Most people know I don’t enjoy flying. I should actually stop saying that, as I have flown so much in the last two years that it increasingly feels like a really long, boring bus ride: not exciting, but at least not anxiety provoking. I know things are bad when I can compare and contrast business class amenities between four different airlines, and every week when I talk through my schedule with my assistant, we always have to review my next trip.
As noted, though, most of my flights have been boring – smooth flights (have those wing tips changed turbulence or what?) with little or no delays – if anything I would say I was averaging earlier arrivals. But then that finally changed…
My flight back from my last trip to San Francisco was changed at the last minute due to a schedule rearrangement to visit my doctors at home from Thursday night to Friday night. So instead of flying British Airways via London, I had to switch to United via Frankfurt to get off the standby list and have an actual seat on the plane. So after a week of workshops and meetings, I get to the airport to find two coworkers on the same flight as me – other coworkers are sprinkled on the Swiss Air and Lufthansa flights via Zurich and Munich respectively. Unfortunately, one was having trouble as he had been rescheduled on the flight to California due to ground fog in Munich, and his switching between Lufthansa and United had created a brain freeze in the booking system – he had a reservation on our United flight, but a ticket and no seat on the Lufthansa flight. As flight time was approaching, Mark, the other coworker, and I wished him the best and left him behind so we could get in our comfy, reserved seats and head home.
I am fine with United with the exception of one plane configuration on the 777 – the seats are just Laz-Y-Boy recliners, and the movies are on a reel somewhere so you don’t get to pick to start when you want (talk about the stone ages...). So low and behold, Mark and I get on the airplane, and it is the dreaded 777 – I gag at sight of the seats, and begin the dread of the 11 hour flight… But I am not so easily disheartened – I am exhausted from the week, and pop an Ativan before takeoff to just get drowsy in time to sleep by the time we are at altitude until we are virtually there (I have actually averaged 6-8 hours of sleep, leaving enough time from breakfast just before arriving). We are also dismayed that we don’t see our coworker – doesn’t look like they sorted out his reservation mess, at least not to get on our flight…
Well, I popped the Ativan as we were taxing onto the runway, which turned out to be about 10 minutes too soon, as the pilot turned us around and apologized – mechanical difficulty and we would have to go back to the gate to fix it. So half drowsy, I am talking to Mark about what a drag this is while he is texting others on the Lufthansa flight that they are boarding and doing just fine. Assuming all will be fine, I lay down (as much as I can in the Laz-Y-Boy) and decide to start my nap as I am sure this repair will be fast.
An hour and a half (and a good nap) later, they still can’t fix the issue, and ask us all to disembark and wait in the gate lounge to see if they can fix it or change our plane. By this time it is 9 pm Friday night – Mark is still texting the others who say there are empty seats on their plane, but with the confounded rules that you have to travel with your luggage, options for us to ask to be transferred are nil – besides, this will only take a few more minutes to fix, no?
By 10 pm they finally call it – this flight is grounded for the night, and we need to go back to check-in to get vouchers for hotels and dinner. That is right – dinner, as by now we have been served no food (and the flight was supposed to depart at 7 pm…). Mark is cursing , and I am trying to accept the situation. I ask him, as we wait in line for our vouchers, if we should try and switch to the Lufthansa flight the next afternoon. Our flight is rescheduled to 1:45, about the same time, so Mark says: why bother – you would have to figure out how to get your luggage (all you get to go to your hotel is your carry-on – it is rumored to be another two hours at the airport if you want your bags), and besides, what else could go wrong…
I couldn’t believe he said it.
I told him, anything else that went wrong was now his fault…
So we get to the hotel at about 11:30 – bar closed, no food – so I drag myself (Mark is done and goes straight to bed) down the road to the Hyatt where the sports bar is still full and work my way through a cold beer and a plate of wings and just accept my exhaustion and the situation.
After a moderate night’s sleep I awake to Mark’s text – he is downtown buying clothes to wear, and will meet me at the airport. I had decided that my existing clothes will have to do, and slowly shower and get myself down to the airport.
So here we are again, deja-vu, same passengers in the same clothes (with the exception of Mark) getting on the plane to go to Frankfurt. To my delight the plane was still a 777 but a new modern configuration – coming into the 21st century with lie-flat seats and movies on demand. Maybe this situation wasn’t so bad after all??
So rumors started that this plane was the one left behind from a flight to London the night before that was grounded due to problems with the toilet. We actually had an additional 10 minute wait at the gate due to fussing with the toilets, but I was already thick into watching “Date Night” , so a delay at this point wasn’t really going to phase me – I had my lie-flat seat and movies… Mark is even in a relatively good mood sitting next to me in his new clothes, and quickly we are up in the sky and on our way to home.
About an hour into the flight I get up to use the restroom, and low and behold I go to flush the toilet, and it does not work. What a drag, I think, and get the attendant who puts an OUT OF ORDER sign on the toilet. Mark congratulates me on breaking it, and we think nothing of it until…
A half hour later the pilot comes on the intercom – I imagine this was not a message he was thrilled to deliver – to announce that the toilet sensors were broken, thinking the tank was full when it actually was empty, and that due to FAA regulations we would have to land in Chicago to change planes.
This is not possible.
This can’t be happening - AGAIN. I turn to Mark to tell him this is his fault, as he say "what could go wrong?". He tells me it is my fault, as I broke the toilet.
So now we fly another 1 ½ to Chicago, which gives people way too much time to think about options and what to do – I am convinced at this point that I might never make it home. So the attendants come on the intercom not once, but twice, to let us know that another plane is waiting for us in Chicago, and if ANYONE stops to ask about their specific situation – transfers in Frankfurt, etc. – we will not board the plane on time and the flight crew will expire, leaving us stuck in Chicago for another night. Pity the poor person not smart enough to get the message – I think the rest of us would have lynched him/her on the spot.
So upon arriving in Chicago we literally got off the plane and got on a plane at the next gate – everyone was flawless in their execution and speed – I would say it took less than 30 minutes, and no one screwed up. Humorously, the flight crew had changed (so the expiry threats were probably to get us all to behave) to the crew intended for the plane the next day to Brazil – so they were chipper and helpful with us on-the-verge-of-a nervous-breakdown passengers. Jokes went around that the next issue would land us in Iceland…
To my dismay we were back on a Laz-Y-Boy 777, but my plan now was pure sleep. As the seats switched around I lost Mark to three rows back, and the lady sitting next to me was commenting that this was the third time this had happened to her (being stuck overnight) - so then I told her that this was her fault, as an airline-trouble-magnet…
We all slept and we all arrived. Though a few more incidents caused a little heartburn (didn’t actually have boarding passes for the flight to Basel, etc.) Mark and I willed our way through to arrive in Basel late Sunday – with the only real salt in the wound was the gorgeous weather we had missed all weekend.
Better luck next time…
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