The app lied to me! The alarm went off! Trip report: BNE-DFW-MCO

Turning up relatively early at Brisbane International Airport, I’d gone through the new fancy security scanners (they’ve been in for a month now, and are very light and airy), and sorted a coffee in the Qantas lounge.

As I asked nicely for another one half an hour later - with about 40 minutes to boarding - we started hearing a very loud alarm and a repeated request for us to all evacuate immediately.

I bet you’re wondering what that sounded like, aren’t you?

Mmm, not ideal. Anyway, we all walked outside to the excitement of the evacuation area.

The evacuation area for Brisbane International Airport is, of course, something that wants to kill you, as everything does in Australia.

We waited for quite some time. It’s a big deal to evacuate an airport the size of Brisbane International; it turns out that the way to do it involves an evacuation area where you can’t actually hear the speakers, and thus you can’t hear the instructions of what to do, which seems a fatal flaw in the whole proceedings.

Time passes. The American Airlines app tells me that my flight is boarding. I am standing outside the airport.

Then, slowly, people are let back in: first, security; then, airline staff; then, retail staff; then, everyone else. I was expecting bedlam, but in fact, it was orderly, relatively hassle-free, and it was quite quick to get through the security all over again (although being fair, I had by that point relocated to be quite close to the entrance to ensure I wouldn’t be stuck in the queue of eternity. I may be British, but queueing is not my thing.)

We make it to the plane, which takes off, in the end, about 44 minutes later than planned. That made me a little nervous about the connection at DFW, which was already quite tight. But, American Airlines has this magical thing called wifi: and it’s free, for all passengers, to access the American Airlines website. Even the app still works fine.

I look at the app. “Your flight is delayed”, it said - and offered to switch my next flight to a later one. I do so - one just two hours later - and relax knowing I’ll not be rushing through DFW security.

We land at DFW. “This queue is 90 minutes from here”, the signs said. Ah, but I know the secret of the MPC app, so walked right past that, and to the tiny queue for the MPC app: and was through security in less than five minutes.

Some coffee in the lounge, and then onwards to an uneventful flight between DFW-MCO, and into the arms of an Uber driver with a suspiciously wiggly steering wheel. My bags made it, despite being tagged for the wrong flight. Everyone wins.

The return trip

On the way back, MCO is packed. It’s a Sunday night, and that means everyone is travelling home after a hard week’s holidaying (or conferencing, in my case).

The AA lounge is packed; and it’s snowing in some parts of the US, meaning flights are delayed or cancelled all over the place. I find a spot close to the bar, and listen to the guy who was, you’d assume, trying to impress his girlfriend with his travel know-how. The FlightAware app, his travel insurance, it all came out in a torrent of caffeine-inspired mansplaining. At one point he disappeared for two minutes to go to the bathroom, but pulled out his credit card for his girl in case “she wanted something”. He’s quite the catch.

Our flight is late: 54 minutes late, by the time we leave the gate. This is less than ideal, since I only had 90 minutes in DFW to change planes, which I was already a little jittery about, although not as jittery as the man with five-hours-worth of delayed-plane-coffee inside him I met in the lounge.

We land. I pull the “I’m sorry, I’ve a tight connection” thing, was one of the first off the plane and run onto a silly skytrain thing, and as I near the D gates, I look down at the American Airlines app to see that… no, I’m too late.

The plane had departed early, at 9.36pm.

I had until 9.55pm, I thought, but no, it had departed early.

I stopped running.

Ahead, the deserted gate D30, with one couple at the counter, presumably sorting out a night’s hotel before the next flight in 24 hours. My fate, too, I thought.

I make my way closer.

“Brizz-BAIN?” shouts someone. Nearly, I thought. “Yes,” I say. “Come on then!” they shouted.

The app lied to me!

I ran again. The flight hadn’t departed, even though both Flighty and the AA app had assured me that it had. It was right there at the gate. It wasn’t waiting for me, exactly, but it was waiting. Hooray! I will make it home after all!

Once on board, I look at the AA app, to see another delightful thing. My bags had been loaded on the plane! I’d resigned myself to a tedious piece of form-filling at Brisbane airport, and waiting for three days to see my luggage again: but no, there was the AA app, telling me that my bags were absolutely on the plane, and I had nothing to worry about.

Even the rudest, most impatient AA flight attendant I’ve ever met (not to me, but to everyone) failed to dampen my enthusiasm all flight. Even the “hot pocket” of indeterminate meat in pastry, given to people about eight hours into the flight. The breakfast that was so bad, it was only slightly better than Qantas’s breakfast of sorrow. None of this mattered. I was nearly home, and so were my bags!

We land, and I get through whatever Brisbane International Airport wants you to do in order to enter the country, and swagger over to the baggage carousel, to await my bag.

And, after ten minutes, think: “I ought to just confirm it’s here,” and open the Apple airtag app.

The app lied to me. Again.