It's More Than a Job for Magdala Morales

The clock on my laptop tells me it is 11:47 AM but I can't remember if it is set to Johannesburg, Paris, Lisbon, New York City, or somewhere that exists only in Gabriel García Márquez' One Hundred Years of Solitude.

The predawn darkness and occasional wall clock here in LAX tell me that it is closer to time for bacon & eggs than bacalhau and batatas but my stomach is voting more for the latter while even Starbucks sleeps.

But this is the story of Magdala Morales and not jet lag and gastronomy.

The wait in JFK was of only a few hours  (during which I learned from the helpful young man and his mother waiting across from me that they were returning from a quick trip to Puerto Rico to try to see the family's youngest boy after the father was sentenced to life for various atrocities.) Lifelines cross that would not otherwise during travel.

Arriving here at LAX at around midnight the crew helping with the aisle chair were fairly timely and attentive or at least I made it off the plane safely and without incident before all the flight crew had holed up for the night at some hotel. (My expectations of service diminish perceptibly after more than 24 hours in transit while, unfortunately, my level of need for them increases.)

So I am all the more grateful to G2 passenger services employee Magdala Morales.

Learning that I was unable to find my cell phone she mobilized what appeared to be a battalion of co-workers. From the cavalleros holding lassos of electric cord in one hand as they ran carpet cleaners across the empty expanses of sage-gray carpeted terminal to the TSA security and unseen aides on her phone we developed a plan and eventually located the phone.

Thanks, Magdala for putting in the overtime.