Living In Hell
- Living in Hell
I hate flying.
Honestly, I hate flying. Ever since 9/11, air travelers have been subjected to myriad abuses by the airlines … all of them.
Take the first action: no more meals. Not that they were ever tasty, but the excitement of seeing what culinary disaster the air line chefs (I use that loosely, as calling them a “Line Cook” would be doing line cooks a great disservice) could produce was … well … something to look forward to. Eggs and mystery meat, canned fruit with some preservative/flavor enhancer spewed on it … maybe a stale cookie … it was, at least, something that helped ease the pain of the cost of the ticket.
So … no more gruel, and if you want something other than a dozen and half peanuts, a bag of diabetes-inducing salty pretzels, or … if you are so lucky … a small package of air cookies (no other word comes to mind to describe these strange chemical bars), you have to shovel out $5-$10 for a “Snack Box,” which is something not very desirable. I think I will stay with the peanuts.
The second move was to cancel many flights, as the airlines wanted to fill every seat, and not fly half or partly empty. No more open seats, where you could sprawl out and relax while traveling the friendly skies … another misnomer.
Following on the heels of fewer flight options was overbooking, which is the problem I am faced with today, but more on this abusing business practice later.
Advance screening techniques, better know as the Naked Scanner, were implemented, blasting poor air travelers with low — but now considered dangerous — millirads of radiation. This practice will be ending this summer, as the new studies (why they were not vetted BEFORE we were forced to succumb to this radiation bombardment is a question no one has answered) have shown there is danger in this practice. No shit? And here I thought it was to help protect us. Huh … silly me.
And then along comes the notorious and disgusting bag fees, which add anywhere from $25 to several hundred dollars to get luggage from one place to another. And to toss kerosene onto the burn, how about dropping the 75# limit to 50# … or we get hosed with another usury charge. And what did this cause? For starters, every idiot now wants to bring all of his or her luggage on board, which means that all the overhead space is getting filled with suitcases, preventing the latter passengers from being able to put a handbag, computer, camera gear, or small packages in the overhead. Well, do what I do when I come on board and find the space designated over my seat filled with the suitcases of some idiot sitting five or ten rows away: I call down the flight attendent and ask him or her to gate check the bag. Really pisses off the clown when he finds out at the end of the flight.
Is it any wonder the airlines are now more profitable than before?
The last few years have seen a rash of pilots freaking out when the plane encounters any slight turbulence, initiating the seat belt sign if someone farts too loudly in First Class. All this because a lady on a jet a few years back ignored the seat belt sign when there was real turbulence, was tossed from her seat, broke her neck, and was killed … all her own fault, but like the current lunacy of trying to ban certain guns, which have virtually no record in mass murders, the airlines are now worried about being sued for someone’s stupidity. We are, indeed, a litigious society these days.
And what is with the idea that 80+°F is OK for the Coach cabin? It’s winter, and someone up in First Class whines that it is cold. Never mind she had the flight attendent hang her coat up before the flight. Now she wants the heater turned on. And the rest of us sitting back in Coach have to suffer, what with the extremely poor and damn near inhumane practice of recirculating the Coach air. Take the flight I was on from Salt Lake to Dallas two days ago. It was a 2-hour flight, and everything was going great for the first hour and a half. Then all of sudden someone decided we needed to take our clothes off, as the heat started blasted from above the seats, through the overhead vents and adjustable vents. Within minutes, my thermometer on my computer bag passed the 82°F mark, and everyone around me was trying to shut off their vents.
The flight attendent finally came back after several call buttons were pushed and when asked to turn the damn heat down, she said it was freezing up in First Class. Never mind that twenty passengers were about to storm the First Cabin to find who the idiot was who was cold. It was damn near a mutiny before we could get someone to turn the heat off. Exiting the plane, as the Captain thanked me for flying Delta, I eased a few words out about remedial training on how to manage the environmental controls on the jet. He gave me that deer in the headlights look as I turned and walked up the jetway.
Which brings me to this weekend’s traveling fiasco and the common practice of overbooking.
Every year for some 17 years I have flown to Kalamazoo, Michigan, to attend the Traditional Bowhunters EXPO. This year was epic. Left home at 5 a.m. on Thursday with a schedule to make Kalamazoo by 3:30 p.m., which allowed time to get a car, check into the motel, take a shower, and hook up with friends for dinner.
Wasn’t going to happen. And what happened would provide enough fodder to write a novel about the evilness of air travel, incompetent airport personal, wicked gate clerks, and horrendous scalping by hoteliers.
Wheels up out of Boise was scheduled for 6:30 a.m. There had been some freezing rain, so the plane needed to be de-iced. No problem, there was only one other plane ahead of us and it was already half done. Well, after about 35 minutes the Captain comes on the squawk box to say that the ground personell had run out of de-icing fluid and had to go back and refill the rig. No idea where the other unit was. Another 30 minutes goes by and same Captain does the redux on the squawk box, telling us that the refilling of the de-icing unit took longer than expected, so not the ground crew had to go back and redo the de-ice on the other aircraft before they could de-ice us.
As the minutes ticked by, it became quite evident that we were in the midst of people who were illy prepared to do the job. After almost three hours of sitting on the plane at the gate, we finally pulled back and spent another 45 minutes getting de-iced.
Wheels up at last, heading to Salt Lake, when not 125 miles from Boise said Captain makes another voice appearance … this time to tell us we must divert because Salt Lake decided to shut down the airport after a Frontier pilot took an off ramp too fast and slid off the runway.
Three more hours on the ground in Twin Falls, Idaho, where out every window were myriad black angus starring back at us as we were sequestered on the plane until Salt Lake reopened and we refueled (I know; 125 miles from Boise and we need fuel?). As the time ticked by, my connection in Salt Lake came and went, and the jet left, but we were still not authorized to take off and land. Go figure.
Arrived in Salt Lake City at about the same time I was supposed to touch down in Kalamazoo, half way across the country. My phone started beeping with updated flight information, and what it said made me go non-linear: rebooked the following morning, some 18 hours later! NO, WE CANNOT GET YOU OUT TODAY! SORRY! WE HAVE OVERBOOKED ALL FLIGHTS!
If you have ever been stranded in an airport for any length of time, you know how irritating and maddening it is, so I tried to find a hotel/motel/friend where I could crash.
It just so happened that there was huge outdoor sports show firing off in Salt Lake this week, as well as the Sundance Festival, so every hotel/motel in town was booked solid. I asked to be on a waiting list for the nearest Holiday Inn, a place that normally rents for $89 a night. After several hours, I get a call from the motel saying they had a room open up due to a cancelation and if I still wanted it.
I said yes.
She said it will be $259.
You don’t want to know what I said after that, but I could not spend 16 hours in an airport with 10,000 delayed and pissed off travelers. It will be expensed out.
Next morning, the new itinerary was a hop through Dallas, then Detroit, where the flight to Kalamazoo was delayed three times until it was becoming a real threat that another night in an airport may happen. Finally, though, the flight was secured and I arrived at the hotel at midnight. Lots of friends were already there, and quite drunk, so … well … Crown Royal was dinner, with a special thanks and toast to my dear friends Amy and Greg Darling for rounding up the people and refreshments.
Two days of show, a wild night out to sushi with the gang, and a quiet dinner last night, I was hoping this morning everything would run smooth. Flight out of Kalamazoo at 8:05 a.m., arriving Boise about 1:30 p.m., just in time to pick up Molly and head to the ranch.
I was fueling up the rental car when the damn phone starts chirping with updates from Delta: flight cancelled, next four flights overbooked, next available flight in 11 hours.
So much for getting home today, as it appears that even if I can get out of here I’ll be trapped in Detroit all night.
Anyone who has followed my trials and tribulations in the air industry knows I have a dark pall following my every step. I have lost more luggage than is feasibly possible, been delayed for days is exotic places, and ended up once in Namibia with all my luggage being passed around in Amsterdam. You would think that after all the troubles I have had to endure while flying I would be numb to by now. Not so. I am still seething as I pound out the keys on computer right now.
With any luck, I may still be home by midnight; however, I have not illusions that this fancy thought will be dashed once again by an industry that seems hell bent on making my air travel as painful as possible.
So, I stare out the window of a lonely terminal, staring through the thick fog, wondering what wonderful things will happen next, and try to make light of such lunacy.
Teej, stranded in Kalamazoo.