Vladimir

When I was at the ticket counter in Johannesburg forty-five minutes before the flight to Chicago was to take off and, you remember, the airline would not even let me try to make my flight, there was also a gentleman ahead of me booked for the same flight and in the same situation. This was over a week ago now, yet it feels like at least a year.

At that particular time, this gentleman, whose name I later learned was Vladimir, was so frustrated, he was irate. He was never going to fly with that airline gain etc. etc. He said what he felt, and then he walked off in a huff.

I didn't blame him, not a bit. It made no sense that the airline wouldn't let us get on the plane. We had time to make the flight. The airline prevented us, wouldn't let us try.

How I wanted to make a break for it. I wanted to be like Heaven Admin who, as a little boy, at his first day of school, burst through the school door and ran after his mother's car. I wanted to make a dash for the airplane and not abide by heartless rules.

Anyway, Vladimir gave vent to his frustration. In his giving vent, somehow my frustration faded.  When it was my turn in line, I was able to be compassionate to the lady behind the ticket counter who was following the rules she felt obliged to follow.

In our emergency, both Vladimir and I had naively thought it was within reason for us to go to the head of the line, but, no, it wasn't, so more minutes ticked away while we waited.

You realize that this rule of the airline cost me an extra $500 dollars for my flight, a two-day delay etc. etc.

At this time, two great employees of British Airways were still with me, ready to get me to my flight. When they saw it was no use, they gave me a fond goodbye.

Later Vladimir and I bumped into each other. He had calmed down and was more like his usual self, very sweet. He was from Russia. The way he pronounced his name was so soft, charming, and lyrical.

When I told him that my father had come from Ladi, near Smolensk, he smiled,  and we were instantly friends. Vladimir is a project manger, right now of a huge complex being built in an African country -- I forget which.

Vladimir was warm and generous. Offered to take me anywhere, to pick me up where I would be staying in case I was taking the next morning's flight etc. I didn't take that flight -- nor did Vladimir whom I met again on the flight I finally took to Abu Dhabi.

Vladimir is one of many I have met where I feel we have more to say to each other, and yet that's the end of it and it never goes further.
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Most of the people I meet on flights and whom I really feel close to, I never hear from again. Maybe even all! Even when I email, I don't hear back. I guess we just are travelers who meet for a short time, and that's it.

Yesterday, I met a lady on the bus in Chicago who went past her bus stop so we could continue talking. She had even invited me out to lunch. I gave her my card, and she was going to email me, and, so far, alas, I haven't heard.  I really thought we would become fast friends. Myra, where are you?

From now on, I'm going to call the experience where I think there is something more to be said, and it never happens, the Vladimir syndrome.

Have you also experienced the Vladimir syndrome?