There is something that happens to Christian when in the vicinity of airports and airplanes. If the slightest thing goes wrong, he turns from mild-mannered European gentleman into a giant green monster in a very convincing recreation of The Hulk. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and I come from a family of quite possibly the world’s worst travelers. So as our plane from Singapore to Seoul was taxiing to its gate at Incheon airport, late enough to pretty much guarantee we’d be missing our connection to Dalian, steam began to pour fourth from Christian’s ears and his eyes glazed over.
“Being stuck in Seoul is going to suck!” He said with the same element of disgust he gets when surprised by tofu in a dish but with the same amount of hatred and vehemence I imagine he would possess if, perhaps, our plane were hijacked by terrorists. At least I hope he would. I really would hate to think that I married someone who’s more bothered by flight delays than by impending violent death.
I, unhelpful as possible whenever confronted by blind rage, shrugged my shoulders in stubborn indifference, “I don’t think so,” and tried unsuccessfully not to roll my eyes in annoyance. I’m pretty sure my lack of empathy didn’t help the situation any. However, it did encourage an icy silence, which at least postponed any potential arguments.
Then something happened, as inevitably does in these stories, but never seems to occur in real life. As we were making our way to the exit of the finally parked plane, the intercom clicked on with an announcement, “Mr. Kaw-rush-tian Bower-suh-mah, please contact ground staff as soon as possible.” This hardly seemed neccessary as the ground staff were upon us as soon as we disembarked in the form of a pretty Korean woman and a bookishly round round man in an absolute panic.
They quickly informed us that it might be possible to make our China connection after all. “But please run!” begged the little man before proceeding to do just that himself. Not hurry, not scurry, but a full out sprint as fast as his round suit-clad legs would carry him. Left with little choice, we ran after, me with Nico, bouncing against my hip, and Christian layered down with all of our carry-on luggage.
We ran through the gate. We ran through security. We ran through the terminal. We ran to the opposite side of the airport. At one point the little round man disappeared with our passports to go print up our boarding passes, and when we next saw him at our final gate, he was red, winded, sweating, and about ready to pass out. I suspect it was the most running the poor guy had done since the mandatory exercise of his school days, but he made it. We all did. Christian, Nico, and I boarded our flight no worse for wear, and we will always hold a soft spot for our little round Korean ground staff hero of Incheon Airport.
Alas, our big green suitcase doesn’t appear to have benefitted from a similar hero, as it has disappeared into the “lost luggage” abyss.