Here’s my advice: if you need or feel you would benefit from wheelchair service, but are shy or embarrassed or uncomfortable about the idea… get over it.
You do yourself and your travel companion(s) no favors by martyring yourself. You’re miserable, they’re miserable… what’s the point? Take the help.
So during the most recent England trip, I picked up a virus which made it difficult to stand for long or walk very far – I just wasn’t feeling very well. Beloved, always her agreeable self, said of course a wheelchair would be a good idea, despite my hesitation at broaching the idea.
May everyone who wants a partner in life get someone like my Beloved.
So we get to Gatwick and just walking from the car drop off point to the entry to the terminal made me want to drop. Thankfully, there’s a yellow telephone you can use to call for assistance and a couple of chairs to sit in to wait.
Mercifully, in less than ten minutes a chappie with a chair showed up. He had me seated with suitcases in hand and got us to the front of the Premium line and checked in.
Then, off we go to security… but Gatwick has a whole separate security entrance for “families and assistance”. Big and empty and staffed with very kind people. It was a matter of minutes to check passports and we were heading to the assistance lane for actual security check. The fella had my bags and everything up on the belt and got me to the inspection point, where I got swabbed and felt up by a security officer (very respectful).
I’d like to say something amusing happened, but really, not… it was just extremely efficient and a monster relief given I wasn’t feeling great (I was masked, of course.)
Gatwick (and all the UK airports, as far as I know – Heathrow at least) participates in the worldwide airport program in which the Los Angeles airports do not: the sunflower lanyards.
It’s a wonderful idea. Anyone who needs a little extra time, space, patience, assistance, whatever, is handed a sunflower lanyard to wear. All the employees (and many travelers) are aware someone with the lanyard could use a bit of kindness.
Of course, if you’re sitting in a wheelchair, it’s already pretty much presumed you need extra time, but for a parent of a child with not-obvious autism, for example, it must be a godsend. The kid starts to melt down or isn’t quite socially… appropriate, maybe… you realize you need to keep your yappy shut and let them get on with it… or offer help if need be.
So I felt a little conspicuous sporting the lanyard but whatever.
We got there with the requisite three hour buffer, and once through security, we were taken to a walled-off space for people needing assistance. We got checked in, given the lanyard with a beeper, told when we’d be collected and were given seats – darn nearly a premium lounge without the drinks and snackies (although they had water available).
A Starbucks employee made the rounds inquiring as to whether anyone would like to order drinks or a snack while we waited. Dang.
I sent Beloved off in search of a few things prior to departure, then at the appointed time the beeper went off and someone got us to an electric cart to drive us to the gate. I had to walk a little bit (he asked if I could manage it – yes – so off we went).
He drove us to the gate which was swarmed with people attempting to board and with the authority of a drill sergeant he commanded people to step aside for the people needing assistance.
Europe and the US are quite different in tipping protocol – the Brits don’t expect tips but equally don’t refuse them, whereas in the US, it’s not only expected, the tips are considered part of their compensation package, so to speak. They’re paid minimum wage plus tips.
For me, I’m fortunate enough that I can afford to tip well, so I do, irrespective of the country I’m in. I’ve never had someone take offense to a tip.
It’s common for the person to be extra grateful if I thank them and not-too-subtly pass them cash in front of other patrons, so it’s clear to anyone else present that a tip is appropriate. They’re busting their butts helping out and perhaps that other person is from a country where tipping isn’t usual. Who knows. They can ignore it if they want to.
LAX is a totally different kettle of fish.
The flight attendant asked the captain to request a wheelchair at the gangway (and they were, bless them).
Weird thing was how many times they switched off. I don’t know if it’s a union thing, or different contractors work in different areas or what but holy cow what an effort.
One person wheeled me from the plane to the top of the gangplank and plopped me in a seat there. He said we needed to wait for the cart to come to get us, or we could walk to the escalator, go down and there would be courtesy carts there to drive us over to immigration (Norse Atlantic uses the cheapest, furthest gates from immigration and the schlep from one to the other is immense).
The other wheelchair rider decided to walk, as we didn’t know how long it would take for the next leg.
Hell, I can make it to the escalator… but then the cart pulled up. Why torture m’self? I hopped in, and the driver said he’d take Beloved as well if there was room. The other lady was already downstairs, so it was just us, so wheeeeee… off we went.
What the first guy didn’t explain was those courtesy carts downstairs are for everyone because it is a long, loooooooooong hike to get to immigration (it’s in the next building, you have to go through the underground tunnels). I sure hope she was okay, because we were fine – our cart took us the back route so we didn’t see her.
My one piece of serious advice: get Global Entry. It works the same as TSA Pre-Check but it allows you to bypass the fuss and palava of immigration. It costs $15 more but what the heck, you don’t wait in lines – it’s excellent.
It’s also the magic get-outta-jail-free card in immigration wheelchair hell.
Cart guy drove us to the waiting area for immigration and they checked us in – holy cats, the number of wheelchair-bound individuals… cart guy tells them we have Global Entry and they said to seat us at the front, which he did, in chairs, as we waited for a freed-up wheelchair so we could join the queue of chairs waiting to meet with an immigration officer.
And we sat. After a bit, I said to someone handing out wheelchairs “ummm… excuse me, we’re Global Entry…”
EEEERK! She hit the brakes. I don’t know what they’ve been told in that area, but apparently that is the golden ticket.
Immediately she gets me into a wheelie and pops me in line (okay, how to feel seriously guilty as a bunch of elderly and infirm folks are sitting there waiting their turn and you’re flashed off ahead of them….)
The immigration officer started off extremely stern but went giggly when the next wheelchair pusher overshot the camera and I was craning my neck trying to get my mugshot in.
“GLOBAL ENTRY” he opines and sends us both through without any questions or whatever after Beloved leaned over me to get her picture taken.
Yet another person wheeled me to yet another line and pushing my luck, I said, “um… we’re Global Entry…”
She, too, jumped. “Hold on…”
Was I somehow saying “we’re part of the royal family” or something?
Another gentleman immediately appeared, hauls us out of line and wheels us to baggage claim and customs (which is, shall we say, minimal? In years past they would search your luggage but now, you walk past a sign that says nothing to declare…) and out to the street.
At that point, you’re on your own, he wants the chair back and it’s like the turn of the century inner city at rush hour – a seething mass of humanity attempting to find their ride. That is some mess.
However, I arrived in far, far better condition than I would’ve otherwise. Could I have toughed it out? Yeah, probably, but it would’ve sucked.
Take help when you need it.
Examining Misadventures 