Fright Or Flight

When I was a kid, I had a balsa wood toy plane. It came as a simple kit to be assembled, and it worked by turning the propeller around and around with your finger, which twisted up a big rubber band. When you let go, the rubber band unwound, which spun the propeller, and it took off. I’m sure it was supposed to teach me basic aerodynamic principles, but what it actually taught me was the importance of reading labels. “For outdoor use” was no joke. I, of course, tried it inside. It took off beautifully, bounced off a wall, and came right for me. It flew up against my head and as the rubber band quickly unwound, it twisted my hair into a giant jumble. It hurt physically because it was pulling my hair, and it hurt emotionally because I had a toy plane stuck to the side of my head like some kind of haute couture hat. After trying desperately but unsuccessfully to get it out myself, I had to suck it up and ask my mom for help. It was only through Mom magic that I didn’t have to walk around with a buzz cut on part of my head, But still, it was pitiful.

Image this as a fascinator.

In another childhood incident - and forgive me, I’m hazy on the exact details - a pilot in the military broke up with his wife and was despondent. He took a plane without permission and was flying over her house. At the time, I didn’t know that backstory. I just knew I was walking home from my elementary school after classes let out and suddenly I was being repeatedly buzzed by a fighter jet flying very low. Scared, I ran. I mean I ran like I’ve never run before or since. Adrenaline is amazing stuff. Safely at home, Mom was comforting me when there was a knock at the door. It was a boy who lived a few doors down and was several grades above me at school. He was holding quite a bit of stuff. I wasn’t aware of having dropped everything I’d been carrying until he said to my Mom, “Mrs. Chambers, I tried to catch up with Barbie to tell her everything was OK, but she ran so fast, I couldn’t get to her! But I figured I could at least pick up all the things she dropped.” Apparently, I left an actual trail.

All of this is to say I feel as though this was the universe’s way of foreshadowing that I was not going to have good luck with planes. And indeed, I have not had good luck with planes.

The first time I flew was to attend my uncle’s wedding in Washington DC. I was still very young, so I don’t recall if our flight was canceled or if we got bumped, but I do know we didn’t get on the commercial flight we were supposed to take. We missed the rehearsal dinner entirely. I didn’t mind at all because I got to have ice cream, and I mean only ice cream, for dinner at the airport, and then fly in a small plane that seated maybe 6 or 8 people which let me see into the cockpit and watch and hear the pilots. When we finally arrived that night, someone had saved some food from the dinner for us, but not silverware, so we ate with toothpicks. Basically, I had a fantastic day. My parents had an entirely different experience however, as you can well imagine. In addition to having to figure out a new flight and missing what was to them a significant dinner, the hand-drawn map given to them to navigate from the airport to the venue had some errors (like we should have gone straight, but the map showed taking a 90-degree turn because that part of the map was drawn too close to the edge of the paper.) Dad was not really all that appreciative of my pointing out from the backseat that we’d already been in this exact spot before; trapped, lost, circling the city.

But the point is, my first-ever flight was canceled. Since then, I’ve had so many things go wrong. Here is a wildly incomplete list, in no particular order:

I’ve been hurtling down the runway for takeoff only to have the brakes slammed on and the plane returned to the gate for maintenance. After spending the day at the airport, they were unable to fix it and I didn’t get to go on that weekend trip.

I’ve been on board ready for takeoff when my sister noticed the pilots get up and leave. Eventually, we all got kicked off the plane too. Frustrating, but I didn’t punch the ticket agent like I saw another passenger do.

I experienced turbulence so severe, the poor woman across the aisle from me spilled her beverage all over herself. Bad news – she was drinking tomato juice. Good news – if she was sprayed by a skunk that day she was good to go.

I’ve had the flight crew realize they didn’t have enough food for everyone onboard, serve the people in front of us, make eye contact with my sister and I, skip us, then serve the people behind us. Being deprived of airplane food isn’t really that bad, but the snub was harsh.

I’ve been at the gate ready to board and heard the flight crew paged repeatedly because they were just…MISSING. The flight was delayed in half-hour increments for 16 hours (not a typo – sixteen). At midnight, they finally announced they’d found a new plane and crew, but on the other side of the large airport, so we all had to rush to the new location before that crew timed out. A young boy who had to be woken up for this trek cried out, “Why is this happening to us?!” Although I was glad to be on the move, that left me stranded in the Chicago airport with no place to stay in the middle of the night. When I finally made my connecting flight (which was also delayed) and arrived at the hotel a full day late, the woman at the check-in desk looked me up and down and said “You do not look fresh.”

I’ve arrived at the gate to my connecting flight on time, only to discover I’d missed the plane because the captain decided to leave early. Not to avoid bad weather or anything, it was just “his prerogative.”

I’ve returned from a trip, walked out to the airport parking lot to get in my car, and thought it had been stolen because my car was not there. Then I realized I was standing on brand-new pavement. Yup, they moved all the cars with tow trucks so they could repave. No signs or notices about it at all. I had to fan out while hitting the key remote, hoping the headlight flash and door beep would help me find where they put my car.

I’ve been pulled off a flight last minute because they needed my seat for an off-duty crew member, and stood at the window watching the plane leave without me…with my luggage on board.

I’ve arrived to a canceled flight, had them come up with a plan to send me by taxi, which they would arrange and pay for, to a nearby airport to catch a plane there that I could just make if I hurried. They forgot to call the cab.

Sometimes the trouble starts early. Three times in the last few years, just days after purchasing a ticket, the airline informed me they no longer offer that flight. Case in point, in December, I booked a flight with a leg from Newark to Ithaca. Exactly 2 weeks later they announced they were no longer flying between Newark and Ithaca. I was automatically rebooked from Newark to Washington DC to Ithaca. The flight was scheduled to arrive at Newark at 4:59 PM, and the next one was to depart Newark at 4:59 PM. Knowing there were 2 chances of that working out – slim and none – I called and asked to have my flying experience end at Newark. I can rent a car from there and drive home faster than flying through DC. I was told I’d be due a $200 credit for that, but the first leg of the flight to Newark was sold out. I reminded him I already had a ticket and seat assignment for that flight that I wanted to keep. I just wanted to cancel the last 2 flights. He informed me that was not possible. My mind blown, I called back and the new representative I spoke to was able to process that request, but informed me I was not eligible for any credit. Mind blown again, I called back a third time and fought tooth and nail for a credit, which I did finally get.

But nothing compares to the time I was flying home from JFK and thunderstorms were along the travel path. We’d already taxied away from the gate when the pilots announced we were going to stay on the ground until the storm passed. And so I sat on that plane, on the tarmac, for 5 hours. In the summer. The air conditioning wasn’t on, and we weren’t allowed to use the bathroom. Several hours in, I mentioned I’d recently watched Die Hard and noted that even the terrorists let their captives use the bathroom. I don’t know if that’s what did it, but they did eventually let us use the restroom which I guess also allowed them to send a truck out to us to give us room-temperature Snapple. At midnight, the pilots gave up and we taxied back towards the gate. The passenger terminal was technically closed, so there was no one to run the jetway, so we had to walk outside from the plane to the door to the airport. That was unfortunate because the thunderstorm was now directly over us and we got drenched.

The airport was mostly deserted, with just one ticket agent as far as the eye could see. We all walked over to his counter. Instead of addressing everyone as a group about the big picture plan, he had us wait in a single file line. The further back people were, the angrier they were by the time they got to him. Eventually, someone was so mean to him, he ripped off his clip-on bow tie, threw it on the floor, shouted “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this! I quit” and stormed off. It was a long time before a new employee was brave enough to come out to help us. I was rebooked on a flight the next morning and wound up sleeping on the floor of JFK. Or tried to sleep anyway; you know, even when the passenger terminal is officially closed, those announcements about not parking in the yellow zone or carrying packages from strangers never stop. We were given food vouchers, but again, nothing was open. At about 3:00 AM, the agent who quit had remorse and redeemed himself by coming around and passing out pillows to all of us. The cleaning crew came in at about 5:00 AM and they seemed genuinely angry to see us on the floor they needed to vacuum. Like a bunch of us got together and decided it would be fun to break into the airport and stay there overnight.

By that point, there was nothing more in the world that I wanted than to brush my teeth. We were told we couldn’t get our bags when we came in at midnight because the luggage handlers had gone home, but we were told where the luggage holding area was, so I snuck in and stole my own suitcase. And I’d do it again. Many of us were rebooked on the same flight and when it finally took off, we cheered. But then there was fog over Ithaca, and after circling for an hour we were rerouted to an airport an hour away. While we waited for them to charter a bus to take us all back to the Ithaca airport, one of the passengers looked at our plane, which had the word Express painted on it. He said, “I do not think that word means what they think it means.”

By the way, I’ll be flying later this week. It’s up to you if you want to wish me good luck or wish for a new story.