Fright Night Flight

Sometimes it can be very healthy to hear about the misfortunes of others, allowing you a new perspective to reflect upon a particularly negative situation that you might be encountering. So today, I want to help you by giving you a little something to think about the next time that you find yourself in an airport and things don’t seem to be going quite as planned. Just remember this story and smile. Things can get a lot worse.

November 29, 2005

Beth and I suck at marital arguments. We don’t fight often, but when we do it is a very slow-burn, drawn-out ordeal. We had been going at it for a couple of days and aside from the occasional flare up, things were generally bottled up and boiling over for both of us. She dropped me off at the airport with one large suitcase full of clothes and Christmas presents, one small backpack with a few basic necessities in it and two SAP calendars packed in large 3 foot by 2 foot flat cardboard packages - presents from Beth for our fathers.

Beth then gives me a sisterly peck on the cheek and drives away.

None of this back-story really matters much except to expose my frame of mind as I started this journey. I was just about as far from “happy camper” as you can possibly get.

9:00 AM, Central European Time (CET): I am two hours early for my flight. I go into the airport and check in the large suitcase. I have to carry the two SAP calendars in large flat cardboard boxes onto the plane because they can not be checked with my other luggage. Perfect. Oh well. It’s a direct flight. I shouldn’t have too much trouble with them.

I then go into the waiting area and sit to relax with my book (Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt…talk about suffering…you gotta read this book!). The plane is supposed to begin boarding at 10:30 and depart at 11:10.

10:30AM CET: Some pseudo-self-important uniformed thugs from US security come in (because the flight was to Washington, DC - Dulles) and rudely clear everyone out of the waiting area so that they can set up an additional security check. No “excuse me”. No “please”. Just simple, unadulterated arrogance. Great for our image abroad.

10:45 AM CET: Having now thoroughly disrupted the waiting process, the arrogant security thugs leave without a word of explanation.

11:00 AM CET: By now, the huddled masses of passengers pretty much know that we’re not going to depart on time and we start asking questions of the few KLM stooges milling around. “Sorry, we don’t know anything at this time.”

11:45 AM CET: The KLM stooges finally call us into the boarding area. We all file past the abandoned post set up by the US security thugs and wonder what the hell is going on. We’re told that an announcement will be made when everyone is in the boarding area.

12:00 PM CET: After they’ve shuffled everyone into this tiny boarding room, packing us in like lemmings, they make an announcement that our plane was struck by lightning on its way into Amsterdam and its electronic control system has been “fried” (their exact words). The flight is cancelled. We’ll have to go to transfer station T8 to get other flights.

12:00:37 PM CET: Even before the announcement is complete, all hell breaks loose. People are running and shoving each other to get out of the tiny boarding area back into the main airport and to transfer station T8. We’re squeezing through the narrow openings that the arrogant US security thugs left blocking our exit.

Do you remember the Seinfeld episode where someone yells “fire!” at a child’s birthday party and George pushes over the old lady trying to save himself? Picture that scene on steroids. With no laugh-track. Strollers were flying, people were falling…it was pandemonium…and the less experienced travelers had no idea why they were even running…but they were running anyhow...like cows to a newly filled corn-feeder.

12:02PM CET: My marathon training pays off. If you have no other reason to get into shape, do it for the outside chance that you will someday have to make a mad dash to Transfer Station T8 to rebook a cancelled flight.

I ran like hell. My small backpack and two SAP calendars in large flat cardboard boxes were flailing around wildly and creating a tremendous amount of aerodynamic drag, but I still managed to beat the overweight and out-of-shape masses to Transfer Station T8. I was second in line.

The only line.

There was one attendant at Transfer Station T8. 276 very angry people were stacked up behind me.

12:10 PM CET: I began working with the one guy behind the counter at Transfer Station T8. I felt a little guilty at having so easily sprinted past the "supersize me" crowd and I made the mistake of trying to be a nice guy. Since I was going to drive to Pittsburgh from Washington Dulles anyhow, I thought that I could leave an additional seat on the Washington flights for someone who really needed to be there.

No clue. The one guy at Transfer Station T8 was completely dumbfounded by the notion that I actually might want to get to Pittsburgh instead of Washington. Any attempt at explaining this apparently bizarre concept was met with furious key strokes on the computer, a confused twist of his face, and a curt clarification that KLM does not fly to Pittsburgh. My best chance of reaching America today was to fly to Toronto, then connect with Air Canada to Washington National Airport. Apparently no other city in America existed to this guy at this point.

Hold on a minute.

“That doesn’t make any sense. You’ll fly me on a different airline to Washington National, which by the way is also a different airport than my original destination, but you won’t fly me on a different airline to Pittsburgh?”

That little comment got me a really nasty look, more furious key strokes on the computer and a non-confirmed booking on a flight to Pittsburgh through Boston.

I glared at the stooge.

He glared back.

He had to help 276 angry people behind me and I knew that he was going to screw me if I took the unconfirmed flight through Boston. I carefully weighed the “what-an-asshole” look on his face and accepted the flight from Washington National via Toronto.

The one printer at Transfer Station T8 was not working, so he shoved a handwritten boarding pass at me and called for the next schmuck in line.

01:30 PM CET: Almost two hours later I walked past Transfer Station T8 on my way to board the KLM flight to Toronto. There were now two stooges behind the desk, and at least 200 weary people from my cancelled flight still waiting in line for transfers.

02:10 PM CET: I board the flight to Toronto, putting the SAP Calendars in the large tattered flat cardboard packages into the overhead bin and settle in for the long first leg of my new flight that overshoots my intended destination by more than 500 miles.

4:20 PM EST (more than 8 hours later): Our plane lands in Toronto. We are told that any passengers destined for Washington National will have to pick up their luggage at customs, then recheck it onto our next flight. Lovely.

5:30 PM EST: The last luggage rolls off the belt from the flight from Amsterdam. My bag (along with about 30 other peoples) is not on the belt. Some folks are starting to ask questions. Tempers are flaring. I turn and sprint for the lost luggage counter for KLM.

One KLM guy is manning the counter but again my marathon training pays off - I am first in line. He sees the crowd converging on him and pounds furiously on the keyboard of his computer, but finally admits that he has no idea where mine, nor anybody else’s luggage from the flight ended up. I fill out a form for lost luggage, leaving my parents address in Ligonier as the destination – more than 200 miles from the airport.

The 29 people behind me have been anxiously listening in on my transaction and are obviously in similar situations. They are missing connections and growing really angry that only one guy is here to help them. It was a pathetic display of humanity when they started to verbally abuse the guy behind the counter. He calls airport security. I don’t wait around for the “show”. I take my lost luggage receipt, my small backpack, and my two SAP Calendars in large tattered flat cardboard packages and head for the nearest airport bar.

7:30 PM EST: After two gigantic Sam Adams and a plateful of fish-n-chips I head for my gate to catch the 8:35 PM flight to Washington.

8:30 PM EST: The plane has not yet boarded. There has been a flight stoppage into Washington National due to weather.

8:50 PM EST: The airport in Washington is reopened and we board our flight. The captain tells us that we’ll have a “few bumps” climbing out of Toronto and that they are expecting some “mild” turbulence for the duration.

9:15 PM EST – 10:40 PM EST: It is pure hell. As soon as the wheels leave the ground the plane starts to pitch and wobble. High cross winds are wreaking havoc and the plane maintains a constant shudder with the turbulence. I’ve done a lot of flying in mild to moderate turbulence and it doesn’t really bother me too much, but the comments and whimpering from some of the other passengers raises the tension level in the plane.

About 25 minutes into the bumpy flight, the captain comes onto the intercom and says that we will be crossing a mass of cold air and with the hot air in the jet stream it will probably cause the flight to get a little bit bumpy.

All the color drains from the face of the woman sitting across from me and her eyes are as big as a two Euro coin. She is not dealing well with the bumps that we are already experiencing and I can tell that she will be easily broken by anything more.

2 minutes later, a tremor shudders through the plane as it is shoved violently sideways. The “impact” is strong enough that a book flies off of my tray table and lands under the seat across the isle. Several people scream. The plane feels like it drops a few hundred feet, leaving a sickening rollercoaster pit in my stomach. More screaming.

Looking out the window makes it worse. The blinking lights on the wings are shrouded in a deep, deep fog. There is no context or reference point.

The plane skips and shudders through another burst of heavy shock waves. More screams and another woman behind me begins to pray loudly, rocking in her seat like some lost autistic child.

For the next hour the plane continues plowing through wave after wave of severe turbulence. The screaming, crying and praying persist for the duration of the flight. The woman across the isle from me is mumbling to herself in a dazed state of shock. The woman behind me is loudly promising all sorts of whacky things to her god if he’ll just let the plane land safely. I understand logically that turbulence doesn’t bring down airplanes, but the whole atmosphere is starting to wear on me and I find myself tensing up with every pitch and weave of the 737.

Through it all, the pilot is so damned calm. As we start our approach into Washington, the turbulence is as heavy as ever. He comes across the intercom and says that he’s sorry that he couldn’t find any smooth air, but we’re almost there and he’ll just have to make a right turn here and then drop into the airport. We’re about 40 miles out and already flying at less than 10,000 feet.

The thought of a right turn in this gale makes even me a little nervous. When a violent shudder goes through the plane as we’re tilted at what feels like a 45 degree angle, I grab my armrests, pull down sharply on my seatbelt and take a deep calming breath.

We level out, but the air stays viciously frothy as we descend toward the airport.

Only one other flight has made me this nervous. That was a trip out of Seattle right before a hurricane hit. I am still convinced that that plane almost never made it into the air after a gale caught us on takeoff and nearly slammed the wing into the runway….but that is a different story. Here we are on the final approach after a hellish flight…almost there. I can see the Washington Monument now. We’re only 1000 feet off the ground, still shaking and shimmying our way toward a safe landing.

500 feet.

The pilot suddenly jerks the plane at a sickening angle to the right. It feels like a freefall and people are again screaming and crying. 3 or 4 seconds later there is an equally sickening jerk of the plane to the left. Some sort of last minute adjustment. We level out and connect with the runway about 10 seconds later. It feels like a very, very close call.

“Welcome to Washington National Airport” comes a happy voice from the cockpit. He is greeted by loud cheering and clapping from the passengers.

Saturday, December 10, 2005. 10:45 AM CET: 11 days after leaving it with a ticket agent in Amsterdam, my bag arrives via “lost luggage” courier at our home in Haarlem. The goat cheese that was a Christmas present for my sister has “ripened” nicely.