I did another cross country round trip by air last week and I certainly don't fly as much as I used. My million mile status with American has dwindled but, as I look back at my career in the air, I realized that I was pretty lucky all those years. Not a lot of horrible delays to speak of. But I will never forget one from 11 years ago. It was so memorable that I actually had the foresight to keep a journal that day. Read below and you will see what real torture is.
Ah, yes. Tuesday, August 21, 2007.
Only in the great US of A.
Now, as I said, I've pretty much flown American Airlines exclusively during my bi-coastal era. They had pretty much been satisfactory up until this point in 2007. I know I would always encounter the usual hand-wringing drama when flying into Newark Airport, which is the Mack Sennett of air terminals. But, the travel crisis benchmark has risen dramatically of late. Along with several horror stories of my own, I have heard a myriad of nightmares from friends. There is something going on someplace.
I can only relate this date as it unfolded in a timeline. I am simply attempting to fly from LAX to Newark.
6:00AM Pacific: Beverly Hills Cab picks me up at my Los Angeles home. I mention to the driver that I pay by credit card. He says he knows. All the drivers know me. That is sad. I feel like some old guy that gets picked up for his dialysis three times a week.
6:20AM Pacific: I get dropped off at LAX. American Airlines Terminal 4. I use the Platinum automatic check-in. My bag is overweight as usual. They ding me $25. My suitcase along weighs 30 pounds and they allow 50 total. The check-in lady is quite nice. She notes my last name is German and mentions that hers is as well. We chat each other up with some basic German phrases and ultimately sing "Au Du Lieber Augustine" together.
6:35AM Pacific: I get through Homeland Insecurity. The dothead in front of me jams the machine by trying to put a hula hoop through.
6:55AM Pacific: I seat myself down at Gate 48B for my 815AM flight to Newark. I am third on the upgrade list. I look outside and note there is no plane at the gate.
7:05AM Pacific: A plane pulls up to the gate. The pilots sit inside for several minutes.
7:10AM Pacific: The pilots back the plane from the gate and leave.
7:15AM Pacific: There is an announcement that Flight 114 to Newark has been cancelled. And we are to report to Gate 42B for personal assistance from AA.
7:20AM Pacific: The so-called "personal assistance" is some snarky Black woman who essentially gives you a piece of paper that apologizes for your inconvenience and tells you to call a 800 number for help. But, she tells you to first go to Luggage Claim area 1 to get your baggage which is being returned to you. The first reason given for the cancellation is weather. It is pouring in New York. And there is a hurricane headed for Mexico, which I guess is close enough to New Jersey. This will be the first of a series of bizarro explanations I will get today for the Newark cancellation. I will also hear blame put on weather, equipment failure, global warming, and George Bush.
7:30AM Pacific: At the baggage claim, I first place a F-bomb-laden voicemail to my roommate. As I wait for my luggage, I place a call to American's help line, which is no help. She tells me I won't be able to get a flight to either JFK or Newark for three days. I could get to JFK on Wednesday if I spent Tuesday night at DFW in Dallas. Then, suddenly, there is an available seat on Tuesday's 415PM to JFK. I grab it. Another Newark passenger hears this and says he just got an available seat on the 12Noon to JFK. Huh?
7:45AM Pacific: Since it's essentially gone nowhere, it makes no sense that it takes almost 25 minutes for my luggage to show up. I pulled it off the turntable and head up to Ticketing for the real story.
7:50AM Pacific: At Ticketing, I run into my fraulein friend again who is most helpful. She tells me all flights to JFK are booked, but I probably could get out earlier than 415PM by going on the standby list. She says that, with my Platinum status, this should be a cinch. She tickets my luggage for the 930AM flight to JFK. My suitcase is going. At the moment, I still am not. At least not definitely until 415PM.
755AM Pacific: I head to the gate for the 930AM flight to JFK, but first I must make my second pass through Homeland Unsecurity. No hula hoop this time, but much confusion when some old bag refuses to remove her orthopedic oxfords.
810AM Pacific: I am becoming quite proficient at security screening. While doing so, I call Hertz Gold Club and move my rental pickup from Newark to JFK. I have a hard time explaining to some loon named "Kanisha" that I don't know what flight I am on. I fail to get a laugh when I suggest my suitcase come and pick up the car.
820AM Pacific: Now, at Gate 42B to check on my standby status for 930AM. I am seventh on the list of 47!
840AM Pacific: I have somehow dropped down to ninth on the list, while doing nothing but sitting quietly and doing my Sudoku puzzle in the LA Times.
905AM Pacific: Some AA martinet announces that there will be no standbys for 930AM. We are all being rolled over to the 11AM flight. She makes a plug for the Admirals Club by telling everybody it would be a good day to join.
915AM Pacific: I join the Admirals Club. I make friends with one of the attendants up there who promises to check in on my standby status every 15 minutes.
920AM Pacific: I head to the quieter business section of the Admirals Club.
930AM Pacific: I leave the quieter business section of the Admirals Club because of the noise. Two girls are screaming to each other across the room in French. I secretly wonder why the Nazis were even interested in that country in the first place.
945AM Pacific: Munching on cookies at the snack bar, I overhear some AA workers still buzzing over the fact that Brad Pitt was stuck there for five hours on Monday.
955AM Pacific: Just as I find a quiet place to camp out, in comes a couple with two strollers and babies attached. They, too, speak French. Was there an occupation and nobody told me?
1020AM Pacific: My counter friend finds me and announces that I will not make the 11AM but I have been rolled over to 12 Noon. Her sincere sadness at telling me this made her momentarily dateable.
1055AM Pacific: I top out at Level 13 on my Black Berry's version of Brickbraker.
1100AM Pacific: I call my friend the Bibster in NY and quote my favorite alltime Billy Wilder line, which was used in two of his movies. "I feel like I'm in Hell with my back broken."
1120AM Pacific: My counter friend tells me that the 12 Noon is out for me, but I have been rolled again to the 1PM. A little less sadness this time. I think she has met someone else.
1215PM Pacific: I look out the windows and see lots of planes leaving with happy passengers. I feel like Tom Hanks in the Terminal. A new counter person finds me to say that the 1PM will not be an option. Apparently, my exile there has already outlived the other woman's shift. I have rolled over again to the 3PM. At this point, my confirmed 415PM really seems to make the most sense.
2PM Pacific: It dawns on me that I have no recollection of the last seventy five minutes. I realize that I had fallen asleep on a chair in a public place. If I live the day, I make a note to kill myself.
230PM Pacific: I use 5 bucks to get 15 minutes out of a massage chair. While getting my neck rubbed, the 3PM standby option gets rubbed out.
320PM Pacific: I head to the gate for the 415PM plane. Good news. I am number two on the upgrade list. Bad news: 29 of 30 passengers have checked in.
330PM Pacific: Knowing I won't be eating fancy on the plane, I seek out some prepackaged alternative in the airport. I opt for a ham and swiss cheese sandwich from Starbucks.
345PM Pacific: I finally board a plane. Flight 180. An Arabic family of acrobats pushes past me to board first.
400PM Pacific: Sitting in the first row of coach, I get to watch all the more important people in Business and First. I can smell their food cooking. The seat next to me is now occupied by a young Asian guy.
402PM Pacific: I have a horrible realization. I have packed two films from the latest Charlie Chan box set for my on-plane viewing and I am now sitting next to this Asian guy.
410PM Pacific: The flight attendant calls my name. For some strange reason, they can now upgrade me. I give the Asian kid my Starbucks sandwich and grab the seat improvement.
420PM Pacific: We finally take off. I immediately wish myself there by resetting my watch.
830PM Eastern: I polish off a meal of beef tenderloin and grilled asparagus. I eat it despite hating asparagus. I am just happy to do anything that involves forward movement. I heartily accept three offers to refill my glass of red wine.
1110PM Eastern: There is a French businessman across the row. He is playing with some loopy Powerpoint presentation. One of his associates comes from another seat and stands in the aisle to discuss it. As he keeps bending over to look at the computer, he props his ass squarely in my face. I use my elbow to poke him in the thigh a few times, but he doesn't get the message. I consider using my Sudoku pencil to help him get the point.
1125PM Eastern: The flight attendant finally tells the Frog to hittez les bricques. I applaud as he walks away and he gives the look of an evil guard at the Bastille.
1135PM Eastern: I notice that Frenchy has dropped his Black Berry holster on the floor. I get up to go to the bathroom and simultaneously kick it underneath some seats.
1245AM Eastern: We land at JFK! I immediately check for the baseball scores. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Pepe Le Pew looking around every which way. Did he lose something?
105AM Eastern: AA Baggage Claim is about two miles from the gates at JFK. The long walk makes me realize how weak my legs feel. Like a catcher who just crouched for 17 innings.
108AM Eastern: I approach some baggage attendant and inquire where I can find my suitcase which arrived six hours earlier. He points me to an area where there are at least five hundred pieces of luggage. There are dazed people all walking around looking for their belongings. Every suitcase is examined as passengers appear lost.
125AM Eastern: Unable to find my bag, I go to Baggage Claim, where the line is 15 deep. I chat amiably with a woman who just traveled 40 hours from Australia. Okay, your day is worse than mine, Aussie Chick.
130AM Eastern: Some huge Black cow barges in and cuts the line completely. The outback lady calls her out and Miss Fat Thing waves her off in her best Post Office dismissive style.
135AM Eastern: I notice that most of the people working the counter don't speak English. Losing your luggage must be an ethnic thing.
140AM Eastern: It is finally my turn. I show the guy my claim ticket. He takes me to a back room and immediately points me to my suitcase. It felt like a reunion after World War II.
155AM Eastern: As I wait for the airtrain to take me to Hertz, I look around at the others out and about. There is a cutoff time each day in NY. At some time around 1AM, there are no Caucasians out in public. I survey the platform and wonder if I am in either Bolivia or Kenya.
205AM Eastern: There's one poor slob manning the desk at Hertz. I might have been hard on Kanisha. My reservation was perfectly intact.
215AM Eastern: As I am exiting the Hertz lot, the warning light on the dashboard goes off. MAINTENANCE REQUIRED.
225AM Eastern: I exit the Hertz lot with my second shot at a rental car.
250AM Eastern: I arrive in my Westchester apartment.
300AM Eastern: I put in my nightguard and hit the pillow.
Every time I book a trip now, I pray that it won't end up like August 21, 2007.
Dinner last night: Home made sausage, peppers, and onions made with veggies and heirloom tomatoes from a local farmer's market.
1 comment:
Not much fun, but I can sympathize with you. My wife and I left house at 9:15 am couple of weeks ago for 11:40 am flight from LGA to Denver. Boarded plane, all ready to go, hear engines cut -- bad weather over upper Midwest. Finally get different route that will work, plane refueled and taxis out again -- and heavens open in NYC. Flight canceled, LGA closed, lightning means no jetway. Sat on plane for 5 1/2 hours. United got us on to flight from Newark (also delayed). Got into hotel room in at 2:30 am local time (4:30 am body time). Made the hour delay on the flight coming home seem almost palatable.
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