Monday, July 19, 2004
My Own Terminal Story
(This is edited from my handwritten journal 7/10/04, so it's a little different.)
When it comes to traveling by air, I avoid stress at all costs. I show up for my flight four, if not five, hours in advance. This method is supposed to account for crowded parking lots, pushy lines, rude employees, and curve-balls like last minute gate changes.
If I'm lucky and I'm at the gate with hours to spare, then it may be the only time I read magazines during the year -- mens' fitness (for the articles, of course!) and personal finance (to check that the experts agree with my portfolio choices, ha ha).
For my working vacation to Colorado last week, I was even more neurotic than usual and arrived at the Birthplace Of Aviation's own International Airport six hours before take off. For this, the airline got me onto an earlier flight for the first leg of the journey -- a tiny 34-seat prop. Ah, and comfy enough to have the row to myself!
But as the stewardess readied to close the door, a passenger near me jumped up, strode forward, said a few words to her, and she let him out. Just like that.
Welcome aboard, we've been cleared for take off to Chicago Midway. The second prop kicked in and the plane began rumbling away from the gate. At the runway, we waited; me, with a jittery feeling. After an hour of sitting, the engines revved and we turned back: We are returning to the gate. All passengers and luggage will disembark for a security check. The cell phones around me snapped open, "There's been a breach in security, I have no idea when I'll get there." Please do not use cellular devices until the captain has notified you that is alright to do so.
Our plane bounced back to the gate just as another plane -- my original flight -- pulled away. Hah! Inside, tempers lined up at the counter. I disappeared with my magazines into a corner.
Then, just out of sight above me, a girl began crying out, and her cries rapidly turned to piercing screams. Suddenly, people were yelling and running from every direction; The girl had fallen at the top of an escalator and had caught her hair in its mechanics. An emergency crew rushed by in neon yellow with a stretcher.
I'm not superstitious, but I noticed I followed a significantly less number reboarding the plane.
When we landed, it was well after sundown and just ahead of a storm that grounded all remaining flights. Not that it mattered, I had long missed my connection. A cross-section of America seethed through the hub. "When it's weather, there is no compensation," barked the blunt corporate representative. I thought she said "conversation" and it might as well have been.
Sullen workers began unfolding cots in rows. One look at that and the crowd gathering, and you betcha I took off for less populated regions. Beyond a shuttered food court and past a couple of emptying gates on a different concourse, I located a corner: Vacant settees, fuzzing monitors with soundless reporters whose lips moved and strangely looked like saints, and a view of the silent rain outside pounding clouds off planes.
I sat. Visions of suspicious passengers, screaming girls and the drone of engines lurked nearby, but a supplicating trio gently moved in. A female began: Caution - the moving walkway is about to end. Then a male joined: Attention - the concourse is now closed. Only ticketed passengers and employees with valid identification may remain. And in the background, their brother: Due to heightened security, unattended baggage will be confiscated by airport police and may be destroyed.
2:49 a.m. in amber light. A zamboni-like machine sweeps the floors. A rogue security guard or straggles of a cleaning crew wander by. A stewardess still with her heels and luggage-with-a-handle clips by with a coffee. I lie on my back facing the popcorn ceiling and tightly clutching that boarding pass, my reason for living.
Caution - the moving walkway is about to end. Attention - the concourse is now closed. Due to heightened security, unattended baggage... Caution... Attention... closed... security... caution...
It was odd, and an interesting start to the vacation...
(I have not seen The Terminal. I hear it stinks, but the reviews don't agree. Now I'm curious.)
When it comes to traveling by air, I avoid stress at all costs. I show up for my flight four, if not five, hours in advance. This method is supposed to account for crowded parking lots, pushy lines, rude employees, and curve-balls like last minute gate changes.
If I'm lucky and I'm at the gate with hours to spare, then it may be the only time I read magazines during the year -- mens' fitness (for the articles, of course!) and personal finance (to check that the experts agree with my portfolio choices, ha ha).
For my working vacation to Colorado last week, I was even more neurotic than usual and arrived at the Birthplace Of Aviation's own International Airport six hours before take off. For this, the airline got me onto an earlier flight for the first leg of the journey -- a tiny 34-seat prop. Ah, and comfy enough to have the row to myself!
But as the stewardess readied to close the door, a passenger near me jumped up, strode forward, said a few words to her, and she let him out. Just like that.
Welcome aboard, we've been cleared for take off to Chicago Midway. The second prop kicked in and the plane began rumbling away from the gate. At the runway, we waited; me, with a jittery feeling. After an hour of sitting, the engines revved and we turned back: We are returning to the gate. All passengers and luggage will disembark for a security check. The cell phones around me snapped open, "There's been a breach in security, I have no idea when I'll get there." Please do not use cellular devices until the captain has notified you that is alright to do so.
Our plane bounced back to the gate just as another plane -- my original flight -- pulled away. Hah! Inside, tempers lined up at the counter. I disappeared with my magazines into a corner.
Then, just out of sight above me, a girl began crying out, and her cries rapidly turned to piercing screams. Suddenly, people were yelling and running from every direction; The girl had fallen at the top of an escalator and had caught her hair in its mechanics. An emergency crew rushed by in neon yellow with a stretcher.
I'm not superstitious, but I noticed I followed a significantly less number reboarding the plane.
When we landed, it was well after sundown and just ahead of a storm that grounded all remaining flights. Not that it mattered, I had long missed my connection. A cross-section of America seethed through the hub. "When it's weather, there is no compensation," barked the blunt corporate representative. I thought she said "conversation" and it might as well have been.
Sullen workers began unfolding cots in rows. One look at that and the crowd gathering, and you betcha I took off for less populated regions. Beyond a shuttered food court and past a couple of emptying gates on a different concourse, I located a corner: Vacant settees, fuzzing monitors with soundless reporters whose lips moved and strangely looked like saints, and a view of the silent rain outside pounding clouds off planes.
I sat. Visions of suspicious passengers, screaming girls and the drone of engines lurked nearby, but a supplicating trio gently moved in. A female began: Caution - the moving walkway is about to end. Then a male joined: Attention - the concourse is now closed. Only ticketed passengers and employees with valid identification may remain. And in the background, their brother: Due to heightened security, unattended baggage will be confiscated by airport police and may be destroyed.
2:49 a.m. in amber light. A zamboni-like machine sweeps the floors. A rogue security guard or straggles of a cleaning crew wander by. A stewardess still with her heels and luggage-with-a-handle clips by with a coffee. I lie on my back facing the popcorn ceiling and tightly clutching that boarding pass, my reason for living.
Caution - the moving walkway is about to end. Attention - the concourse is now closed. Due to heightened security, unattended baggage... Caution... Attention... closed... security... caution...
It was odd, and an interesting start to the vacation...
(I have not seen The Terminal. I hear it stinks, but the reviews don't agree. Now I'm curious.)