The Day When I Became a “Hard-ass” against the Obvious Unfairness

 

If I woke up at 2:50 in the morning, arrived at LCCT (the low-cost airport in Kuala Lumpur) at 4:50 a.m. and still missed my flight to Guilin, China at 6:40 a.m., it must be one of the most ridiculous incidents of this year.

 

Yet it almost happened.

 

I was so close to miss my flight, thanks to an airport officer’s finding fault with me.

 

At first, everything went on smoothly: checking in my luggage, getting the boarding pass and taking a cup of coffee at the Food Garden. Assuming that nothing could happen sine I had checked in, I relaxed in the café till almost 5:30 a.m., one hour prior to my flight.

 

Then there came the International Departure. During my trip, I had been there twice, and never had there been an officer standing at the entrance of the security check, checking the weight of hand luggage. But I, unfortunately, encountered one on my last day in Malaysia.

 

Most of the time, the line was moving smoothly, passengers taking various hand luggage, some of whom took more than one with them. The queue, however, was blocked when it came to me.

 

I almost regretted that I checked in my suitcase and brought my half-empty 70-liter backpack with me. The bag looked big but it was not necessarily heavy. Yet I was asked to weigh my bag on the scale, the first one stopped by the officer, as far as I’d noticed.

 

Perfect, it was 9 kilos, two kilos more than the weight limit. Thus, I took out some of my stuff, mostly books, and stuffed them into another plastic bag. This time, the big bag weighed just around 7 kilos.

 

“May I go now?” I inquired.

 

He rejected it, saying I had to check in my bag and the reason was that one passenger could only take one hand luggage.

 

Looking around, I found this was not convincing. “Do you see that? So you tell me is that one luggage or two?” I pointed to some other passengers who took more than one suitcase, box, bag, or whatever with them. Getting up so early, I was easily irritated for lack of sleep.

 

The officer was in no good mood either. “If you want to go through here, you have to check in your bag.”

 

Not wanting any future argument, I craved in. Back to the counter, the stuff told me the check-in was already closed; and if I still wanted to check in my bag, I had to pay 20 RM per kilo for the bag. I had only paid no more than 200 RM for the airplane ticket, do I have to pay the same money to check in the bag?

 

I asked the stuff if I could bring the bag on board, and he assured me that it was no problem. Then why had I been stopped?  He replied that they were only in charge of the airway, but the officer in the security check was working the airport.

 

Good explanation.

 

“Whatever you do, you’d better be quick. The boarding gate will close soon,” The stuff kindly advised to me.

 

Checking my watch, I rushed to the officer, assuring him that the stuff of Air Asia said I could bring the bag on board. Yet he acted as if he did not hear me.

 

Then the volcano eventually vented.

 

“Are you especially finding fault with me?” I was not only mad, but indignated. “The airway allows me to go on board, what’s the right of you to stop me here?”

 

“The size of your bag is too big,” he changed his excuse.

 

“Then show me a standard. All right. Show me a standard,” I exclaimed.

 

He had nothing to show me.

 

Time was ticking away and I felt I had to do something. “Why don’t you check the weight of other passengers’ bags? Let’s be unfair.” I saw another passenger carry a large bag with him.

 

Under pressure, the officer weighted the bag and the result was astonishing: 15 kilos.

 

The western passenger was irritated at me, “God job, er?”

 

“Be fair!” I just replied.

 

The officer advised that the passenger take out some of his stuff; and after that was done, the officer just let him go.

 

It only fueled my indignation. “You don’t let me go just because you don’t like me?” I exclaimed under the attention of all the others standing in line, “Discrimination. This is discrimination against Chinese people!”

 

He might not know my nationality, but at that moment the simple fact did not register with me. What I know is that standing in front of me is a person who, for some reason, loathes my presence and who I take no delight to see ever for the rest of my life.

 

“Tell me your name and work code,” I took my last straw. “I will ask your boss.”

 

He replied that it was of no use for me to tell his boss.

 

“Then I will sue you for your discrimination!,” I added. “My flight is approaching and if I miss my flight only because of you, I will definitely sue you!”

 

Moments of standoff, the words registered with both of us. Probably because it finally dawned on him that nothing came out of the escalation of the dispute, he turned his head away, his hands gesturing to me that I pass through the entrance. And I followed his signal as fast as possible, just in case his rationality broke down again.

 

Then it came the rushing moments of security check and passport check. When finally arriving at the boarding gate, I was glad that the plane was about ten minutes late. I checked to the stuff at the gate if the boarding for my flight had finished. He assured me with “Not yet.”

 

Soaked with sweat, exhausted, I deadly missed home and for the first time in my trip, I was dying to leave this country, where I still had many sweet memories.

 

I almost missed my flight. Yet I still made it, the most important.

 

The rare moment of my being so tough.