Plane trips

I'm happy to report that I made it to the Windy City and back again. Had you checked in with me on Friday morning, I'm not sure I would have predicted success. I had just pulled out of my apartment complex when the cell phone rang. It was my good friends at American Airlines, letting me know that my flight had been cancelled. I turned the car around and went back into my apartment.

Although they originally rebooked me on an evening flight, the helpful customer service agent (you read right, a helpful customer service agent at an airline) rebooked me on a flight that left 2 hours after my original flight. So, I sat around, ate some lunch, and headed out.

Got to the airport without any problems, checked in, and made it through security without anyone pushing me from behind. I hate that! It takes time to go through security. Deal with it. I think that I manage to get all of the required items out of suitcases and backpacks and into plastic bins with minimal upheaval. I wear shoes that slip on and off. I'm even patient with the infrequent flyers who don't have the routine down, as long as those people are in front of me. I'm not patient with the jackass behind me who decides I'm not going fast enough, or that I only need one plastic bin, and puts his or her plastic bin right up against mine and starts disrobing. I especially hate when they force my bin onto the moving conveyor before I'm done filling it. I can't stand those people - even if it's a little old lady who's never flown before and is completely freaked out in security. Back up, take a breath, and wait until I'm done.

But I digress. I get to the gate and as expected, there's a gate change. I don't mind gate changes because it usually means that my plane approacheth and they need somewhere to put it. We all marched to the next gate and boarded without any glitches.

I sat on the aisle. I prefer the window, but at least I wasn't in the middle. A big guy sat in the middle and complained that he had a first class ticket, but the desk agent uncermoniously bumped him into coach. He explained that he had "over 200,000 miles with the airline and this is how they treat him." I felt like saying, "Buddy, welcome to the real world." But I didn't. Instead, I prayed for the high sign when we could turn on our portable electronic devices so I could drown out the inane conversation between this fellow and the young woman next to him. Something about sales, shipping, outsourcing, Chicago suburbs, commuting, blah, blah, blah. His voice blended in with the airplane hum, but hers could cut through lead. iPod, take me away!

As we approached O'Hare, the pilot came on to let us know that emergency vehicles were assembling to meet our plane. No, we hadn't won some contest and no, we weren't entered in a parade, seems we had "mechanical difficulties." He shared that the difficulties forced us to fly "lower and slower" than usual, which explained why our hour and a half flight was approaching two hours. According to the pilot, he decided not to tell us anything in transit because it was not "an emergency." But, as we approached, something happened that made it an emergency. He assured us that the flight attendants would have more information.

Well, if they had more information, they didn't share it. We all anxiously awaited touchdown, sure that the landing gear would fail and we'd skitter off the runway like a stone skipping across water. Without any information, everyone became an expert. The fellow next to me started explaining the ins and outs of removing the exit doors while the woman in the window seat, who flies all the time, got all excited and said, "Wouldn't it be cool if they had to use the foam?" Yeah, that would be cool, but not as cool as punching her in the face. Then, as you'd expect in these situations, strangers began sharing stories of wind shear, forced landings, smoke smells, and any number of other scary events on flights past. I didn't find it particularly comforting to learn that everyone around me had a story, as if they attracted problems.

In an attempt to drown out the chorus of "I almost died when...", I started thinking, "I wonder how I'll get my suitcase off the plane if we have to slide down the inflatable rafts to get out. I'm sure they won't let me take my suitcase with me. Will they get the luggage and bring it to the terminal? How long will that take?" It's funny where your brain goes when you don't have enough information to make informed judgements.

We landed and all went as it should have. As the pilot predicted, emergency vehicles lined the runway. On this day, we were happy they weren't needed. From there, I got a cab to my friends' house. He was either a new cabbie or a directionally-challenged cabbie, or both, because he had no clue where he was going. He kept calling his friends to guide him to the address.

Luckily, I'd been there before, so I knew we weren't way off course. As we got close, I told him to let me out at the corner, rather than circle the block again. I tried to pay with a credit card and he said he couldn't take the card, even though he assured me I could pay with credit before we left the airport. I said I was $5 short, and he said, "It's close enough. It's your lucky day." And upon reflection, I suppose it was.