Travel
A Tale of Two Cancellations
by Cassie Jewell
I travel whenever I can. So far, I’ve been to 35 countries, and my life goal is to visit all 195 countries in the world.
People frequently ask me, “Where’s your next trip?” That’s an easy one. I’m always planning a trip somewhere.
The other question I inevitably get asked when I return is, “What was your favorite part?”
That one completely stumps me. Every single time.
I have no idea how to take an entire trip, sometimes weeks of new places, people, food, experiences, and adventures, and choose a single moment to label as my favorite. Even when I try, my mind rarely goes first to the famous landmarks or the places I traveled thousands of miles specifically to see.
Instead, I remember the odd things. Those are the moments that seem to make a trip memorable. Here’s a brief recollection of two such instances, both flight cancellations, one abroad one in Europe and one here in America.
Adults Behaving Badly
Then there was the bus incident. This one also happened in Italy. Our flight was delayed. And then it was canceled. The airline arranged hotel rooms and a free meal for all of us, which seemed like a reasonable solution to an unreasonable situation. Not everyone agreed.
People were angry. They shoved their way through the line, pushed past other passengers and complained loudly, as though the right combination of yelling and indignation might somehow cause the canceled flight to reappear.
There were two hotels. The first one seemed lovely. It was right on the beach. Unfortunately, that was not the hotel I had been assigned to. Maybe if I had shoved my way to the front of the line, things would have turned out differently.
One woman, however, did not share my opinion that the hotel was lovely.
She became increasingly loud, yelling at the bus driver that she did not want to stay there, as though the bus driver had personally canceled our flight, selected the hotels, and devised the room assignments. She continued berating him until he finally closed the bus door.
That did not end the matter. She kicked the bus. Watching a grown woman kick a bus because she did not like her beachfront hotel, I was reminded of a four-year-old throwing a temper tantrum.
Travel has taught me a lot about different cultures, but it has also taught me something remarkably universal about human beings: take away our plans, make us wait long enough, and some of us do not handle it particularly well.
And Then It Was My Turn
And then there was the time I did not handle a flight cancellation particularly well.
I was stuck at Dallas-Fort Worth Airport after my flight had been canceled. There was a line for the information desk that seemed to stretch for miles, and I whined to my partner about the wait—and, more intensely, about the passenger behind me.
He was talking loudly on his phone. Worse, every time the line moved an inch or two, he moved an inch or two closer into my personal space. I started whisper-complaining to my partner, knowing full well that the man could probably hear me. It’s a passive-aggressive little trick of mine, and certainly not one I’m proud of.
Then, whenever the line moved more than a few inches, he would move his bag right up beside me, as though he had somehow joined our traveling party.
When he wasn’t on his phone, he made cheerful conversation with my partner, who possesses considerably more patience than I do and happily chatted with him. Meanwhile, I grew increasingly annoyed.
Finally, after what felt like forever, we were almost at the information desk.
And then the man walked in front of us.
Unbelievable, I thought. After spending all this time practically standing on top of me, was he really going to cut in front of us now?
But he wasn’t. Instead, he stepped ahead and cheerfully ushered us toward the desk, almost as though he worked at the airport himself. He waited until we were being helped and then quietly returned to his place in line.
Suddenly, I felt very small.
We never made it to Spokane. We ended up staying in Dallas instead, and I remember surprisingly little about the rest of that trip. But I remember that man. I had spent all that time noticing everything about him that irritated me. His loud phone conversation. His proximity. His bag. His cheerfulness when I was in no mood to be cheerful. Meanwhile, he had apparently spent that same time being kind.
Sometimes the most memorable thing about travel isn’t where you go or what you see. Sometimes it’s an uncomfortable glimpse of yourself.
About the Author
Cassie Jewell is a mental health professional and writer whose work is shaped by both professional experience and her own journey with alcohol addiction and recovery. She writes candidly about addiction, mental health, personal growth, and the realities of rebuilding a life. Her writing reflects on the lessons, challenges, and unexpected discoveries that come with learning to live differently.
