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Air travel has become a lot more hassle over the
last few years. We all understand that we have to
arrive at the airport early to compensate for extra
security measures, and that we can no longer carry
on our fingernail clippers and other weapons of mass
destruction. However, waiting in long lines and
being forced to surrender our eyebrow pencils are
minor irritations compared to the ordeal of my
recent return flight to
Kansas City
from a vacation in California.
I arrived two hours early at the
Ontario,
California, airport for the first
leg of my return, the flight to
Denver. I had to wait in the
check-in line for those two hours, and that was
okay. I had a book to read. I boarded my flight on
time and settled back, relaxed, pleased things were
going so well.
I was incredibly naïve in those days.
A woman with two small children took the seats
directly in front of me. Those children seemed to
be named
Brother and
Sister. Apparently
Mommy had never heard of a baby name book.
Sister's favorite activity was screaming. Brother's
favorite activity was screaming very loud!
Not to be outdone by her offsprings' sibling
rivalry, Mommy spoke…loudly and incessantly…in a
high-pitched, little-girl voice, reminiscent of
fingernails scraping on a blackboard.
"Brother, I need you to cooperate with me and think
happy thoughts. Sister, you need to leave brother
alone. He's grumpy today. Sister, I need you to go
to a happy place. Let's think about six weeks from
now when we're going to
Mexico."
I turned to the man beside me and said, "Write that
down. Six weeks from now, under no circumstances
should we or anybody we love be allowed to travel to
Mexico!"
Mommy didn't hear me. She continued her monologue
even while the captain announced we would not be
departing on time because half the passengers were
stuck in those 2-hour check-in lines. This meant
those of us with connecting flights were not going
to be in a happy place.
I suggested to the hostess that,
since we had to wait, our connecting flights should
wait for us. She smiled when she said that would not
be possible. She continued to smile when she said the
flights we were missing were the last flights of the
evening, but everything was going to be just fine. I
really wanted to wipe that smile off her face and
put her on that flight to
Mexico
in six weeks.
An hour later, all the missing
passengers had been rounded up and herded on board,
and we departed. I put on my headset and turned my
IPod on high in a futile effort to drown out the Happy Place family.
The flight into Denver was noisy, but otherwise uneventful,
and on our final approach, the hostess announced
that passengers on three of the connecting flights
were in luck. Those flights had been delayed and, if
we hurried, we might be able to make our flights! The Kansas City connection was among those three.
I was to be rewarded for my forbearance in not
strangling Mommy, Sister and Brother.
The hostess went on to say that
26 people on the flight were affected,
and when we
landed, everyone but those 26 should remain seated
and let us exit first so we'd have a better chance
of making our flights. I decided not to ship her off
to
Mexico after all.
The plane landed.
I stood.
And so did about 96 other people, all with luggage
in the overhead bins and at least three small
children underfoot. As we slowly wrestled our way
down the aisle, the hostess became a bit frantic
about the Kansas City flight.
"If you're going to Kansas City, you must run to
terminal B, Gate 45. Your flight has boarded. I
repeat,
Kansas City, RUN to B45!"
There were 9 of us. We ran. Down the escalators to
catch the train to terminal B, along the moving
sidewalks, shoving slower people aside, racing
frantically until we finally reached Gate 45.
This gate was guarded by a female airline employee
conversing quietly with a young man. We descended on
her, demanding frantically, "Is this the flight to Kansas City?"
Sheignored our rude interruption and continued her
conversation.
I, no longer the trusting, naïve person who boarded that plane in California, ran to the
nearest monitor. We were at the wrong gate.
"44!" I shouted back to the others. "Our flight is at gate 44, not 45!"
The airline
employee lifted her head and smiled. "The
Kansas City
flight is departing from Gate 44."
I returned her smile. "Mexico
in six weeks! Don't miss it!"
We all ran back the way we'd come, panting,
perspiring and not happy. We slid into Gate 44 and
charged down the skyway just before the plane doors
closed. The hostess smiled and welcomed us aboard.
Life was good.
As we ascended into the air over Denver, I leaned
back in my seat and drew in a deep sigh of relief. I
was going to make it home before dawn. The Happy Place family
was not on board. No one was screaming. Life was
very good.
For that fleeting moment.
We landed in
Kansas City
around 1:30
a.m., taxied down the runway and stopped.
People stood and began tugging their luggage from
the overhead bins.
"Please return to your seats. No one is allowed to
stand until the plane has come to a complete stop."
We all looked out the windows. If that plane was
moving, it was going slower than the hour hand of
the office clock on Friday afternoon.
The hostess must have heard us grumbling, because
she proceeded to explain that it might look like we
were stopped, but, really, we were just waiting for
someone to move the plane parked in our space at the
terminal.
Half an hour later our plane started rolling again,
down to the terminal, and we heard the welcome sound
of that skyway rattling up to the door. Once again,
passengers unfastened their seatbelts, retrieved
their luggage and stood in the aisle…waiting. And
waiting.
Eventually the captain announced that we had a
slight problem. They couldn't get the door open, but
they were confident they'd soon find someone who
could.
Apparently employees with the ability to open a door
were in short supply. It was another hour before
that door finally opened. I almost knocked people
down in my effort to get off that plane…before the
door closed again, before the skyway collapsed,
before the Happy Place Family reappeared!
I did not feel completely safe until I was home with
the door locked behind me.
And that night I made a resolution. From now
on, whenever I travel, my mode of transportation
will be automobile, bicycle or feet!
That is the worst trip I have been on since I
accidentally ate that electric Jello back in the
60s.
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