Unaccompanied adult

It was a typically humid December day in 1996 in Singapore and the airport terminal corridor in front of me was humming with people, movement, luggage, and chaotic energy.

An airline crew strutted past me purposefully, confidently, their smiles beaming, their uniforms pristine, their little suitcases in tow, gliding on the brown airport carpet.

A family ran past me, slightly red-faced and out of breath, a flurry of backpacks, jackets, and bum bags flailing all around them.

Across the corridor, in one of the airport smoking rooms, a few tourists, businessmen and backpackers sat and stood in silence, smoke whirling up the glass walls, all the way to the ceiling.

Nearby, at gate 14, a long queue was forming. It was likely that the plane was going to board soon.

Various broadcasts could be heard over the PA system throughout the corridor, announcing gate changes, delays, and final calls.

Sitting in a row of 6 payphones (also accepting cards), I really had a front-seat view of the bustle of Changi airport transit terminal main corridor. No two days were the same, that’s certain!

At the payphone right next to me, a red-faced man suddenly shouted, slammed the handset down and angrily stormed off.

Further down the row, a woman was scrambling to gather enough coins so her call would not be cut off. She inserted them into the coin slot one by one and hurriedly informed her husband that her flight was delayed; he would therefore need to pick her up at midnight, not 8.30pm, could he call her mum and arrange for their kids to stay with her for the night? And not to forget the medicine for the little one please!

As I observed the activity around me, it dawned on me that as a payphone in an international airport, my purpose was vital. Payphones connect people. An irreplaceable job, in my opinion!

Suddenly, a child appeared in front of me, pulling me from my contemplations. She was wearing a grey tracksuit and Kickers shoes, carrying a backpack, and holding a big winter parka in her arms (her whole outfit was quite odd, given the heat and humidity in Singapore in December). Her eyes were wide with fear. She looked about 12 years old.

She put her bag down on the floor and placed the coat on top of it. It promptly fell to the side of the pack on the floor; she didn’t bother picking it up.

The girl pulled a card from her bag, picked up my handset, wedged it between her shoulder and ear, and started punching in a long series of numbers on my dialing pad.

First, a series of numbers. Initially, there was silence. I then heard an automated female voice.

“Welcome to Optus international calling. Please enter your card number, followed by your PIN, or hold for the operator.”

The girl punched and punched more numbers away. I counted 16 digits.

The automated woman spoke again and asked the girl to enter the number she wished to reach, or to hold for the operator.

The girl dialed an Australian number…. actually, no, it was a Sydney number (I’ve been doing this long enough to know my way around area codes).

There was a delay whilst the line caught up with the numbers she had dialed, and, after a crackle and pause, the line started ringing.

A few rings later, someone picked up and sleepy male voice croaked: “Hello????”

“Dad.” The girl paused. “I’m lost at Singapore Airport!” She burst into tears. She suddenly looked very young.

“I tried to follow the signs, but I don’t understand them, I don’t know where to go, I’m scared!” she continued.

The man spoke. “Melie, I will help you. Stay on the line with me. I want you to look around you and find an air hostess wearing a uniform you recognize. Like Air France, you know what it looks like, don’t you?” he paused, but didn’t wait for an answer. “When you see one, don’t hang up, just put the phone down and go and get her and pass the phone to her.”

“Ok…” she said, starting to look around.

“Don’t get a man!” he exclaimed, “make sure it’s a woman.”

The girl looked around for a few moments at the stream of human traffic scurrying around us in the corridor.

“I see someone!” she cried out after a few minutes.

She put my handset down on the little table below me and hurried across the corridor to a woman wearing a blue airline uniform. She spoke agitatedly for a few moments, then they both walked back to me. The girl picked my handset up and said “Dad, I've found someone.”

She gave the handset to the woman.

“Hello, sir, my name is Isabelle, how can I help?” the lady spoke with a slight French accent.

“Bonjour Madame, merci pour votre aide” the man spoke to the stewardess in French. “My daughter, Amélie, is 12 years old. She lives in France with her mum. She is travelling by herself from Paris to Sydney for the first time, to visit me. As you know, as a 12-year-old, she no longer qualifies as an unaccompanied minor, and is treated like an adult by airlines, so she has to navigate the stopover and transit alone. Before she left Paris, she told her mum that she was worried about getting lost in Singapore airport….and unfortunately, it looks like she has. Would you be able to help her get to the right gate for her connecting flight to Sydney?”

“Oh yes of course! This airport can be a maze for an adult, so I can imagine it would be overwhelming for a child!” Isabelle acknowledged.

She seemed kind and caring, and told the man she would take care of Amélie and escort her to the correct gate and hand her over to the airline crew. Given the fear that this child had just experienced, she assured him that the airline ground and flight staff would of course help her, even though she was, technically, travelling as an “adult.”

“Merci beaucoup, madame. Can you put my daughter back on for a second please?”

The girl picked up my handset again. “Dad?”

“Melie, please go with Isabelle, she will take you to the gate and the airline staff will look after you all the way to Sydney.”

“Yes, I heard. Ok, Dad”

“I’ll see you in a little more than 8 hours, my baby.”

“I love you Dad, see you soon.”

The girl hung up. Isabelle looked at her, and in French said “Ok, Amélie, on y va! Let’s hop into this buggy. We will then take a shuttle that will take us to the correct terminal for your flight.”

They jumped into the terminal buggy, and I watched them drive off and disappear down the corridor.

As I settled back into observing the crowds and waiting for my next caller, I once again reflected on how necessary my purpose was, as a payphone. Irreplaceable, really!