Vengeful Travel Gods on Holiday

In which the Vengeful Travel Gods take a day off and I set about ruining my own day...

Allow me to set the stage.  It is Friday.  I have been traveling and working all week non stop on the West Coast.  Mentally and physically exhausted, I am relieved to finally be heading home for the weekend.  With an estimated arrival to my home airport of 7pm, I have very definite ideas about being home by 8pm and unconscious before 10pm.  

Here then the chain of events:

3:00am: My alarm goes off.  Boo.  Auto pilot.  Up.  Dress.  Pack.
4:15am: Taxi
5:00am: Airport
6:00am: In the air.
9:15am: Arrive in Denver for 3.5 hour layover.

I spend the next 2.5 hours on the phone and email, working diligently and being productive.  

I arrive at the gate an hour before my flight departs and spend the time speaking to my boss who is leaving on holiday in a few hours.

30 minutes to boarding.  The gate is closed but it says Tampa.  Continue talking. 
0 minutes to boarding.  No agent, no boarding.  Sign says Tampa. Continue talking.
30 minutes past boarding.  No one.  Continue talking, assume delay.  I'm still right next to the gate, they can't get past without my seeing them.  It still says Tampa.

10 minutes to take off. It says Houston.  Hang up.  Seek out gate agent.  Did they move my gate, this flight should be leaving in 10 minutes and hasn't boarded?

Agent: What flight?

Me: The flight right now, the 12:45pm flight.

Agent: You mean the 1:45pm flight to Houston?

Me: No, the 12:45pm flight.  To Tampa.

Agent: It left at 12:45pm.

Me: That's now!  Where is it?

Agent: Um, it's 1:45pm.  You know you're in Mountain Time, right?

Me: I... wha... Bastard!!  Not you.

Someone forgot to change their watch when they landed in Denver because they we're busy taking a work call as soon as they landed.

So that was the last direct flight home for the day.  Of course, it was.
They can get me home by tomorrow evening.  Right.
Can I take yet another connection to get home instead of going direct?  I can.
Can I get home tonight?  I cannot.

After an embarrassing conversation with a customer service agent (who laughed at me hardly at all) and scouring all available flights in every direction, my fastest route home is to fly to Houston, spend the night, and take a 6:30 am flight home which puts me home before lunch.  So much for sleeping in on Saturday. Let's do it.

What about your bag, she asks?  

I answer automatically, I never check a...  Oh.  I checked my bag.  Is my bag here, I ask?

No.  It is not.  My bag is in Tampa.  Because it knew it was on Mountain Time.
Clothing.  Toiletries.  All in Tampa.  Super. 

My laptop back pack is ridiculously heavy and I had tradeshow items stuffed into my carry on size roller bag.  It was free to check it so despite my rule of always traveling with a clothing as a carry on, I break my own rule and decide to check it.  I am now forced to endure another 3+ hours in Denver airport waiting for my flight to Houston and carting around a carry on that could give you a hernia.

One of the trade show items in my checked bag?  A back pack with wheels that was given to me at the show.  Oh, the irony.

I purchase a travel toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, hairbrush and aspirin for the emerging headache at the airport shop.  Has no one realized they could sell underwear for stranded travelers?  They sell diapers.  Confident they won't fit.

Might as well eat as I won't have a chance later.  I am sitting in a restaurant at the airport.  I think to myself I should really stop wearing white Oxford shirts on travel days.  I look down and discover a portion of my meal on my white shirt. The one, I'll be wearing fr the foreseeable future.

A baby at the table next to mine starts crying.  I look over.  She looks tired and miserable; she has clearly determined the only course of action left is to cry.  I hear you, sister.  I hear you.

Vengeful Gods have delayed my flight... again.

I’m going to write a book. I have to. There’s just too much ridiculousness not to share it with the world. That’s the trouble really, every time I attempt to leave the immediate area to travel elsewhere absurd things happen that I feel sure can’t be happening to everyone else. Events lend themselves to the only logical conclusion one can draw under such circumstances: the Gods are toying with me. Much like in mythology, I sometimes feel that there are a large group of bored individuals lounging about somewhere very pleasant and exotic, slurping down mojitos and wreaking havoc upon my insignificant travel plans for their own amusement. 

 “Oh, she’s leaving. Hey, guys! Guys! She’s on her way to the airport. Where did I leave my lightening bolts? Someone fetch Bacchus and tell him to bring more of those little drinks with umbrellas, we’re out over here!”

I know this probably seems unlikely and above all rather self centered to most of you but it isn’t. It’s true. There’s no other reason to account for the frequency with which I am faced with delayed flights, inexplicable lightening storms, missed connections, freakish weather and out breaks of monkey sickness [click here for further information on HAMS Syndrome - High Altitude Monkey Sickness] suffered by children on board any aircraft I venture into. 

The trouble is it’s never very funny at the time. It’s definitely not helping my blood pressure. When I finally get where I’m going and sit down to tell friends of my travel woes, it can be rather exasperating to have them burst into laughter as I describe how (to mentioned but a few highlights):

• after five hours of provocation above the Atlantic Ocean, I almost-very-nearly-but-not-quite retaliated by stabbing a six year old in the leg with my pen. 
• I arrived in Bangkok to find my ticket for an overnight flight to London had accidentally been cancelled by a confused ticket agent several days prior during the rush to make up the cancelled flights from a Tsunami.
•  the kid two rows behind spent what seemed like the entire duration of the flight standing on his seat rapidly turning the over head light on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off… you get the idea.
• we were delayed due to a mechanical glitch which caused the crew to have to replace a part and the woman in front of me had a panic attack. She refused to fly and also wouldn’t get off the plane.  Enter police stage left...
• I was detained in a 3rd world country because I didn't have the right work visa in my passport.  "You'll be deported," I was warned.  "I'm trying to leave," I pointed out.  "Hapana," ('no' in Swahili) they said almost gleefully, "you must be detained!"
• I was in a holding pattern circling an airport for so long that I was certain the pilot was lost but refused to stop and ask for directions…we had to be diverted to another airport because they didn’t have enough fuel to circle indefinitely.

I've had drinks spilt on me and carry on luggage dropped on my head.  Strangers have slept on my shoulder. I've arrived in one city to discover my luggage is in another city.  And for reasons unknown to me, I've been singled out by the TSA an alarming number of times (dodgy character, right?).  I've missed connections and run for planes, slept on the floor of a concourse and sat through turbulence so bad you couldn't write three legible words on a piece of paper.  Yes, sir, those were fun times. 

My father travels far more frequently than I. He has amassed such a log of in flight hours that when you mention a plane being hit by lightening, he thinks nothing of it and sees little point in getting excited. So the part about all of this that which is most strange and simultaneously extraordinarily unfair is that my father who must easily have a 10 times more frequent flier miles than me…. he doesn’t seem to have most of these problems. And when on occasion he does it is certainly not with any more frequency than any other habitual traveler. Thus I can only conclude that petty gods beleaguer me for sport.

Under the circumstances, it would seem my only option is to throw the spotlight on this conspiracy in the vain hope that this unacceptable behavior ceases. Perhaps I can get a spot on one of those news features with undercover cameras and severe looking anchors that babble about ethics and demand justice on behalf of the common man. Until then I shall be hard at work on my forthcoming book: “Vengeful Gods Have Delayed My Flight and Other Misadventures.” I have yet to decide if I should market it as a comedic work or tales of horror… surely my next trip will reveal the answer.

Sit back, relax and TRY to enjoy the flight.

I've been on a quite a few flights this week (8 in the last 4 days) and I find myself becoming increasingly annoyed. Perhaps it's because more than half my flights have been at 6 a.m. prompting me to wake up at 3-4 a.m. and thus making me (un)naturally irritable. Truthfully, it feels like people are just being obtuse though.

On a particularly bad flight from Charlotte to Atlanta last Friday, we were delayed due to torrential rain and tornado warnings in Atlanta. We sat on the tarmac for an hour as they umm-ed and ahh-ed about whether or not to let us leave. Finally, the pilot announced we were in fact leaving. He then added that due to high winds, we were expected to have a very bumpy flight; due to the increased turbulence he advised that the cabin crew would be seated for the duration of the flight. We would not therefore be receiving our usual rations of drinks and nibbleys. Further to this, the fasten seat belt sign would remain on throughout the flight so we should not get up to use the bathroom or roam the aisle; we should stay seated with our seat belts fastened the entire time. Having set forth the new rules, we were finally advised to "sit back, relax and enjoy the flight." Not a chance, mate.

Something I've noticed lately is that some cabin crew are no longer demonstrating life jackets or oxygen masks. They still take the time to walk us through how an ordinary seat belt works but for more complicated tasks, we are now simply referred to the safety card in the seat back pocket. I'm sure if anyone needs a lesson or refresher, it won't be on the emergency bits which are rarely if ever used; I'm sure everyone will be able to figure out the part they've never done before. Hang on, show us the basic bit about the seat belt we've all used before again, will you? Well done to whomever worked out those priorities.
 
"Hey! I'm outta my seat belt!" 
"Fantastic! Do you happen to know, by any chance, how to work this vest thingy?" 
DEAD! Because he didn't put on the oxygen thingy first. But at least his seat belt is unfastened!

On this morning's 6 a.m. flight, I was irritated by how long it seemed to take us to get going. The cabin crew made more announcements than I've ever been subject to and I've spent a lot of time in airports. I think we were welcomed on board at least three times. Then the Captain came over the intercom to sing a song about not leaving until everyone's seat belt was fastened. I. Kid. You. Not.

He sang.  A song. Accompanied by the harmonica. I'm not sure if that's allowed by FAA regulations but if it is, it ought not to be. Apparently, we're a pack of pre-schoolers. I wondered if we'd be forced to sing nursery rhymes as a group before the in-flight service began. The only selection would be milk and cookies and we'd be instructed to take a compulsory nap before landing. 

Once the song finished, I was hoping we wouldn't need to hear from Captain Kangeroo again. Alas it was not to be as he came back after take off to do an impression of Arnold Schwarzenegger, during which he let us know he was turning off the seat belt sign so "everyvun cahn sztretch zheir big mus-sales, yah!" 

During early flights like this they usually have the cabin lights off. Ostensibly because it's dark out and this qualifies as a night flight. No chance of shut eye here though 'cos Captain Kangeroo thinks he's caught the last gig at the Comedy Connection. Five minutes after the Ah-nold announcement, he's on again to welcome us and thank us for choosing his airline (hand up if you're rapidly regretting that choice). Finally, he tells us that if there is anything they can do to make our flight more enjoyable not to hesitate to ask. I now have an overwhelming compulsion to push my call button and politely ask the stewardess when she arrives if she could possibly ask the Captain to shut up. Following that I would have had to ask if. in between the singing and games up in the cockpit, anyone had time to check how close we were to our destination. Apparently, no one told the pilot that we're well trained from a young age to bring our own entertainment on any road trip.

Just when I think it's safe to shut my eyes, one of the cabin crew begins a lengthy announcement about why we all ought to consider a Visa card for this airline and the wonderful benefits it now offers. I find it tortuous to have to sit through being sold something I don't want while I'm a captive audience. It's cruel and unusual punishment as far as I'm concerned. Let me just say this though, when you book your ticket now, no one mentions the added costs you'll be incurring. Bad enough that everyone quotes flights without the taxes and suddenly you're paying a lot more than you thought a la Ticket Master but these new hidden costs were formerly part of what you were paying for. These are just some that I've experienced this past year on various airlines. Not all airlines are charging these prices but some have opted to.

Pillow and/or Blanket - $7.00
In Flight Film - $5.00
Head Phones - $1.00
ANY Beverage (including coffee, tea, water!, soda, juice) - $1.00
Meal/Snack - $5.00-7.00
Seal Selection in Advance - $4.00 - $6.00 (note: not an upgrade, just a confirmation of a particular seat).

So apparently, you'll need that shiny new Visa just to make it through the flight if you were mistakenly thinking that these things are all still free. If you're application is approved, rest assured you'll be able to enjoy the remainder of your flight without fear of freezing, sleep-deprivation, dehydration, starvation or boredom. Guess that's why some airlines are now giving us free group songs! What's next? A seat belt surcharge?

"We'll be coming through the cabin shortly with Visa applications..."
"I don't want a Visa application, you toss-pot! I WANT PEANUTS!"

Boarding and TSA Security

I've been spending quite a bit of extra time in airports recently. Yesterday, bad. Arrive airport 3pm, depart airport 11pm... yeah. Long time. Having finally come through my door at 2:25am this morning and needing leave now to go pick my boss up, I leave you with these thoughts. Please take notes and pass them along to other people you know who are traveling, maybe then one day we'll all get on a plane more quickly. Maybe...

Why can't people board airplanes in an orderly fashion? It doesn't matter what order you tell us all to get on in, there's still going to 50% of the people repacking in the aisle to slow everything down. Stand aside! There is absolutely no need to adjust yourself and all your worldly possessions whilst standing in the middle of an aisle. Same goes for airport security. You're in a line, there are signs every three feet telling you to remove your laptop from your bag, people with TSA uniforms are repeating "take your shoes and belts off, remove your cell phones, check your pockets" every ten seconds. Why, WHY, must you wait until its your turn to go through security to do all these things and thus slow us all down? You've just spent the last fifteen minutes either standing in line with a bored look on your face or complaining about how long it's taking. THIS IS WHY! Everyone else is just like you!

You're standing there doing nothing while you wait; get yourself organized for God's sake. The procedure isn't going to miraculously change before you get to the front of the queue. There, you can keep your nail clippers, happy? Now take your shoes off!

And children [*audible sigh*]. They have nothing to speak of that will set off metal detectors. No jewelry, cell phones, laptops, belts, steel toed shoes, maybe a game boy, maybe. Put the game boy in the Sponge Bob back pack, place on x-ray machine, end of story. NO! This class of air traveler which should be quickest are in fact the slowest because they don't listen. They're strangling themselves with the straps of their back packs, kicking their shoes off in all directions, running to go fetch far flung shoes, taking off their coats off in reverse, all while trying to keep poking their sibling to retain a semblance of familial annoyance. New plan: allow child to keep game boy, Sponge Bob back pack, coat, shoes and finger in sibling's ear. Pick child up, put child on x-ray machine. *Ding!* Security cleared, new land speed record set. If they can survive all the x-rays for baseball, football, bicycles and general running/tripping/falling/climbing accidents, I'm sure a few seconds twice a year when you go to visit the grandparents out of state won't adversely affect them. They're young, they'll bounce right back.

Check In

Originally posted 22.August.2006

I have this tendency to get stuck behind odd people in queues at the airport. Frankly its annoying because no matter where I choose to stand it ends up being the place with the person hidden a few people ahead who is just mere minutes away from bringing everything to a screeching halt. Its always the loon who cant see the objection to packing fireworks in his luggage or has trouble understanding why an antique machete poses a security risk. I once missed a flight out of Ohio because an individual with a license to carry a concealed weapon forgot to pack it in his checked luggage and when an automatic hand gun goes through an airport x-ray machine, bad things happen. Everything shuts down. Literally, the metal gates were dropped from the ceiling and that was that, I stood there with several others on my flight for the next 30 minutes until our flight left, at which point they felt it safe for us to go through to the departure gate.

If its not a complete pratt like that then its the person whose been standing in line to check in for 10 minutes and finally gets up to the counter and cant find their photo ID or reservations and have to search every pocket in every article clothing and every bag before proclaiming that it was in their coat pocket the whole time.

So today I was waiting to check in at e-ticket counter at Logan. I'm stressed out. If you've ever used Logan International Airport on a regular basis you understand why I'm stressed out. The airline's on-line check in hadn't apparently been working all morning so there's a medium sized army of us waiting to use the e-ticket self check in machines. An over crowded check in area at an airport, two weeks after an upgrade in airport security levels, is not the time to show your 6 year old how to use the e-ticket self check in machine. I mean I applaud the initiative, I really do but there's a 3 mile line behind you of people waiting to check in. I, myself, am slowly turning into a ball of rage Incredible Hulk style. Have you no sense of the urgency which is almost visibly pulsing through those of us surrounding you as we look at our watches every 26 seconds and each time mentally recalculate how much time is left to get to our gate?

So I applaud you for the right idea but this is the wrong time. Now, even though, I think you're swell progressive parents and all, I'm deriving twisted pleasure from thinking that at least when your child decides to runaway from home for the first time at the age of 10, she'll get considerably further than the postbox at the end of the road. AND, if shes stumbled across any of my blogs shell probably even be able to clear security in a quick, no nonsense fashion, and be through it before you can reach her.

Baby Radar

What inescapable law of nature is it, do you suppose, that dictates that any child on any flight will cry at ear splitting decibels for almost the entire length of the journey and inevitably stop and fall asleep ten minutes prior to landing? Its the equivalent of a human egg timer for any one using laptops, gameboys and mp3 players on a plane.

1. Uninterrupted wailing for four hours.

2. Absence of screaming for thirty seconds

3. Announcement: At this time, please turn off all portable electronics and return all trays and seats to their up right locked positions.

Do babies have some undiscovered psychic link to air traffic control? Its uncanny.

Monkey Sickness at 35,000 feet

Logan Int’l Airport is rubbish. I’ve been trying to think of a more eloquent, or at the very least more articulate way to explain my gripe but such is my level of exasperation that words fail me. There’s an episode of ‘Coupling’ where Jeff tries to fabricate an ailment/reason why his leg would have been amputated, and after several false starts he finally abandons hope, settling instead for “well, it was just rubbish!” That’s how I feel about Logan at this moment. Once again Logan has crushed my dreams of a hassle free travel. Later I would learn that the delay was caused by the re-organizing its runways and construction that was involved in this procedure…typical really, it was only a matter of time…Boston’s Big Dig has finally invaded air space.

Yesterday, I had arrived at O’Hare in Chicago two hours ahead of my next connecting flight back to Boston. I have now spent an additional 3 hours waiting for this same flight. Needless to say no traveler enjoys delays but my frustration is compounded by the inability of the airline to offer any concrete reason for the several consecutive delays beyond simply stating that the delay is being caused in Boston.

“Is there a storm?”

“No.”

“Torrential rain?”

“No.”

“High winds?”

“No.”

“Freak hail?”

“No.”

“Unexpected fog or low cloud cover?”

“No.”

“So why,” I am forced to ask, “aren’t we on the plane?”

“Flight’s been delayed,” the most unhelpful person on the planet mumbles to me.

Yeah thanks…I rather caught onto that fact after my third trip to Starbucks in as many hours. As the other gate attendant, equally blank faced, looks on I realize that I am not to have an answer as to the reason for my extended stay in the Windy City any time soon. Having checked to see if I can standby on two other flights and for a brief moment even considering paying to fly on a different airline, I finally resign myself that none of us booked on the 3 flights to Beantown are going anytime soon and look for a spare patch of floor to sit on.

Eons later, finally aboard the plane, we are advised of a further delay. Another 30 minutes of my life will be sucked away sitting on the tarmac. Close to alarm caused by the fact that I am seated next to five year old, I try to distract myself thinking of new ways to kill time. The best idea that occurs to me is a quickie in the toilet.  An interesting distraction for the aged 18+ passenger stranded in a holding a pattern, it offers an alternative to reading or flipping through the pages of Skymall. Granted the plane is on the tarmac so it won’t get you into the ‘mile high’ club but I consider the possibility of being the founding member of the ’20 foot high’ club: made up of those adventurous travelers who simply can’t wait until after take off. Alas, I am traveling alone and thoughts of my newly founded club are interrupted by the unapologetic stare of a five year old drilling into the side of my head.

I love children but I have discovered that at 35,000 feet, I tend to entertain Alien-esque thoughts of blowing these monstrous creatures out of the airlock or at the very least stowing them safely in an overhead compartment (careful: they may shift during flight). I’m unsure what it is exactly, but after hundreds of flights, my research suggests that high altitudes seem to trigger a chemical imbalance within the brains of anyone less than four feet tall. As a result, a child at 35,000 feet resembles what can only be loosely described as a monkey on acid in a jungle gym.

My last such "monkey" encounter was a few months ago on a trans-Atlantic flight. While it shames me to say, it is also accurate that after five straight hours of torment, when that air-bourne monkey finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep 30 minutes before landing, and his mother had quietly snuck off to the loo… I nearly stabbed him with my pen.  Having terrorized me for five hours, I felt justified in jabbing him, just one (and only in the leg) now that he was enjoying a blissful kip. It took every ounce of reserve strength in my body to physically restrain myself from such an act of madness. 

I look at the child sitting next to me now. He seems quite reserved and calm. For the first time, I am allowing myself to believe he may be immune H.A.M.S syndrome (High Altitude Monkey Sickness) which plagues other children. He seems, dare I say, well behaved? I am simply overjoyed at my good fortune, even going so far as to share my squirrel sized complimentary nibbles with him.

Finally I decide it is time to take advantage of my luck and settle down to get some work done. I turn on my overhead light and start to spread out my materials, in so far as is possible in an economy airline seat, when suddenly the seat in front of me reclines unexpectedly.  Fine, not great but fine. I can manage. Seconds later a small angelic face appears over the top of the head rest. I try to avoid eye contact and start to count to 15. I’m no fool. I know that if that little face doesn’t disappear within the next 15 seconds at the insistence of its owner (read: parent) that all hope is lost. But the small cherubic face gazes at me intently either oblivious to the orders being issued for it to sit down or simply refusing to disappear back from whence it came. ...5,4,3,2,1.... we make eye contact and my heart sinks. I know I am looking into the eyes of evil, and that by the time we reach 35,000 feet those angelic eyes will morph into the red rimmed wild eyes of a monkey on acid jonesing for its next hit.

It is about this time, that two separate yet equally unfortunate events began to occur. First the forward aft monkey discovered she was in complete control of the seat movement. Forward, back, forward, back, forward, back. Simultaneous to this another monkey several rows behind discovered he could, by standing in his chair, control the sun and he began in earnest to experiment with his new God-like powers over the light switch.

On……….off……….on……..off……..on…..off…..on…off…on..off..on.off.onoffonoffonoffonoffonoffon.

During this warm up performance drinks were served. The monkey beside me seemed to be taking the flurry of activity in stride and made no move to join in as a part of a triple threat. Mental images of him starting in with the air vent were popping up in my head…. WHOOOOOSH….. Shhhhhhhhh…. WHOOOOOSH ….Shhhhhhh…. WHOOOOSH. But thankfully, his immunity held out and he continued to sing quietly to himself with his head in his mothers lap, observing me and apparently curious as to what was causing the panic stricken look on my face. The cause, lost to him, must have been abundantly apparent to the stewardess who arrived with the drinks cart and she must have sensed my desperation.

“Wine? Beer? Something…else?” she politely enquired.

“Yes, both, everything. Please. What have you got?”

Not only was she quick about seeing to me but she refused my money. It must be clear upon my face that I’m close to panic and the food/airline industry are going out of their way to help me hold onto the last strands of sanity. Service like that ought to commended.

And so it went, ‘seat recliner’ and ‘button pusher’ working in tandem until I thought I might vomit from motion sickness or suffer an epileptic seizure brought on by the strobe effect. Forward, on. Back, off, on, forward, off, back, on, off, forward, back until it worked up to a climatic crescendo. And then it stopped, as suddenly as it began.

I don’t recall if hissed warnings issued from parents finally brought it to a halt or if tiny monkey fingers just simply don’t possess the stamina we adults do but at that moment I was left teetering on the brink of the abyss, madness certainly within reach and hysterica mere moments away. In truth, the entire episode may have lasted five minutes or it may have lasted two hours, I couldn’t say but I tend to think, more than anything else that what saved me was the captain’s timely decision to reduce our cruising altitude.

My one crusade in life now is to find the quiet monkey who sat beside me on this flight before I die. He will be found and he will be tested for antibodies to High Altitude Monkey Sickness. One day vaccinations will be available, indeed no, mandatory for any child flying... and people will travel and it will be peaceful. That will be my legacy...