talked about that as a plan and decided it was a grand idea. We grabbed the kids' passports and sprinted to the counter while Jorge stayed with the kids. We were the first in line.

Behind the desk was a poor ticket agent who had no idea how bad her work life was just about to get.

We explained our situation. "We are traveling with a group of minors," I said. "We would sure appreciate your help in figuring out what we do next."

"Minors," she said.

"A group of them," Yvonne said. "On a service trip to Haiti. Our plane has just been cancelled."

Ranelle did not look happy in the slightest. "There's really nothing until Monday or Tuesday," she said. Her fingers were flying across the keyboard and she looked irritated in the extreme. She was grumbling to herself and snapped at people who walked up after us. "I'm helping these people! Get back in line!"

In those few minutes, people started to pour into the AA line--dozens, then more than a hundred. We knew that there were at least 60 people on service trips alone, and the plane to Port-au-Prince had been full.

Ranelle's intense irritation increased. She made a few phone calls, then snapped at someone on the phone, "We need a supervisor! Now!"

Ranelle typed more, made more phone calls, typed some more, and looked at the growing line with dismay. "What's the plan?" she said into the phone. "We need a plan! These folks are traveling with minors!"

Yvonne and I kept leaning againt the counter--at least 30 minutes had passed.  Every now and then Yvonne would say, "Thank you so much, Ranelle," and I would add, "All of these kids sure thank you."  Finally Ranelle said into the phone with heat. "I want a plane and a crew, and I want it now, and I want a flight number and a departure time!" She looked at us and said, "I'm only an agent. But these people know they should be doing it and they're not doing it."

The good-old-boy sheriffs moseyed over and one said to Ranelle, "Are you in charge of this situation?"

Ranelle stared him down."I am definitely not in charge of this situation. I'm not in charge of anything,"she said to them. "I'm a gate agent."

"Then who's in charge?"

"The supervisor."

The sheriff looked at her as if she were an imbecile and said, "Well, why don't you call the supervisor."

"I have, twice," Ranelle hissed. "Why don't you call her?" She glared at him and put the phone down long enough to assume a don't-mess-with-me stance..

The sheriff backed away from Ranelle mighty fast.

Even if this situation was maddening, it was, at least, great street theater.

For about thirty more minutes we leaned against Ranelle's counter. The whole time she worked the phones and the keyboard nonstop. Then she looked up and said, "Wait a minute . . . we're got a plane for you tomorrow morning. It'll take a little while to get a flight number, but then I can book you."

"Thank you!" Yvonne and I both said at the same time.

"I could come over the counter right now and kiss you," Yvonne said.

Ranelle backed away from the counter and looked very nervous. "Ah, that won't be necessary," she said.

"Seriously. How about a kiss?" Yvonne teased her.

Ranelle cracked her first smile--a muscle twitch, really. "You're not really my type," she said.

Ranelle rebooked us, gave us hotel vouchers, and then force-fed us with complimentary meal vouchers--almost $400. She probably would have given us blood if we had needed that.

Thank you, Ranelle S. of American Airlines. You are our hero.