Really, United Airlines? No, really?

There is a certain awkwardness associated with going to the airport to pick up one's father's ashes. As a package on a freight manifest, no less. Particularly when the last time he had been at that same airport, he was there to depart on a wonderful vacation with one's mother.

Mom received word that the ashes had arrived back from Italy. Naturally, she didn't want to go by herself to receive them, so my sisters and I coordinated schedules and we settled on this afternoon (Sunday) to go with her. According to the information she had received, she was supposed to claim them at the United Airlines baggage claim office. So the three of us met at Mom's apartment and drove together to the airport on the errand. Betsy got a little choked up with emotion as we pulled into the parking ramp, and we all understood. After all, she had been the one to bring them to the airport when they left on their trip.

There were two baggage claim attendants and one woman in line in front of us. The first attendant went off to find her package, and the second woman stayed there at the counter, fiddling with something on her computer screen, not acknowledging Mom at all for several minutes. Finally, Mom made her request, and the woman immediately checked the package on the counter right in front of her to compare the numbers. That's my Dad? I thought a little wildly. Surely not. "This number doesn't seem right," the attendant said. "Let me check in back."

A moment later, a cheerful voice said, "Here's your package," and the attendant set down a dog carrier. "Here's your baby." My sisters and Mom and I all stared at it. Oh. That was the first attendant with the first woman's package. As the two of them fussed over the schnauzer inside, the second attendant came back, packageless, muttered something to the first attendant, and said, 'I'm going to look around outside.' She ducked out of the office and started looking around the baggage carousel area, where suitcases arrive off the planes. My sisters and I stared after her, dumbfounded. Surely it's not out there.

Meanwhile the first attendant now turned her attention to Mom and fiddled with her computer. "Did it come from Chicago? Or Newark?" My Mom looked flummoxed. How was she supposed to know how it was routed? "It originally came from Florence, Italy."

The second attendant came back from scouting the baggage carousel area. I pulled her aside and said to her under my breath, "You do realize that the package we want contains my father's ashes."

"I know," she said, and walked away.

The first attendant asked Mom more questions. "Who told you to claim the package here?"

"The travel insurance people," Mom said.

"Well, it's not here. It's in the International Freight office. Probably. But they're closed on Sundays." Nothing I can do, her attitude said. Obviously not my problem.

"What's the procedure, then?" Betsy asked somewhat desperately. "Are they supposed to call, then?"

"They did call. Probably."

"But they didn't call," Mom said mildly.

The woman shrugged.

Finally, she gave mom the address and phone number for her to call tomorrow, and we walked away empty-handed, a little stunned. Cindy and Betsy and I looked at each other doubtfully as we made our way back to the car, not sure what to say in front of Mom. "Not much for customer service, are they?" Cindy said.

"Not at all." So Dad still remains at the airport...somewhere. Even though the office was closed, they could have said something to have made it seem a little less cold. Like, We're so sorry that it wasn't here for you to receive it, but we'll track it down first thing in the morning and make sure you get it tomorrow. Or even We're so sorry for your loss.

It just seemed weird that the damn schnauzer got more fuss and attention and simple human warmth than my mother, there to claim her husband's ashes. Her husband of sixty years.

"Daddy probably would laugh," Mom said quietly. "He would count it as one more adventure."

Edited to add: Dad's ashes are now home, and United has apologized. Details in my follow up post on LJ here and DW here.

100 Things 4: Volunteering at Minnesotans United for All Families Phone Bank

I've never volunteered with a political campaign before (I know, I know. The shame). But the election is coming up, and I really want the Minnesota marriage amendment to be defeated. I've pledged money to Minnesotans United for All Families and been to several of their events, and the block party we helped put on raised $12,000.

But I got another call, this time asking me to come in and work a phone bank. Outside my comfort zone, definitely. But I believe in the cause, so yes, sign me up.

So I went in tonight, for volunteer recruitment. This is a little easier, since everyone we were calling had already said they supported the amendment. There was about a half an hour of training, and they gave us a script to follow. We were requesting three 'asks': to help on Election Day with calls and door knocking, to come in to do phone work to get volunteers (as I was doing, how meta) and to come in to do phone work for persuasion calls. Our goal was to dial at least forty-five numbers in the time allotted to us, to have at least eight conversations, and to get volunteers to agree to sign up for at least three shifts.

I went a little slower than was needed to meet the goal, as it was my first time and I was nervous. One of the coaches listened in and said I sounded warm and natural, but I needed to press a little harder. Most of the phone numbers I called didn't answer, but that was expected.

I dialed about thirty-five numbers in the hour and a half and had five conversations and got three volunteers signed up. And I'm coming back to do another shift in two weeks.

And there's a sign now out on my lawn: Vote No on the Anti-Marriage Amendment.




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