Half the Fun

If it's the journey and not the destination...if getting there is half the fun... imagine what the rest of my vacation was like.

Escape From New York

I am in a cab on my way to the airport when my cell phone rings. My cell phone never rings, mainly because I never answer it, so everyone knows not to call it, because I really only use it when I’m traveling, and therefore it’s always uncharged.

It is a recorded message from US Air, calling to tell me, as the car pulls into the Departures lot, that my flight is delayed over 316 minutes. It takes me a while to do the math. Then I debate whether or not I should even bother getting out of the cab, and the driver circles the airport while I call the US Air hotline.

So I am missing my connecting flight. I am arriving in Phoenix at 10pm instead of 6pm, and the next flight to Anchorage is not until the following day at 7:30pm.

I ask if I can reschedule to land in Fairbanks instead of Anchorage, leave from LaGuardia instead of JFK, anything, but they had nothing. They asked if I could fly out of Newark in an hour. I said yes, if you'd called me an hour ago, BEFORE I WAS ALREADY AT JFK, I could have gotten there no problem! Instead they waited until less than 2 hours before my flight to tell me it was delayed. I think if a flight is delayed by FIVE HOURS they might have known about this problem sooner. I have the driver take me home, thus paying over $100 for a round-trip taxi to nowhere.

Why doesn't this ever happen when I'm traveling on business? I fly to Atlanta, Chicago, Fort Lauderdale, London, for work, with no problem. I fly in February when they need to de-ice the plane wings prior to takeoff, no problem. I fly in June on vacation: major problems.

Or why doesn't it happen on my way back, after I've already enjoyed my vacation? I wouldn't mind missing a day or two of work. Instead I'm getting my time with my brother in Alaska cut short by a day or two.

I know it's not the worst thing that can happen, I mean it's not like I found out I have cancer, but still. I was totally in happy vacation mode; now I'm miserable. My Muslim driver kept saying, "Send up a prayer to God. Everything happens for a good reason."

“What reason? I get 10 crummy vacation days a year and now I have to blow 3 of them sitting around the airport?”

He shrugs. I know he is thinking “Heathen! How dare you question the wisdom of God’s actions? If God delayed your plane He surely did so for a good reason! Perhaps to teach entitled princess a lesson! Where is your faith?”

Or perhaps he is thinking, “Ten vacation days a year! Hah, corporate drone! I drive a cab and I get more time off than that! Sucker! No wonder you have the stress and break down over a silly delay!” So I try to think of a good reason.

“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe the connecting plane I was supposed to be on will crash and everyone will die, but I won’t be on it! That would be worth it, I guess.” I cheer up ever-so-slightly. He doesn’t say anything.

I go home, eat dinner, and email everyone I know who puts up with my whining. Then I head back to the airport.

For some reason the self check-in kiosk will not cooperate. I get on line. A huge fan is blowing at the check-in counter. It whips my hair into my face so I can hardly see what I’m doing. After I check in, I wait for the woman to give me my driver’s license back. She insists she gave it back already.

Feeling senile and foolish, I frantically search my purse, carry-on bag, and wallet for 5 minutes while people on line behind me wait impatiently. Finally, the clerk finds it lying on the floor behind her, where the incredibly powerful fan blew it. She laughs and says I’m lucky it didn’t blow onto the conveyor belt taking the checked luggage away! They’d never have found it then!

Ha. Recalling my trip to the Brooklyn DMV and the ordeal I suffered to obtain my New York City driver's license, I think, Yes, that would indeed be funny.

So I go through security, then start waiting.

Only to discover the flight has been delayed by another hour.

Then another hour.

This time no one has bothered calling my cell phone. I guess once they have your luggage they figure you're already trapped.

Then they push it back to 9:40. I have now been sitting around the airport and/or in cars on my way to and from the airport for over 8 hours.

Finally they just announce that the flight has been cancelled. The plane, which they optimistically and ridiculously called “delayed,” is still in Charlotte. It never even made it to New York. Meanwhile, other planes are taking off and landing like crazy. Only my plane has performance issues.

Other people got hotel vouchers, but anyone with NYC listed as their place of origin just had to go home, and no one is reimbursing me for the $50 cab ride. My flight is rescheduled for 6:30am the next morning, meaning I need to leave home at 3:30am to get to airport by 4:30 or 5am. I claim my luggage at the baggage carousel and go stand for 20 minutes on the taxi line.

I was actually in tears, but tried not to make a spectacle of myself at the airport. But it helped! Because the first time I called, they would not allow me to reschedule my return flight to extend it by an extra day, saying it was the weather and nothing they could do. This time, after I sobbed, "I haven't seen my brother in 3 years and have been looking forward to this trip for months and now I won't get to spend any time with him!" the kind lady on the phone changed my return flight to Sunday instead of Saturday, without extra fees.

What really aggravates me is the lack of communication and information. For example, I just don't understand the science. I mean, planes fly at NIGHT, when it's dark. They fly through clouds. I’ve flown through snow. I thought they had radar and stuff. If they can fly in the dark, what's up with fog? Does fog mess with radar? Is it worse than snow? I have flown in planes with ice on the wings. This sounds fishy.

I wish there was some way I could find out what the real problem was. One US Air customer service rep told me there was a problem with the plane itself. The other denied it and blamed the weather. But of course they’d always blame the weather—if it’s the weather, it’s a natural act beyond their control, and they don’t have to compensate you. If it’s a mechanical problem, that’s their fault, and you just might be able to force them to reimburse you in some way. So why would they EVER confess it to being a mechanical problem? Don’t they have to log these errors somewhere? Other planes were landing and taking off, even other US Air planes. I just don’t think the fog was the real culprit here.

The next day, I arrive at the airport at 4:30am after about two hours of sleep.

JFK Airport at 4:30am

The airport is LOCKED.

A crowd waits outside in the cold drizzle. I didn’t know airports ever closed. I thought they were open 24/7. It is just as foggy today as yesterday, so my hopes are not high.

At the US Air counter, the self check-in kiosks are out of order—again.

Naturally, there is no one at the ticket booth. A group of confused travelers, most of whom I recognize from last night, waylay someone who looks like they’re on the janitorial staff, where we learn that the counter staff does not come on duty for another 15 minutes.

Later, at the security line, we learn that the security people also don’t come on duty for another half-hour.

Why do they tell me I have to get here 2 hours before my flight again?

During my nine-hour layover in Phoenix, they make me claim my baggage from the baggage check again, then recheck it. Because of terrorists and/or incompetence, you can not check luggage more than 4 hours before a flight. So even though it is their fault I now have a nine-hour layover (formerly 45 minutes), I have to claim my baggage, wait 5 hours, lug it around town with me, then recheck it.

Naturally, the US Air guy tries to hassle me and make me pay the $15 fee again. At this point I balk. I mean, I paid it once already. Do I have the receipt? No—why would I save a baggage claim receipt for a flight that was CANCELLED? My luggage never even made it out of the airport! I ask why he has no record of my original flight and its cancellation in the computer system. He treats me with a contemptuous, snotty air that only union and government employees can get away with—after all, normal people can be fired for being rude to a customer. Maybe I should go work for an airline.

Otherwise, I have a pleasant 10-hour layover in Phoenix during which I meet up with a friend and have lunch, go to the library, admire the desert, watch YouTube videos and drink soda in my friend’s apartment, and shop for snacks and camera batteries at Target. Why not—after all, I have NINE HOURS.

Back at the Phoenix airport

As I’m boarding my on-time plane to Anchorage, I hear a mechanic talking to the pilot. I have plenty of time to listen in, because it takes people fricking FOREVER to SIT THE FUCK DOWN ALREADY. But that’s a whole other rant, but what the hell? If my vacation can be hijacked, why can’t my blog post?

[Digression: So what is WITH the way able-bodied persons become senile invalids when boarding a plane? I’ve watched people freeze in the middle of the aisle, with 40 people lined up behind them, slowly remove their jacket…fold the jacket…drape it over their seat…then struggle to remove their blanket, sweater, books, snacks, water bottle, sleep mask, DVD player, massaging neck pillow, etc., from their carry-on, carefully arrange them on the seat and seat pocket, then struggle to lift their ten-ton bag into the overhead compartment. Then it takes another 20 minutes of futzing around with the bag overhead, fitting it in, making sure it’s snugly in place, whatever. I don’t know, I always bring a soft bag that can be crammed under the seat in front of me. Anyway, I don’t know what is wrong with people, that they can’t just STFDA! Sit. Down. If dogs can be trained to do it, SO CAN YOU.]

So the mechanic is saying, “There’s a hole in the wing of the plane. It must have just happened, because you can see the pieces lying on the ground. Something must have just hit it.”

Duct tape, I think. I’ve seen mechanics taping up plane wings before, mere moments before takeoff. Surely this is something that can be fixed with duct tape. It alarmed me the first time I saw it, but this time I don’t care. Fix it with chewed Bubble Yum, just get this plane in the air already.

Right. Who am I kidding? I think about sending up a prayer to God, but it didn’t work last time. God answers all prayers, but sometimes the answer is NO! Or so says the bumper sticker. I think, “There is no way this plane is taking off on time.”

I’m sitting down and opening up my book when the announcement is made that due to mechanical problems (they won’t say “hole in the wing” but I swear that’s what I heard) we will be getting off the plane, and re-boarding on a new plane, which will be ready soon. As soon as the other people get off that plane. My flight is now delayed over an hour.

So I get off the plane and call everyone I know who likes to listen to me whine. At this point it’s down to one person.

Waiting on line to board the new plane, I commiserate with a total stranger who is also pissed because a flight attendant has just forcibly removed her carry-on bag, a tiny wheeled suitcase much smaller than many other carry-on bags I’ve seen. The attendant claims it is too large and needs to be checked.

“I’ve flown with this bag a dozen times,” the woman says, incredulous. “And on this airline! What is the problem? I’m going to remember your name, INDIRA!”

Indira walks off, dragging the woman’s suitcase. I’m sure it’s because they just don’t have room left in the overhead compartments. Because of the $15 fee to check a bag on US Air, everyone now tries to carry on as much as they can. I really don’t see what the big deal is if you’ve paid hundreds of dollars for an airline ticket, and close to $20 for a crummy airport lunch, what’s another $15? If you’re on vacation, splurge a little—you’re on vacation. If you’re on business, WTF? Write it off on your expense report. But people get snippy about it.

I zip up my carry-on bag and smash it as small as I can make it and cram it under my armpit in an attempt to use my arm flab to hide my large (but soft and crushable) bag, which they will need to pry from my cold dead hands.

I tell the angry woman about my travails so far. “I just can’t believe this is happening,” I say. “It’s now been two, going on three days. I’m never getting to Anchorage. I wonder what will happen next. Probably someone will have a heart attack on the plane and we’ll have to make an emergency medical landing.”

A man in front of me turns around. “Thanks a lot,” he snaps. “This is my first time flying. Now I’m really nervous.”

He and his friend are both wearing soldier’s fatigues. I think, “Men who have probably been in IRAQ are more worried about flying US Air than about IRAQ. This is a sign!”

At first I feel bad, then notice his friend is laughing. The guys are just messing with me.

At last

I know it’s customary to clap when a flight lands successfully, especially if it's been a bumpy ride, but in this case, when my plane finally takes off, I need to hold myself back from bursting into spontaneous applause.

By the time the plans lands, I feel like I've already been through an ordeal. I've now spent close to $200 on taxis and airport food and fees. And my vacation hasn't even started.

I am not optimistic.