Airport Shenanigans

I am not one to get angry. So long as there is no intended slight, as in someone commiting an act of douchebaggery, I remain rather calm in the face of adverse situations. There is no need, so far as I’m concerned, for me to waste my rage on random world events that seemingly conspire to create outrageous situations for me to blunder through. My attitude in situations where the absurdity stacks up higher and higher is generally an exasperated “REALLY?” or “SERIOUSLY?” sandwiched by chuckling. Sometimes my language is a bit more colorful, but you get the point.

This travel story, though, ranks up in the top three of the most ridiculous things that has ever happened to me in my nineteen years of living.

My plane was due to leave Des Moines International Airport at 10:30 AM on Saturday, January 11th. Following with the usual order of airport traditions, I set my alarm to wake up at 7 so I could be ready by 7:30 and be at the airport shortly after 8:30, therefore allowing ample time for the zealous molestation of my privacy that TSO (or is it A?) guards would likely engage in.

However, in the deep sleep I got in my home-bed (I’d been in mexico for the last 7 days, waking up with a crick in my neck every other day), I either failed to wake-up to my alarm or shut it off before I was conscious enough to realize the importance of rolling my ass out of bed. Maybe I  failed to slide the bar far enough for the alarm to work in because of my fatigue the night before. Why an alarm would be so damn complicated is beyond me, but the point is that I woke up, for whatever reason, at 7:32 (the red digits are burnt into my memory) to my mom wondering if I was awake.

DAMMIT, I thought as I raced to clothe myself, practice morning hygiene, and slather lotion on my hands.  I was prepared to go by 7:45 and we leapt onto the road, which had been blizzarded the night before, and made our way to Des Moines, an hour from my house.

After an hour and fifteen minutes of snow-road navigation, we arrived at the airport. Typically when I travel I like to just have a carry-on, to avoid losing anything and for simplicity’s sake. However, due to the holidays and my birthday on the 18th, I had quite a few presents to mule back to St. Louis. I’d packed these the night prior into a large shipping box my mother had found. My brother, who had traveled with us, helped me by carrying the box while I carried my bag and baby-top (an ASUS laptop he had gifted me). After a mix up with the check-in machines (wrong airline), we waited in line behind a Chinese family who was (I would find out later) moving to Florida. It was now 9:15 and, though I do not get angry, I am terribly impatient. The family checked about 7 boxes, which took a whole of five torturous minutes, and then the attendant happily took my box and slapped it onto a conveyor belt behind her. So long, my precious! I didn’t have much trust that hours later that box would come out of another conveyor belt.

I made my way through security unhindered, though I did get to practice my quick-disrobing skills in order to prove to them that I wasn’t carrying explosives. As the x-rays radiated through my bag, coat, belt, jacket, scarf, laptop, books, and shoes, I practiced my quick-dressing skills and subsequently moved on to the gate.

We boarded the plane. Our captain came on the intercom and told us that Chicago had initiated a ground-freeze for planes and wasn’t allowing us to take-off. He said we’d wait for a bit and hope they’d take it back.

45 minutes later, he got on the intercom and told us the good news. Chicago had rescinded their ground-freeze. Bad news though, he said, they won’t be accepting our plan for another two hours.

So we deplaned.

Then began the chaotic changing of connecting flights for the entire passenger list, as we were told that we would be delayed for 2 hours because the Chicago airport decided it wasn’t accepting planes for a while. I was content by playing Diablo II on my laptop so I took the further delay in stride. It would lend me some time to kill more demons, anyways.

I stood in line to get my flights rearranged and found myself next to the Chinese mother who had checked so many boxes a few hours before. After smiling as disarmingly as I could, which apparently is a natural expression for me, I chatted with her about her moving to Florida and explained the flight situation to her. Her english was easily understandable, but she didn’t understand some of the overhead announcements and didn’t know the plane vocabulary I’d deem necessary to not have a rough time at an airport. I helped her daughter open a bottle of orange juice and aided her in getting her flight plans changed up so she could get to where she was going. We’d developed quite the rapport at this point in time, and chatted further while the plane was again situated for departure. After boarding yet again, around 2:30PM, we completed the 45 minute flight to Chicago.

On the flight I met an Indian guy heading to south India to have a family vacation. He was terribly friendly and a computer programmer operating out of Des Moines. We had an extensive conversation about college and life by the time the plane landed and we parted ways. I didn’t see either the Indian programmer or the Chinese mother of three again.

Arriving in the O’Hare airport at 4:20, I rushed across three terminals to get to my second flight which would be departing at 4:45. Much to my “luck,” the flight was delayed until 6:45, apparently because they didn’t have any flight attendants. To think that a flight would be scheduled when no attendants were available seemed absurdly inappropriate, considering the amount of money I was paying to be carted through the air. Granted, I took a connecting flight to cut the cost by $500, but plane rides are still damn expensive.

I ate at Chili’s and moved on to the waiting area outside the gate, where I ran across an older Chinese guy who was trying to reach his family in Pennsylvania by pay phone. Much to his dismay, the damn phones wouldn’t work. I haven’t used a pay phone for years, and have little knowledge of their workings, so I donated the man some extra quarters to see if maybe the machine simply costed more than $1. After that failed, the man apologized, said thanks, and left.

The plane was then delayed another thirty minutes, for reasons unknown. We began boarding at 6:45 and I was on the plane and well-situated by 7:00. As we waited for take-off, I listened to the banter between a Chinese college student and her friend who sandwiched me. This wouldn’t have been entirely unpleasant, had I been able to understand what they were saying. However, with my chinese skills lacking, I sat between them and attempted to read while they giggled like stereotypical asian school girls.

After waiting until 7:45, and growing ever more curious as to what the hell was going on, the pilot of the plane came on the intercom and said something to this effect.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to apologize but I have currently worked past the hours I am legally able to today, and so we’re going to have to find another pilot to take you to St. Louis.”

Many “WHAT THE FUCK” ’s erupted from behind me, and a large man with a striped shirt rummaged through the overhead bins to find some pills to consume.

The asian girls were rather confused, so I explained to them the ridiculous story that was unfolding.

Venus, the chinese schoolgirl on my left, offered her cell-phone games to me for some entertainment. We played super-mario, a racing game, and a game involving missiles and worms. We discussed her major in finance and her home in Shanghai, and then the captain came on the intercom yet again. Only it wasn’t the captain. He had escaped. It was the first lieutenant of the plane.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m sorry but we’ve just been informed that the available pilot has landed and will be making his way over here shortly. However, he just came in from Mexico and so he has to go through customs, which will take around 45 minutes. We’ll have to de-ice the plan after he gets back, which will take around twenty minutes. If you wish to deplane and sit in the gate area you are welcome to.”

The batteries on my lap top had ran out six hours prior, and I decided it was time for me to charge the damn thing. Considering we’d be sitting for another hour, or maybe seventeen, I got up with my charger and laptop and excused myself from the middle seat of row 29.

I approached the male flight attendant. He looked like he would usually be rather chipper but was radiating waves of agitation at this point. The people on the plane had apparently decided to stop being kind.

“Excuse me, sir?” I poked him in the shoulder. He looked at me with the weakest smile I’ve ever seen and averted his eyes. “Could I deplane to charge my laptop?” I held up the charger and baby-top as I said this.

“Oh! Yeah, of course!” He was apparently relieved. “Is that all your stuff?”

“Well, no.” I stated, rather obviously. Who the hell would only wear a t-shirt in freezing weather and carry a laptop as their only possession?

The flight attendant shook his head side to side and frowned. “Well, you can’t go off the plane unless you take your stuff with you.” He explained, sounding a little angry.

“What? Why?” I held up the charger and baby top for emphasis. Meanwhile he looked at me like a teacher scolding a kindergartner who called fingers toes.

“You could get off the plane and there would be something in your bag. It’s a matter of security.” He said.

I said “OKAY” and went back to my seat. What kind of stupid terrorist plot would I have to dream-up where the success of my plan depended on a pilot not realizing he was unable to work, and the next pilot in line flying in from mexico and having to go through customs for 45 minutes before he got on the plane? What kind of twisted chromosome depraved logic was that flight attendant following?

Venus and I started up our banter and, an eternity later, the new pilot arrived. At last, we were off!

45 minutes later we arrived in St. Louis. Finally reaching my destination at 11:30 at night, roughly seven hours after I was scheduled to, I was in quite a hurry to get my damn box and get the hell out of the airport. I hurried to baggage claim where, ten minutes later, my box emerged on the conveyor belt…with a beautiful fist-sized hole in the top of it.

REALLY?!

I picked up the forty pound box and made my way to the taxi station. A driver flagged me down, my hands being busy and all, and I situated my packages in the back of the van. Before I was able to escape without any further blunders, the taxi pulled up near a man in a uniform with a clipboard who began raging through the window. Sitting in the back I only understood a bit of the conversation, but the fellow said “AND HE SAID HE WAS GOING TO SLIT MY THROAT. I’VE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH THAT MAN. YOU ARE A WITNESS AND WILL HAVE TO TELL THE COMMISSIONER ABOUT THIS.”

My driver nodded and mumbled some accented english and we were off, to my dormitory home at washu.

Goddamn, I thought…

really?

With a sitting around to flying time ratio of approximately 14:1, this was by far the least efficient trip I’ve ever been on. I plan on contacting the airlines tomorrow to see if I can get some free flights out of the deal.

ABSURD.