DK Photo: Flying to the Moon. 5:36 a.m. 71° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. More luna pictures here.
Flying AA1330 on A321S. Need Another Day.
September 11, 2019 by 28 Comments
First flight out of Dallas. 6:36 a.m. on-time departure.
Foot traffic unusually light at DFW, as are the lines at Security and at the Gate.
Ah yes, September 11. And, the morning of September 11th.
Pilot gets on the intercom, and announces that we’re flying on an Airbus A321S. 168,000 pounds, 450 mph at cruising altitude.
Plane unusually quiet. More seats empty than usual for this flight.
Pilot dims the lights in the cabin.
Cabin is silent as the plane taxis up to the runway.
It’s dark in the cabin, my seat mate snoozes. Me? Restless. Churning.
Flying AA 1011. With Chop.
April 9, 2019 by 119 Comments
1 hour out from DFW (Dallas) on flight back to NY. 37,000 feet up.
Heavy chop. Heavy.
Seat belt alert pops up.
Cabin is quiet.
Pilot comes on the intercom: “Flight attendants, please take your seats.” Never a good sign.
I close the lid on my iPad. I note that others around me put down their gadgets.
Captain is back on the intercom: “Apologize folks. Bumpy ride here. I checked with air traffic control. Heavy turbulence in both directions, at all levels. We’re over Nashville. Expect this to clear in 8 minutes. Please take your seats.”
8 minutes. Not: We expect this to end soon. Or: We hope this ends soon. Or: We think it will end soon.
8 minutes. God, I Love technology.
I look up the aisle. Left wing drops and then right side counters to stabilize. Back, forth, up, down. Replay. Over and over. How does this Bird not blow apart in pieces? Why is your head going there? How is that line of thinking helpful at all?
Pilot takes the plane up. And accelerates. Plane groans as it grinds against the headwinds. Oh I agree Captain. Too rough here. Let’s get closer to God for help.
Gratitude surges, for living, and for life. Just get me home. I promise I’ll be better. At every thing. A bloody saint. I’ll be nice to Sawsan, and Dale and Kiki. Maybe even throw out a compliment or two and pretend like I mean it.
I grab the loose end of the seat belt and pull it snug around my belly. I’m short of breath. Could I be hyperventilating here? I need to lose 10 pounds. I clutch my iPad with both hands. Can’t possibly damage this device. Hitting another passenger does come to mind, secondary concern behind damage to the iPad.
We’re 10 minutes in. He said 8 minutes!
We’re 14 minutes in. Chop continues to be heavy. But he said 8 minutes! [Read more…]
Flying over I-40 N. With Roy Orbison.
August 23, 2018 by 35 Comments
I’m in the same seat, 24E Exit.
On the same plane, an Airbus A321.
On the same airline.
On the same flight.
Returning home from same city, AA1263 DFW to LGA.
To my left, across the aisle, and up one row, is same lavatory.
And here they come.
Wife, I’m guessing, is guiding him. They are 10 rows up, and shuffling down the aisle. He’s tall, 6’4″ est. Middle aged, gray hair. Collared short sleeved shirt. Khaki pants.
Thick, black framed Roy Orbison glasses.
Blind.
The two of them make their way down the aisle. I set my iPad down to watch. She’s smiling. He’s grinning. Not a care in the world these two. And, You? A billion interconnected miracles happening every second for you to be you, and for you to see this moment.
My index finger reaches for the volume button on my iPad to turn off the device. You can see the button. You can see the text on the screen. You can see your bag under the seat. You can see the zipper on the bag as you open your bag. You can see the compartment where you wish to set it in. You can see the two of them approaching. [Read more…]
Flying to Michigan. With best-laid plans.
July 27, 2018 by 47 Comments
You made a tough call. You considered the various alternatives and consequences, and it turned out badly. Accept it, and move on, right? No. You b*tch at your stupidity, you stew in it, you try to find others to blame, and then you grudgingly lurch into resignation, slide into acceptance, and then drop into peace. But not until you proceed through the steps, one by one by one.
It’s a White Plains, NY to Detroit to Northern Michigan flight plan. A major storm sits on top of Detroit. Our pilot circles around the perimeter hoping it clears. It doesn’t. We divert to Cleveland to re-fuel.
We all sit on the plane as it re-fuels, the pilot looking to get back up and to Detroit.
The scheduled layover in Detroit was short. I fumble through my Delta app to learn that I will miss my connection.
I then proceed to make a critical (and flawed) decision. I ask to get off the plane to see if I can catch a Cleveland to Minneapolis to Northern Michigan flight and arrive late, but on the same day. (I learn that this is a major deal for security reasons as my luggage is in the cargo hold and cannot be retrieved – and, separating passenger from luggage is a no-no.)
They let me off. (After taking a photo of my ID, my boarding pass and my luggage receipt.) They make the same offer to the rest of the passengers. Noted, no one else follows me. The attendant explains: “Sir, now you know that you will not have your luggage and it will be shipped on the original flight path arriving tomorrow.” I shrug, smile: “No problem.”
It’s 2:30 pm. The flight to Minneapolis is scheduled at 6pm, then connecting to Michigan at 8:30 pm.
The storm moves on from Detroit, and guess what? It slides on over and camps right on the top of Cleveland. And it sits, and sits, and sits. Torrential downpours, lightening strikes, and rumors of funnel clouds.
It’s 8:00 pm. With delay after delay after delay.
It’s 9:00 pm and we take-off.
I find a Delta Service Center in Minneapolis to assist in re-booking my flight the next day. The airport is emptying out. I find a McDonald’s (Open 24 Hours!) and wolf down three Cheeseburgers, the highlight of my day. Is there anything more satisfying than a McDonald’s cheeseburger on a empty stomach? My fingers tremble as I unwrap the yellow wax paper.
I find a cab. He’s annoyed. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting in this cab line for a long ride?” [Read more…]
Flying over I-40 S. With Lav #2.
July 21, 2018 by 27 Comments
Who’s the guy in the photo? No idea. Loved the shot, it goes up.
Does he resemble him? No. Hair color? No. Glasses? Hmmm, black frames, but not the polaroids. Body frame? Close. So what’s the connection? For some inexplicable reason, Tattoo runs up shouting “Ze plane! Ze plane!” to announce the arrival of a new set of guests to Fantasy Island. Not “ze plane” – “ze cane Boss“, “ze cane.”
I’ve been in here, this same room, a hundred times, maybe more. Always early morning, and an hour before boarding. The first flight from LaGuardia to Dallas.
Yes, we’re back talking about Lavs, after Lav #1 earlier in the week, and Lav Doors a while back. It’s the Men’s restroom at the American Airlines Admirals Club. Here, there are three certainties when you enter: (1) the smell of clean, before hundreds soil the floor with urine and slop the countertops with water and soap suds, (2) Musak pumping Chill music through the ceiling speakers and (3) Chill, like Arctic air, that triggers goose bumps on your skin…get dancing!
It’s July, 82° F, and he’s wearing a blue windbreaker. Navy blue slacks. A baseball cap. 5’4″ tops, if stretched out from his stoop. Glasses, black frames; lenses…coke bottles. Age? ~ mid 80’s.
He’s standing at the urinal to my left. His cane, hard wood, weathered, has a silver wrapper for a handle. It leans against the wall, waiting. [Read more…]
Flying over I-40 N. With Lav #1.
July 18, 2018 by 34 Comments
I just didn’t know. Or perhaps I didn’t care to know. Or maybe it’s just not possible to know. How could you possibly know?
And then there’s a moment or two, when you cross that line, from passively aware or passively engaged to actually feeling. And perhaps you only feel when the suffering is so high, yours or others, that only just then do you begin to give-a-sh*t.
I’m seated in an exit row on an Airbus A3215, 1 seat back and across from the airplane lavatory: ~40” long x 34” wide x 75″ inches tall. Inches.
A Mother walks down the aisle. She grabs the back of one seat, and then the next, and the next, to keep her balance. The plane tips left and right in soft turbulence. She makes her way down the aisle.
There are two hands gripping the tops of her shoulders. She’s slight, maybe 5’2”, and stooped under the weight of the hands. The hands are owned by a strapping 14-year old who towers over her. Mildly handicapped?
She enters the restroom first, her Son doesn’t let go. She lifts one hand off her shoulder and turns to him. She slides her arms under his arms and begins to tug him in. Won’t fit. Not possible. Two full size humans in 40 x 34 x 75.
There’s silence, five minutes or so, which is interrupted by a toilet flush. She exits, pulling him out with her arms under his. She strains to extract him from the box, her face red, filled with rage.
She extracts him and pauses to catch her breath. Her Son claws after her shoulders to grab on as the plane tips. They head back up the aisle. She settles him in.
She comes hurrying back down the aisle. And into the Lav.
It’s quiet again, now for 5-7 minutes. Then a toilet flush.
She exits. Her right hand dries her eyes, now red and swollen. She catches my glance, offers a forced smile, turns, and heads back to her seat.
You just don’t know. No chance. Not close.
Notes:
- Photograph: gillphoto
- Commuting Series
Flying. Gate C-12. Nashville.
October 29, 2015 by 42 Comments
2:15 pm flight.
Nashville, TN to LGA.
Gate C-12. This would not be mistaken for Gate 4 in Albuquerque, a share with over 500,000 views. No Sir. No such Magic.
Day 4 of a grueling road trip.
A thin cushioned seat at the Gate.
Followed by an announcement that the flight would be delayed 80 minutes.
It’s a wonderful life!
I walk.
Country girls with their long hair, tall boots, and skinny blue jeans.
A live performer strums his guitar, his love lost, his heart break. Patrons sit at the bar watching CNN and nurse their microbrews.
The intoxicating pull of a Quiznos Swiss Turkey Club, Hot fries from Burger King and Tall Caramel Macchiato from Starbucks – “Freshly steamed milk with vanilla-flavored syrup is marked with espresso and topped with caramel drizzle for an oh-so-sweet finish.”
But I resist. I walk away from all of this.
And I walk.
[Read more…]
Flying over I-95 S. With Germanwings Flight 9525.
April 1, 2015 by 33 Comments
Flight departure: 6:59am. From LGA to points South.
A restless night. I’m tossing. Turning. Weary.
Up before the alarm. I shower, shave, dress, zip up suitcase.
And, bolt out the door at 4:30 am.
Good Morning.
This is Captain Greg with First Officer John.
We’ve reached our cruising altitude at 38,000 feet
We’re expecting a smooth flight this morning.
The German newspaper Bild reports that 1.5 hours of audio was obtained from the black box and shows the plane reaching a cruising altitude of 38,000 at 10:27 am local time.
The morning sun beams through the window. The sky is marked with thin wispy clouds, but otherwise steely blue. Another spectacular day on Planet Earth.
The recordings picked up every detail of the co-pilot’s actions – suggesting that he was conscious and alert. “We could hear him breathing. He breathed normally.”¹
The stewardess doles out water and soft drinks. My noise canceling headphones are feeding in Jackson Browne. Sky Blue and Black. I’m in an aisle seat 14D. The aisle is clear. My line of sight to the cockpit door is clear. The door is reinforced with a four-inch steel plate. Gray, cool, steel.
The Germanwings Flight 9525 blackbox audio indicates the captain attempted to break down his flight’s cockpit door with an ax as the Airbus A320 accelerated into the French Alps.²
Flying over I-95 N. Sometimes, you gotta go.
March 18, 2015 by 44 Comments
We are lifting off on flight #2395 heading back north.
I sneak a last peak at my smartphone, a text message from home:
It’s windy (very) here. Expect a bumpy descent into NY.
Lamott’s Help, Thanks, Wow: Three Essential Prayers comes to mind. Help! Thanks! Wow! Thank YOU for the soothing send-off. My fingers are on the keys to fire back a rocket. I decide against it. What incredible restraint you have shown. And yet, so unlike you. I sit and ponder whether I’ve finally matured in Middle Age. Shake my head. An aberration from the mean. I’ll get the final word when I get home.
And, it’s choppy.
The beverage cart is rolled cautiously down the aisle. It is now a “beverage” cart. There are no longer any complimentary snacks on two and half hour flights. It is noted that the seats still recline, and they are complimentary as part of the ticket purchase.
I ask for a Diet Coke. It will dissolve a nail and here you are fueling your tank. She offers me the entire can. Just drink half. Do it. I slug it back, all of it, like a thirsty sailor. There are no napkins, those cost extra, so I wipe the spillage with my shirt sleeve. Class.
And, it’s choppy.
As the plane lurches up and down and left and right, the soda sloshes around. The Oxidation process is well under way, my intestines groan. In my youth, my bowels could swell up like a dirigible and I would feel no discomfort – a light balloon drifting in a summer breeze. No longer. A whiff of dew and he’s a boogie-eyed meerkat on look out for the toilet.
And, it’s choppy.
Expect a bumpy descent into NY. We’re still one and half hours away.
There are core foundational principles with air travel. On the top of this list: “Avoid the Lavatory.” Unless you are ready to explode, don’t do it. Why do they call it a lavatory? Lavatory. It sounds like Def: A location where medical research is being conducted. But it is def: A room with a toilet and sink. AND LAYERS OF JUMPIN’ BACTERIA. The best outcome here is avoidance. Period. There is no close second.
And, it’s choppy. [Read more…]
Flight Log: The Final Frontier
February 4, 2014 by 39 Comments
My journey from NYC westward continues. A five hour non-stop flight has morphed into a surreal 2 day experience with stops at JFK (with 2 plane changes), LGA (with full airport evacuation), Detroit and Chicago. This is the last leg of the journey. (Prior posts for this trip are referenced below along with the post dedication.)
The 45 minute hop from Detroit to Chicago was quiet. No chop. A Quiet cabin. Light snow was falling in Chicago carpeting the catering trucks and the luggage carriers. A slender, stoop-shouldered man guided the aircraft in. His hoodie was covered in snow. His fluorescent batons offered a soft illumination. It’s feeling a lot like Christmas Eve. In February.
The City that works. The Machinery was humming this evening. Plows. Sand trucks. Baggage handlers. Crew. De-icers coating the aircraft in a lemon colored bath. A beautiful orchestra. All to get us somewhere safely. I’m feeling gratitude.
My Son was born here. In Chicago. I burroughed deep and back to find a moment. Susan is pulling him on a red sled to greet me as I walk home from the train station returning from work. His chubby cheeks are red. His hair is matted and wet from layers of clothing. His smile…a lighthouse beacon. His arms reaching up. “Dada! Dada!” I reach down to grab him. I hold him close. I can feel his warm breath on my neck as he nuzzles. I miss my son often. And especially when I’m tired. Like now. When the aching just won’t stop.
Cheryl found me eerily calm during this journey. I had many hours to contemplate why. She no longer covered my business and left about the time I started blogging. This hobby. This community. This labor of love. This stringing of words together and having someone actually care to read it. A miracle drug. It stills and softens the mind. It injects peace where none formerly existed. Albert Camus said “In order to understand the world, one has to turn away from it on occasion.” This. THIS allows me to turn away from the world.
My finger lingers over the Publish button. The cabin is dark with the exception of a handful of us hunched over our screens. 35,000 feet in the air, my wireless icon is flashing. I’m wired.
It’s a miracle. All of it.
Me. Family. Our dog. Friends. You, yes you, reading this. This iPad. My Eye sight. This plane flying. Pizza. (I’m famished.)
All of it.
Too big to figure out.
Too important not to find a small corner of it to call my own.
My finger hovers over the Publish button again. Proof read it again? Is it too much? Is it over the top? Is it good enough?
Friend, you’re asking yourself the wrong question. The only question that matters to help you decide if you should hit Publish:
Is it a miracle?
(PUBLISH)
Same trip – related posts:
- Just another manic Monday
- Star Log: Flight DL2282. The Epilogue.
- Flight Log DL1131: Y.C.M.T.S.U.
- Flight Log: Motor City USA
This post is dedicated to Shara who worked tirelessly behind the scenes to book and re-book flights, get seat assignments, and keep me moving forward to my destination at all hours of the day and night. Thank you Shara.
Flight Log: MotorCity USA
February 4, 2014 by 38 Comments
My journey from NYC westward continues. A five hour non-stop flight has morphed into a surreal 2 day experience with stops at JFK (with 2 plane changes), LGA (with full airport evacuation) and now Detroit. There are still two legs to go however let’s camp out in Detroit for a moment. (Prior posts for this trip are referenced below.)
Heading to MotorCity USA.
We are descending on a gentle, clockwise turn into Detroit Metro. The pilot touches the giant bird down – a 30 ton sparrow gliding into her feathered nest.
I catch myself humming a tune from one of Detroit’s finest: Seger.
I think I’m going to Katmandu,
That’s really, really where I’m going to.
If i ever get out of here,
That’s what I’m gonna do.
K-k-k-k-k-Katmandu…
I step out of the jetway at Detroit Metro Airport. It’s gleaming. Lined with wine bars, a Spa, a Suishi Bar and a Online Café. My lungs are pulling me to the aromatic L’Occitane En Provence body soaps drifting onto the walkway. I’m traipsing through a meadow in the South of France.
I’ve lolly gagged over to Gate 38. My flight leaves from Gate 30. Plenty of time.
Then. I stop.
I’m in the Delta Terminal. I missed my connection from Detroit due to delays out of NYC. Shara re-booked me on American Airlines: DET – CHI – West. Yes, another painful connection via Chicago but we’re advancing.
I’m in the wrong terminal. My heart is racing. This “miss” is on me.
I need to take a shuttle bus. The Blue Shuttle to the North Terminal.
I glance at my watch. 5:00 pm. Flight departure is 5:40. Still no shuttle. I’m rattled. Sweet Jesus.
I arrive at the North Terminal. 5:20. Agent states that the final gate call has been made. “You need to hurry.” I get through security and run to the gate. A-30. Last gate in the wing down a long corridor. Natch.
5 passengers are left to board. And 3 others hover by the desk…Wait List passengers hoping for no-shows.
I hand the Agent my boarding pass and my ID.
Agent: Sir, you are now booked on the next flight.
DK: Can you please check again?
Agent: Sir, you are on 8 pm flight. It’s right here on your boarding pass.
DK: Ma’am, I have a reservation on the 5:40 pm flight to Chicago connecting to another flight heading West at 8pm. The boarding pass is wrong. Please check again.
Agent: Sir, did you check in late at the ticket counter? Your boarding pass has you ticketed for the next flight. These other Wait List passengers are now entitled to a seat because you arrived late at the gate.
DK: (PAUSE) Ma’am, I don’t want to be difficult. Can you please do me a favor? It will only take you a minute. Check my flight connection out of Chicago. If I miss this flight, I miss my connecting flight. (I lean forward and whisper. She leans in.) Then, would you kindly check my mileage status and my lifetime miles on your fine airline? Then, I might suggest that you can make an informed decision whether or not to bump me in favor of these other passengers that didn’t have a confirmed seat.
The Waiting area passengers have been watching the show with interest. So what’s it going to be? The Rules or the pushy Mustachio Slav from NY.
The gate area is Silent but for the Agent tapping on her keyboard.
Agent: Mr. Kanigan, you’ll be seated in Seat 11c. Thank you for flying American.
Off we go to Chi-Town.
Same trip – related posts:
Flight Log DL1131: Y.C.M.T.S.U.
February 4, 2014 by 39 Comments
My journey from NYC to the West continues. A five hour flight is now rolling into 2 days and I’m still on the ground in New York. If you missed yesterday’s excitement, the posts can be found here: Just another manic Monday and here: Star Log: Flight DL2282. The Epilogue.
And, the journey continues:
- 10:00 am. Back in car this morning. This time to LaGuardia Airport. Gorgeous day. One would have no idea of the pandemonium caused by Mother Nature yesterday. (Feeling Good!)
- 10:50 am. Made good time. Head for Kiosk to get boarding pass. Message blinking telling me to see agent. (Nope. Not going to ruin my day today. Just a minor technicality)
- 11:25 am. Still with ticket agent. She’s struggling to issue a boarding pass for second leg of the trip. After 20 minutes of working it, she looks up sheepishly, grins, and says: “Why don’t you just have it issued at the gate in Detroit?” I stare at her. She can read me. “He looks like he’s on the edge. He’s smiling but he’s teetering. And any Man with the confidence to be wearing that grey streaky mustache, isn’t likely to be sold ‘The-get-your-boarding-pass-in-Detroit-B.S.-Story’ I’m selling.” Yet, The Man walks away shaking his head and mumbling. Agent breathes deeply…having avoided a sure fire confrontation with some crazy Slav looking mustachio.
- 11:35 am. I’m through security without incident with a vice grip on my driver’s license, watch and wallet. No bloody mishaps today.
- 12:00 pm. First call for boarding.
- 12:05 pm. Announcement blares on intercom. “All passengers, crew and employees must immediately evacuate the building. All passengers, crew, and employees must evacuate the building!” The reason: hit this link.
- 12:45 pm. Thousands rush back into the terminal and file through security check-in (again).
- 1:30 pm. Boarded flight. Plane 1/2 empty. Announcement explaining the delay: waiting for two ticketed passengers (tools?) to make it back through security after the evacuation. (This is NY people. This was a sputtering flare. Get on the damn aircraft.)
- 1:45 pm. We push back from gate
- 2:00 pm. Captain: “We have a problem with our Nose gear. We need to get a tow back to the gate to have our maintenance crew check it out. I’m sorry folks but we can’t fly without this fix.” (Nose gear is malfunctioning! Really? WTF. NFW. You need Nose Gear right? I then grab my nose and wonder if I need my nose hair clipped.)
- 2:15 pm. Waiting for tow. (2 flights out West from Detroit. I’ve missed my scheduled connection. Closing in on “timing out” of Plan B.)
- 2:30 pm. Jet engines powered down. And we sit. (You’re testing me People. You’re testing me.)
Note to Self: DK, they’re thinkin’ you’ve moved to fiction writing because you can’t make this sh*t up. (*Y.C.M.T.S.U.)
Related Posts:
Star Log: Flight DL2282. The Epilogue.
February 3, 2014 by 38 Comments
I arrived at JFK at 6:00 am this morning for an 8am departure. The details of the day can be found in Part 1 of Just Another Manic Monday.
And now as Paul Harvey would say, here is the rest of the story:
*4:00 pm. We are standing in queue for de-icing. Captain announces that he’ll give this another hour and a half before he makes a final call. He says he can’t give an estimate on departure time. (Eyebrows up. Crowd is wary but still believing.)
* 4:05 pm. We sit. 8 hours and counting and still not in the air. We sit. And we wait. (Twisting in our seats. Cannot get comfortable. Where’s the line between claustrophobia and panic?)
* 4:30 pm. Captain: “I’m very sorry to have to tell you this however we are timed out. FAA regulations require us to go back to the gate as the crew cannot be on duty for more than 15 hours.” (The cabin is silent. You are timed out my a**! Calm before shock sets in. He did NOT just say that!)
* 5:30 pm. Captain: “Sorry folks. All the gates are taken and we need an aircraft to vacate a gate.” (Crowd rumbling now. Insurrection on the cusp. Passengers ignoring calls to sit down while plane is in active taxi-way.)
* 5:50 pm. Passenger: “Do you think you can give these kids some cookies, or crackers, or chips or something. They are famished.” (One offering of water and juice for the entire painful show. Are we racing to the bottom in airline client experience here?)
* 6:00 pm. Captain: “Folks we’re heading to the gate now.” (What a coinkidinky! I arrived at JFK at 6 am. It’s now 6 pm. 12 hours. But who the hell is counting! Round trip without leaving the ground! The plane is supersonic. I didn’t even know that I went West and back again.)
* 6:30 pm. De-plane. The sorry looking pack is herded to the Service Desk to re-book and sort out luggage. (And, yet another interminable wait. I note the small basket at the front of the line: 15 bags of pretzels, 10 2-packs of short bread cookies and 3 Cokes – – all this goodness for 150 passengers. This is what they call a Peace Offering?)
* 7:00 pm. “Sir, it could take anywhere from 1 to 4 hours to find your luggage, or we can forward your luggage on to your destination.” (Is this a Saturday Night Live skit? 4 hours?! Am I on candid camera? They are waiting for me to crack. I refuse to crack. I will not crack. I will not crack. I will not crack. I stare at the Customer Service Rep who has taken her share of beatings this evening. I step feebly away from the desk mumbling “1 to 4 hours”.)
* 7:50 pm. Bag rolls down the conveyor. (I’m looking at it like it’s an oasis and I’m parched. Could it really be my bag? There is LIGHT.)
* 9:30 pm. Home! Susan and Dog give the King wide berth. Hostility has a pungent smell and they want no part of it.
* Epilogue. Bonus! Tomorrow we get to try it all over again…
Image Credit
Just another manic Monday
February 3, 2014 by 43 Comments
* 4:30 am. Wake before alarm. Heading West for conference.
* 5:05 am. Get in car. Large fluffy flakes coating car. (Beautiful morning!)
* 6:00 am. Arrive at JFK Airport in good time. (All good)
* 6:10 am. I discover I’m at wrong terminal. (Tension building)
* 6:15 am. Check luggage. Hit with $25 bag fee. (Annoyed)
* 6:20 am. Get scolded by TSA agent for not removing my belt. (Rattled. Hope not to get frisked.)
* 6:23 am. Gather luggage. Put on shoes. Prep for long walk to right terminal. (DK is at his best when he’s in motion.)
* 6:24 am. Something is off. I turn back to empty bins. Find my driver’s license sitting all alone in bin. (Heart hammering. OMG.)
* 6:25 am. Hoofing it to other terminal. (You could have lost your license pal. Karma is at your back. It’s going to be a great day!)
* 7:20 am. Board on time. (Good omen!)
* 7:40 am. Two empty seats in my row in full flight. (Jackpot!)
* 7:45 am. Spot good friend cramped in row behind me. Invite her to my empty row. (Cheryl joins “Mr. Jackpot!”)
* 8:45 am. 45 minutes after planned departure, Captain signals a delay due to heavy snow accumulation and icy conditions. He asks us to be patient. (No prob Captaino!)
* 9:45 am. Captain indicates queue is long. He needs our continued patience.
* 10:45 am. Captain comes on intercom to say de-icing fluid leaked into cockpit and galley and needs to be cleaned up before departure. (Passengers groan)
* 11:30 am. Captain asks us to de-plane. (Madness ensues as everyone bull rushes out)
* Noon. We are asked to head to Gate B-41 to a new plane via a shuttle ride and 1 mile walk. (DK is back in motion. Stretch out the hams and butt cheeks – could those plane seats be any more comfortable!?!)
* 1:30 pm. We board another plane. (Enthusiasm rains! Westward Ho!)
* 2:30 pm. Captain explains that water lines are malfunctioning. (Like no toilet flushes on 5 hour flight).
* 3:00 pm. Catering delivers bottled water. Captain speaks: “There will be bottled water and handi-wipes to do your business.” (He did NOT just say that!)
* 3:30 pm. Stewardess calls for seat backs and table trays up.
* 3:45 pm. Our luggage is being loaded from the other plane. (Optimism re-fires again)
* 4:00 pm. We are standing in queue for de-icing. Captain announces that he’ll give this another hour and a half before he makes a final call. He says he can’t give an estimate on departure time. (Eyebrows up. Crowd is wary but still believing.)
* 4:05 pm. We sit. 8 hours and counting and still not in the air. We sit. And we wait.
Image Credit
Just a few more seconds…that’s all I need.
October 21, 2012 by 51 Comments
He arrived late Thursday night.
He looked taller. He looked like he had filled out. It had been less than 60 days. An illusion.
We couldn’t make it to Family Weekend in September. I could sense disappointment. His roommates’ parents showed. They graciously invited him to dinner.
It was a short 4-day week at school this weekend. A trip home before Thanksgiving wasn’t in the budget. Many of his new mates on the floor had planned to head home as they lived within a few hours drive. He didn’t want to make the call. He didn’t have to say it. And he didn’t. He wanted (needed) to come home, even if it was a brief weekend stay. And he could catch up with his sister who was home on break.
Dad and Son engaged in their customary near-monosyllabic dialogue. [Read more…]
Live & Learn 