“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said the youthful, not-at-all-sorry, voice on the phone. “The plane has already left, and the pilot can’t just come back and get you. We filed our flight plan with the FAA and we have to follow it. Those are the rules.”

There I sat, in the school library in Tiny Town, Alaska, surrounded by my suitcases, seething at having been left behind on the once-a-day flight to Hub City. Why did I get left behind? Because I was trying not to be a jerk.

A bit of exposition. When flying in bush Alaska, you have to strike a balance between making sure the airline doesn’t forget you and making sure they don’t start wanting to forget you on purpose. On this day, I did as I was asked. I called the airline first thing in the morning to make sure I had a seat on the flight. They then assured me they would call me when the plane was about to land.

My first twinge came when the young person on the phone did not mention what phone number she would be calling when trying to reach me. I asked her to verify my number, and she breezily quoted a number, which I will call Number A, that had been defunct for months. Oh, no, I said, please don’t use that number. Call Number B! I gave her this number, and she assured me she would use that number to call me.

Then, I set in to grit my teeth and not be a pest. As the morning marched on, I kept repeating my mantra, She said she will call me. I don’t need to call her. She said she will call me. I don’t need to call her.

At a little bit after 11:00 a.m. I broke down and dialed the airline. A second, equally empathy-challenged, young woman answered, and in response to my query about the status of my flight, breezily replied, “Oh, that flight just left Tiny Town about five minutes ago.” I went quietly ballistic, and demanded to know why she had not called me.

“Oh, I called,” she replied. “You didn’t answer.”

Thinking of the tricky telephone connections in the area, I asked her, “How many times did you try me?”

“Oh, we only call once,” my new friend replied. “That way, people know we aren’t going to call and call, and that they have to keep their phones on.”

I reminded myself to keep breathing through my nose.

“And what number did you use?” I asked.

The dear soul replied that she had dialed Number A. That’s the defunct number, in case you were thinking to scroll back and check.

Hence, my fruitless, rather unhinged, demands that the pilot just turn back around and pick me up. When Little Missy mentioned the FAA rules, I thought of that time I was riding on another airline of similar caliber, and we had turned around in the air and landed again because a passenger had forgotten his wallet. I wondered what the good people at the FAA would have had to say about that.

I have heard it said that a lady always knows when to leave. On that trip out of Tiny Town, Alaska, I definitely knew that. What this lady would like to also know next time is this: Exactly when is it time to ask about my flight?