FloZach arrives at the travel agency. As soon as Flo explains the route, the travel agency lady is like, "Yeah, yeah, I just went through this with those other morons for like two hours, so stay on your side of the counter." At least, that's what I get from her courteous but exasperated expression. Flo is happy to hear that the other teams were there, because now they can take the same route, but the travel agency has some bad news -- there are only business class seats left. As you know if you watch this show regularly, the only thing the teams don't pay for out of their wad of cash is air travel. The crew guys have credit cards that are pulled out to pay for plane tickets and plane tickets only. We've never heard of any limitations on what you can spend, except that you can only pay economy price. No first class, no business class. This has, in the past, always been a rule that related to the kind of ticket you can buy, not the seats you sit in. Teams have been known to wangle business class seats for an economy price, but it has always been my understanding that the show won't buy you anything but economy. Anyway, this obviously presents a problem for FloZach, because there's no space in economy class, they can't buy business class, and they're desperate to be on the same flight as the other teams. Flo literally throws her lower lip out in a pout as she paces miserably in the travel agent's office. Zach continues to press for any other options they have, and the travel agent agrees to keep looking. Zach voices over that there didn't turn out to be any other options, so they had no idea how they were going to get the tickets.
At the Da Nang train station, Ken and Gerard hop out of their cab and head inside. They get tickets on a train leaving at noon and arriving in Hanoi at four the following morning.
By the time we return to the train station, Flo has resumed her regularly scheduled defeatist whining. "It couldn't get any worse than this. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse..." Surprisingly, she is referring to their travel circumstances, and not the aforementioned defeatist whining. She then reaches a new low, even for her: "Why uuuus?" she blubbers. "Why doesn't anyone else go through this?" Well, let me explain it to you, sweetheart. The teams ahead of you had an easier time than you did today for the simple reason that they were ahead of you. Now, they were ahead of you because you lost your shit and wouldn't do the Detour and cried instead of paddling or pedaling. Your luck has been excellent, not awful, considering that you managed to finish last in two out of the three non-elimination legs. To the degree your shapely fanny hasn't been saved by luck, it's been saved by your partner, so if anyone here had a right to act put-upon, it would be him. But even for him? No. So wipe your nose, pull it together, and try to look like you could survive a stiff breeze without blowing away. Zach voices over, again impressive in his capacity for understatement, that "it's difficult to keep Flo's spirits up." I still say he should have just knocked her out and stuffed her in his backpack. Or, actually, her backpack, since he's probably going to have to carry it anyway. In the travel agent's office, Zach assures Flo that he'll get them on the flight. She has her response all ready. "If we don't get on this flight," she says, "I want you to get a flight to JFK, and I'm not joking at this point." Oh, how interesting. It took the prospect of exactly one setback which hasn't even happened yet to get her to threaten to quit yet again. That lesson she learned about not quitting certainly didn't turn out to be very sticky. It's those cheap newfangled adhesives, I suppose. She needs some good old-fashioned Krazy Glue to attach that particular lesson to her ass, or she'll never remember to take it with her.