Atlas Shrugs Again

"She was seeing the brand of pain and fear on the faces of people, and the look of evasion that refuses to know it–they seemed to be going through the motions of some enormous pretense, acting out a ritual to ward off reality, letting the earth remain unseen and their lives unlived, in dread of something namelessly forbidden–yet the forbidden was the simple act of looking at the nature of their pain and questioning their duty to bear it."

Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged, Part 3, Ch. 2

If certainty is a value you treasure you won’t find any in the airlines these days. Each boarding pass is a lottery ticket to purgatory which was originally defined as the condition or process of purification or temporary punishment in which, it is believed, the souls of those who die in a state of grace are made ready for Heaven. In the modern airline vernacular, “purgatory has come to refer also to a wide range of conceptions of suffering short of everlasting damnation, and is used, in a non-specific sense, to mean any place or condition of suffering or torment, especially one that is temporary”. It is the term that most closely represents my overall experience with air travel. Seldom can I find a singular experience in the airline industry which is not embedded with some degree of punishment. I have forgone writing much about the torture of flying because it is so common place that the subject has become mundane and boring. However it now appears that the insensitive practice of treating your customers like compliant cattle being readied for slaughter has now been adopted as corporate policy. Just because almost an entire industry embraces predatory practices with little regard to public opinion does not make it right or proper and it’s time for me to take another stand.

In the past as a business traveler I was able to board a flight on the day of a meeting with a high degree of certainty (over 95%) that I would arrive on time. This concept has been so eroded that I can no longer guarantee my timely arrival to such a degree that I’m required to fly the day before just to be able to absorb the two, three, four hours of unexplained delays. We have now come close to accepting the fact not only do I have to invest a day of the front end to make a meeting, but I need to plan for not making it back the same day. It is absurd that a single two hour meeting requires a three day time commitment. Is it any wonder why our economy is dysfunctional, when I need to cover three times the labor for the same result? This has created a severe backlash from businesses and institutions that I work for where the trend is to hire local bozos that have half the capability and knowledge, all because they can’t afford to carry the cost of the airline industry’s incompetence. In end result of this trend is an acceptance of inferior substandard services and projects which as a recent client expressed to me as “it’s good to have local faces so when they screw up I can scream at them in person.” How can you create jobs if the system to transport them can’t get you there?

Not one to be shy of naming names, my current rant is leveled clearly at US Airlines. If you are disturbed enough to have read my earlier post “Philadelphia Tarpits”, yes you can shout it again “Let me guess!!!!!! US Air”. If you have four flights schedule from a small regional airport and only one ends up boarding with passengers, what does that tell you about your commitment to the business traveler. Flight one scrubbed because of mechanical issues as a pilot and a co-pilot jump into the cockpit, taxi out to the runaway and take off. Okay I can appreciate that your primary maintenance hub may not be at a small regional airport. Flight two never shows up because of weather delays on a day with the national radar totally devoid of a single cloud, begins to beg the question. Flight three just disappears from the board without explanation as some secret hand signal alerts the counter agents to book new arrivals on the next flight. I interpret the silent treatment as a reason that is so totally unacceptable as to create a riot at the gate. For example deciding that we have two half full planes going to the same location, unfortunately at different scheduled times, but wouldn’t it be neat to delay half our customers so we can shove their fat asses into a single flight and save a lot of money in the process.

Why do I feel like I’m living the modern version of Ann Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, where the great business minds slowly disappeared to create a secret alternative society? In our version the brilliant business minds have been replaced with computer algorithms that run purgatory or at least the random sentence of punishment you will receive by participating in the system. Look at the poor gate agents who have been demoted from a position of customer service that possessed a degree of power to change your future into a bunch of gate monkeys that now jump over the counter to help you push buttons on a computer screen with little apparent effectiveness of changing anything. The position has been degraded into a concept of misery loves company. In other words neither you nor the gate agents have any control over the quality of you experience, but its eases your pain greatly to know that you’re suffering is temporal, but this poor bastard’s punishment is eternal. It’s like the old freak show in the traveling circus, gate agents are so pitiful that you are compelled to feel empathy for them but so abhorrent that you need to avert your eyes out of fear you might become one. I can’t conceive a more inhumane and brutal existence than being a powerless gate monkey.

As I apply the concept of purgatory to my surroundings here at Charlotte International airport the veil of confusion is removed and clarity reveals itself. Besides being a depressing place to exist in, no matter how many overpriced commercial chain stores they sprinkle around, you begin to understand that there are three types of species that inhabit airports. There are those that don’t realize that they are in purgatory because there is some mistaken belief that they are getting a free pass out of this place. You can pick them out as they glide quickly light of foot running to the next connection. Their temperament is elevated and buoyant, with shoulders erect with purpose and possibility. For the most part this condition is fleeting as most are converted to the second species, those that understand they are in purgatory just unable to gage the full extent of punishment to be levied.

These individuals are solitary, angry and disgruntled sitting staring mindlessly at their worthless life as it passes before their eyes. They possess no equity or hope that salvation will come soon regardless of the endless penance and alms they offer the gods. Eventually they begin to aggregate into small groups in the confines of airport bars that poorly imitate gathering places in the real world that they would be enjoying only if they weren’t trapped in the airport. The complete lack of authenticity of these airport constructs actually deepens the complete and utter despair of being unjustly imprisoned by some flawed system. Assembled discretely along the long polished corridors like seasoned pickpockets in Rome these businesses exist by fleecing travelers heading to hell with eight dollar beers and twelve dollar unrecognizable fried delights or cheap grades of beef make into burgers, a legal and acceptable form of financial extortion.

The final species of the airport are those condemned to relive this horrific experience day after day as gate monkeys, shop attendants, security guards and now the unbelievably demeaning servitude of airport bathroom attendant. I won’t even go into my reasoning for that; it’s the equivalent of social waterboarding. I didn’t even know that there was that low a rung in hell. This species is more like ecosystem predators that while handed a life sentence of hard time, they sort of run the prison yard. They are famously hardened and insensitive, recognizable by the spiffy navy polyester uniforms they adorn, the equivalent of airport gang colors. Just try to jack with one of the gals behind the desk with that logo infused scarf nattily tied around her neck, within minutes you’re confronted with the rest of the gang ready to tack another six hours on to your carnival ride in hell. I’ve learned to steer clear of the predators because little good will come to you by offering the observation that Genghis Kahn has better interpersonal skills that this group combined.

About this time I’m expecting you to comment, “Mr. Blue, I detect your rant is slightly more cynical and adversarial that what I’m been accustom to in the past? Are you agitated to the level of whining, which seems so contrary to your affable fun loving character?” When confronted with such a self realization I must confess that my frustration level is rising. Consider the fact that I have now been flying about 150 flight segments a year for almost twenty years an admission which many could question my sanity. That places me in the top 1% of business travelers, not to mention that I foot the travel bill for a diminishing number of employees which travel almost as frequently as I do. I am the golden goose, the whale of business travelers, the most coveted prize but this most vaulted status has only been rewarded with a complete and comprehensive erosion of privileges and perks. I receive no greater consideration than the rube that has never flown before.

I don’t use the airline credit card at 27% interest rates so I don’t get to board early. I refuse to pay $400 a year to allow access to the airline clubs which used to be a privilege of frequent flyers so I search to corridors for a worn seat wedged between the teeming masses. There is no longer any consideration for food unless you travel international and it’s a law to prevent the spread of agricultural pests that customs prohibit food products be brought on to planes by travelers which require the airlines to feed you on international flight otherwise you would be starving for 18 hours. In most flights I don’t even deserve a complete can of soda. Why waste it on one person, just think of how much money the computers say they can save if the single $0.50 can of soda is doled out to seven people. I’m not allowed with one exception to check luggage without being penalized, god forbid the penalty for it being heavier than allowed. I am no longer allowed to change any aspect of my flight without penalty. In fact the legacy carriers will really stick it to you if pay for a flight and decide not to take one leg but want to resume your journey even though you have already paid for it. I am not allowed to sit in the exit row without paying more. I need to fork over a couple of bucks to get headphones if I decide to watch the movie.

All that being said I do accumulate air miles for free trips on my frequent flyer accounts. Has anyone you know been able to cash the miles in to book a flight? I’ve got about a million miles and can’t find a flight that is not blacked out. I looked on every flight on one airline to use my miles to go to Hawaii until I was over one year out and the airline website cut me off saying I could not book a flight that far in advance. In other words we will not allow you to use your miles to go where you want. They have a new way to screw you out of travel miles, it’s called the “anytime award” which is double the typical 25,000 mile award. For 50,000 miles you can actually book a flight using your miles. Let’s consider this privilege a bit closer. A typical flight segment for me is about 500-750 miles, so to get my free flight using an “anything award” I need to fly about 100 segments. When you figure out the time invested in a single flight with boarding, flying and waiting for luggage at 4 hours that means I need to invest about 400 hours to get my free trip. If I was to do this full time I would receive the ability to receive four free flights annually or they would return to me 16 hours of privilege. Even the most depraved employer will grant you seven days or 56 hours of holiday pay for full time employment. In essence the travel reward program is just a big scam that people believe they gain some privileged recognition, but if you add up all the sodas they are denying you it’s the funding source for that fancy travel program. If you want a better deal each flight stick a couple of bucks into your wallet and at the ends of the year buy yourself a ticket where you want.

I have to admit that Mr. Blue is feeling better after exerting three hours of energy exposing this uncaring, unresponsive airline industry while he sits waiting for the next inexcusable episode of travel sodemy to occur. For all I know the gate monkeys are already planning their revenge, the easy part is seating me between the two overweight blobs that are allergic to personal hygiene, but the hard part is delaying the plane on the runway for an extra three hours in paradise lost. Of all wonders did you hear that another mechanical delay and a gate change? Oh no, the monkeys in terminal C are howling now.

A depiction of purgatory by Venezuelan painter Cristóbal Rojas (1890) representing the boundary between heaven (above) and hell (below)

'When I die, I hope to go to Heaven, whatever the Hell that is."

Ayn Rand

Watching Dinosaurs Die

Each day I’m amazed at the airline industry’s failure to respect the basic foundation of their survival, the business passenger. Ingrained in the obsolete practice of price gouging the business traveler, airlines continue to believe this practice does not impact costumer loyalty. This practice is elevated to outright extortion when the airline has a dominate hub position in an airport; some of the best examples are United to Denver, Delta to Cincinnati, Continental to Newark. My last trip has proven the dinosaurs are so out of touch with the frequent business traveler that the species has no hope of survival.

After hours of scheduling I was able to get to a remote location (Pasco, Wa.) for just under one thousand dollars. While outrageously priced, it is a type of location you expect to pay a premium for on short notice, unlike the common fares of $1200 to $1500 for direct flights into the heart of the airline empires. The one thousand dollar fare got me the center seat in the last row of the plane, where you receive the honor of smelling the ass of every passenger who decides to use the restroom, most of which have such poor dietary habits they should seek medical attention immediately. Understand that this is not a low cost carrier and it should be good business policy to provide a person who is willing to submit to highway robbery the best seat possible.

Often while waiting for the first leg of the flight to load it is possible on occasion to obtain an exit row seat that affords some additional leg room. Approaching the gate agent I was informed that it is possible to acquire an exit row seat for an additional cost. Dumbfounded I couldn’t believe what I heard and asked him again. Speaking to me as if I was an idiot he repeated “We provide exit row seating for the upgrade cost of $67”. Indignant I replied “My thousand dollar ticket fare did not include the privilege of requesting an exit row?” Once provoked I couldn’t stop “I’m currently paying this airline a rate of $15.32 a minute to sit in this shit seat and you have the nerve to ask me if I’m willing to pay an additional $1.00 a minute to sit in a 3” wider shit seat? No sir I’ll think I’ll save my $67 and spend it on postage writing letters to Southwest Airlines asking them to move a flight to Denver to bust this little party you got going on here.” Needless to say this delayed my access to the plane and I was able to board the flight after the farm animals.

Strolling down the aisle I couldn’t help but notice than not one of the exit row seats was occupied. I guess United took the concept of keeping the exit row aisles free of debris to a new level, economic debris. When did safety of the passengers take second place to profit? Am I to believe that a flight attendant that is unwilling to help a 90 year old woman place her luggage in the over head, is going to leap over the passenger in an emergency to open the exit row door? I’m not sure I can hold my breath that long under water. It’s more likely I’m going to hear “I’m sorry you can’t exit the plane through that exit row door unless you pay an additional $10.50 and we can only accept exact change.”

It began me thinking about the future opportunities for the airline industry to rape me of another couple of dollars. What about putting a meter on the overhead bin? You may park your carry on luggage here for $0.50 per seven minutes. What about charging for toilet paper in the restroom? That two ounce bag of pretzels got to cost a fortune. Better yet they could charge you for the volume of air that comes out of the overhead nozzle. We all could take up a collection to pay for the tug driver to push us off the gate. I’m sorry this seat reclines only 2% for each dollar inserted. Maybe the pilot could take his hat off as we pass him exiting the plane and we could drop dollar tips in it. “Sorry sir that landing was a little rough. I’m only tipping 10% instead of my usual %15. Doctors get away with it, what if you got a bill in the mail for the X-ray of your luggage. Maybe they should add $25 bonus to the price of the ticket if they really got you there on schedule. When are they going to stop?

I finally arrive at my shit seat and settle in at 6:30 am for the 60 minute flight to Denver, when the flight attendant announces that the pilot has allowed passengers to listen to flight control tower on channel nine of the armrest. I assume that this should be interesting and pull the headset from the seat back pocket. The dialogue is very technical and professional as the plane is pushed from the gate into the alley. We hear the control tower authorize the push from the gate. There are a number of other flights in approach or requesting departures. Our flight is sitting in the alley without the engines running for ten minutes before the pilot turns on the PA system. “We are ready to go but we need some paperwork. As soon as we get the paperwork we’ll be on our way.”

The plane sits about 35 minutes before I hear on channel nine the control tower call our flight and ask “United did you get your problem fixed?” A female gate agent’s voice replies “No sir, the problem just got worst and we are pushing the aircraft back to the gate.” As the plane begins to roll back to the gate the pilot calls the ground crew. “Why didn’t maintenance check the oil?” Did I really hear that we have been sitting on the alley for the past 40 minutes because someone didn’t check the oil in the plane? I don’t run an airline but shouldn’t that be on the “A” list somewhere? Be sure to check the oil! Be sure the plane’s tires are not flat! Be sure the plane has a full tank of gas! Be sure the plane’s windshield is clean! In my mind it’s a pretty short list. Any hung-over teenage gas jockey working at Quick Trip knows to check the oil.

I starting thinking, “Oh great one of the flight attendants is going to march back here to my shit seat and demand that I pay for the oil.” Nervously I begin to wonder what a can of aircraft oil is going to cost these days. Ten dollars for a bag of pretzels, my god, oil is going to cost me at least $50-$60 per can. What if I don’t have enough money? Will they make me clean the restroom? It could really use a cleaning. In stunned disbelief I decide to check my ticket. Yes this is United Airlines not Laurel & Hardy Airlines. What has the world come to?

It’s hard to watch a great industry giant so out of touch with their customer. Like witnessing obsolete obese dinosaurs suffocate under weight of their own mass of flesh, you begin to realize that little can be done to help this species from becoming extinct. The best advice is to steer away from these teetering beasts out of fear that they crush you as they fall. And god knows someone from the front office is going to try to get you to pay for the clean up.

Where Broken Toys Go

There’s a place where disappointment and despair reigns. It is a place where disbelief, sadness and anger is concentrated so intensely that light and joy can not penetrate. This place is Gate 35 at Reagan National Airport in Washington DC. It took a number of consecutive trips before I realized the true nature of Gate 35. It is the place where broken toys go.

Over the past six months I have had the occasion the travel to Washington DC via Reagan National five times. Each one of these trips was a Friday single one day bender, where I would awake at 4:00 am in order to catch the 6:00 am flight to Reagan National. The early morning flight was always uneventful and usually arrived early. The clue I was overlooking was that we would not arrive in Washington at Gate 35. In order to conduct a full day of business in the city I would book the last flight home which was the 7:30 pm flight from Gate 35. Each time the same pattern emerged.

Always on schedule, I would arrive at the airport a little over an hour early to check in and grab dinner. Reagan National is one of the best airports in the nation to eat at. In the concourse are a good sushi bar and the famous Legal Seafood restaurant from Boston. Time usually permits a quality seafood dinner and a couple of cocktails before I head off to Gate 35. As soon as I arrive at gate 35 despair is waiting to greet me. The flight is delayed 45 minutes. The aircraft has had some mechanical issue in Charlotte. I sit down to wait it out. Approaching 45 minutes later the next announcement informs us the repair has taken longer than expected and the plane in now leaving Charlotte. The target departure time is now 9:00 pm.

The entire group in Gate 35 shakes their heads and sighs in disappointment. Approaching 9:00 the next announcement comes. There is now a series of thunderstorms somewhere between Charlotte and Washington and the plane is being held in on the ground Charlotte. You guessed it another 45 minute delay. Sadness covers us like a blanket. People are getting tired and restless when the next announcement starts with a positive statement only to raise hopes that would be later dashed. “The plane from Charlotte is in range of Reagan National, ………but the weather has stacked up other flights and air traffic has placed a flow control on all planes landing………..so the flight from Charlotte is in a holding pattern for…….45 minutes……….departure time is now estimated at 10:30 pm.”

Beaten and battered it appears this last announcement is the last. The plane arrives at Gate 35 and we are loaded in silence resignation. I find my seat and sit back for the two and one half hour flight when another announcement comes. “Sorry for the delay……….We’re in the process of restocking and refueling the aircraft………..as soon as it is complete we will be leaving.” Having broken everyone’s spirit and will, they no longer feel it important to inform you that this in another one hour delay. Eventually the plane pushes off Gate 35 sometime around 11:30 pm more than four hours late. The pilot attempts to salvage the dismal performance with another announcement “Thanks for your patience……We are asking air traffic to reroute us so we can make up some lost time……Sorry but we were not able to completely restock the plane so there is no alcohol.” It crosses my mind that I should have been home almost one hour ago and there is nothing short of traveling faster than the speed of light which would save enough time to make up for this evening. The clock strikes 1:45 am when I get home. I have now been up for almost 22 hours.

Most people do not travel enough to understand the pattern that emerged with Gate 35. Each time I have traveled through Gate 35 the same thing happened. The story would slightly change as different gate agents added their own color commentary and embellishments. Around the third flight, I got it. I would get to Gate 35 and ask about the status of the 11:30 pm flight. The gate agent would reply “Sir we do not have an 11:30 pm departure, our last flight is at 7:30 pm.” I would argue the point with her “You do have an 11:30 pm flight you call it your 7:30 pm flight because no one in their right mind would book the 11:30 pm flight. Since you would be flying an empty plane you just decided to call it a 7:30 flight, past history proves that it is really the 11:30 flight.” At this point I would get one of those sit down and shut up or you will be on the 10:30 am flight tomorrow. At 11:30 pm as the gate agent takes my ticket I would say “My god I need to get my watch fixed its running four hours fast again.”

It took me a while before I could my finger of the exact feeling the passengers of Gate 35 were experiencing. Then I realized that we were all broken toys that could not be taken in the sleigh with Santa on Christmas. What disappointment and despair knowing that you were not going on that incredible journey. We were discarded like broken toys; our heartbreak would show as we resigned ourselves to a wasted life without purpose. I began to study the psychology of despair in the new toys that they were informed that they were broken and would not be traveling with Santa.

I have to admit that the world of broken toys can be ugly and cruel. As one of the oldest broken toys having missed Christmas many times in the past, I would sit with some of the older toys who knew the routine and watch the new toys arrive. Gate 35 established its own hierarchy like a prison yard. We appointmented ourselves as the yard leaders. The new toys would look to the gate agent as the prison guards assuming that good behavior would reduce their sentence, but in reality no one was safe in the prison yard. What did we have to worry about? We knew we were on death row and nothing would same us from this four hour delay.

We would watch each new toy arrive to the check-in desk only to learn their fate. They would hurry to the counter with eager anticipation smiling what they made the gate early. Shoulders erect with innocence, hopeful eyes. Then at the announcement, they would gasp or sigh. The shoulders would slump; the eyes would turn dull, while they skulked into a corner to lick their wounds. We would gain great entertainment value at the misfortune of others. Why not, we owned the yard.

It ended up being really funny watching these people. We would sit at the edge of the seating area so you have to pass us to get to the counter. As a new toy would approach we would whisper to them “the gate agent is in a really bad mood and that one more problem she said she would delay the plane so be careful.” They would look at us like we were crazy. As they stood at the counter we would try not to giggle. Then the announcement came and they would look over at us like we were fortune tellers. We would raise our hands high and shrug, screaming “Oh man what you go and do that for? We told you.” As they walked back to a seat in Gate 35 we would howl.

Just a word of warning next Friday if you’re headed to gate 35 at Reagan National we’ll be waiting for you. It’s a place where disappointment and despair reigns. It is a place where disbelief, sadness and anger is concentrated so deeply that light and joy can not penetrate. You don’t know it yet but this is where broken toys go and you’re one.

The Damage Done

NJ-9, KY-9, IL-7, DC-6, AZ-5, WA-5, LA-3, NB-3, FL-3, VA-1, NY-1, TX-1, AR-1

My travels in 2005 included 14 states on 54 separate trips. I flew a total of 142 airline segments accumulating 170,400 air miles. Assuming each flight is 90 minutes, I spent 213 hours in the air alone which is the equivalent of more than five work weeks. This does not account for an equal amount of time sitting in airports. I decided not to calculate the time spent on flight delays over and above the airport time.

I slept in 31 different hotels with 78 overnight stays. There was a total of 106 days on the road which included 11 one day trips. A one day trip is classified as getting up before dawn, flying to a location, working all day and returning home around midnight. For some people I meet on the road this schedule is a walk in the park. I can’t come close to understanding how someone can spend over 200 days on the road and maintain sanity.

A restricted work load and general burn-out has allowed me to pull myself out of the game for awhile. I have only one trip scheduled for January. However, I’m struggling with breaking the cycle. The urgency which fueled me into hype drive is gone and it feels like I’m breaking an addiction. In a perfect world I would have picked a different season than winter to come into pit row. I find myself at a loss on how to conquer boredom. My mind is numb and clouded. There is a pending sense of being trapped like a prisoner. I’m constantly looking out the window expecting the view to change like it has every other day for the past 15 years. Perpetual motion has turned out to be its own drug, always providing the next new experience for the senses. Have I crossed the point of no return? Has wanderlust forever ruined me, like a habitual drug addict that forever fails at recovery?

I come by it honestly. My great aunt gave it to me. She was a Victorian spinster who saved every cent she could to travel the world. Travel log photography was her hobby. As a member of the Eastern Star, she would provide slide shows of her travels to the chapter. She was meticulous at traveling, noting every Cathedral’s name, the date it was built, the festival of local customs and always capturing the essence of the culture. She kept a small steno pad on each trip recording each setting of the camera on every exposure. Upon returning home she would transcribe this plethora of detail on each slide in the most delicate script. I recall her spending hours huddled over a light table humming as she catalogued her life. She had come to grips with the loneliness of perpetual motion, learning to find comfort in keeping track.

When she was preparing for a slide show at the Eastern Star, she would pull all the kids into the darkened room to practice her scripted slide show. This is where it began for me. I spent untold hours as a small kid seeing the world in vivid color as large as life projected on a huge screen. Then the stories would begin describing her journey. I watched the Lipizzan Stallions perform in Vienna and I could tell you the 400 year old tradition had survived Napoleon's advances and two world wars. I watched the sugar cane harvest in Hawaii and could tell you each step of the refining process. I watched the Military Tattoo on the Edinburgh Castle Esplanade in Scotland. I dreamed of all these places I would see.

I have yet to come close to her travel experiences. She traveled every state in the nation, every island in the Caribbean, every nation in South America, every continent of the world except Antarctica. She traveled every country in Europe before World War II, and then traveled every country again after the war. Knowing it was her last trip, at the age of 92 in extremely frail health she went to Egypt to float down the Nile.

I am now custodian of her legacy. I maintain her photographic collection of the world with all the handwritten notes. The collection of over 100,000 slides was given to me, because she knew that I was the one to be stricken. In my own travels I have amassed probably 40,000 photographs. It was my destiny.

What is difficult is building relationships and friends when moving at such a rate for extended periods of time. You get to observe the world insulated from social interaction. This social framework provides the safety net when you stop traveling. Friends provide meaningful distractions from daily routines. They provide an opportunity to share experiences and gain feedback. They point out that you are no bigger than what you are. Without this social framework, daily routine becomes as intellectually stimulating as sitting in an airport. This could be fueling my restlessness?

This is where I come to a conclusion and wrap it up into a meaningful message that will guide me. Unfortunately, the issued is unresolved. I cannot travel at the rate I have been and I can’t stop traveling because it’s suffocating to sit and stare out the window. I can’t help but think the lure of the drug is to powerful after all these years. I know from personal experience that Florida is pretty nice this time of year. Plus what else am I going to do with all those frequent flyer miles? Just another case of damaged goods.

Listen to be baby
So it’s understood
This running around life
Ain’t doing me no good

I get so tired
So tired of paying dues
But there seems no way around it
No end to runnin’ blue

But I like to have my fun
I like to run around
And I ain’t no stranger
In nobody’s town

I get so tired
So tired of changing views
And there ain’t no way around it
No way around the runnin’ blue

Now this runnin’ around life
Might seem nice and easy
But when your blowing with the wind
Sometimes it gets real breezy

I get so tired
Like I was born to lose
And there ain’t no way around it
No way around the runnin’ blue

Got no holes in my pockets
Got no holes in my shoes
But I don’t know if I’m leaving Detroit
Or coming into to Baton Rouge

I get so tired
So tired of changing views
And there ain’t no way around it
No way around the runnin’ blue

Left my billfold at the airport
Suitcase on the train
Now I can’t find my umbrella
And it sure looks like rain

I get so tired
So tired of playing the blues
And the road don’t get no shorter
Runnin’ around the runnin’ blue

Boz Scaggs

Blurred Vision

My eyes are burning. There is a dull throbbing in the back of my head. The base of my neck is stiff. The suit I’m wearing is wrinkled and disheveled. I feel like my clothes are someone else’s. They don’t fit any more. I’ve dropped 2-1/2 pounds which is probably a good thing. For breakfast, I waited 35 minutes for a stale cold egg and cheese sandwich in the Memphis Airport. I missed lunch and grabbed a buffalo chicken sandwich for dinner on the run. All four flights today were full. The last two legs were flown in heavy chop which for the ancient DC 9 was like sitting on a cement mixer.

I’m reaching the end of what I call a “grinder”. In the past four days I’ve been on eight separate flights on three airlines to four cities. The stretch included two power meetings, one with the president of a hundred million dollar company and the second was with the upper administration of a NCAA division I university. Between those intense presentations, I attended an awards celebration of 300 people for a project we completed last year and visited a construction site. Three days in a row of getting up at 4:00 am and returning to the house at 10:30 pm. It reminds me of Roy Scheider in All That Jazz “Its Showtime”. The redeeming element is that there is only one more trip to New York tomorrow morning to conclude this grinder.

I wanted to capture the numbness and weariness as you hit the wall. Some sleep and a hot shower tend to restore the senses and the emotional cost of the grinder is forgotten. There is a feeling of suspended time sitting and waiting for the descent, for the boarding, for the unloading, for the entire process. With vision too blurred to read and a mind too numb to think, I stare without focusing out the darkened window of the plane. I try to think about a more pleasant existence. I spend the time reliving a special dinner with a friend or visualize walking in a garden. Lost in a memory the moment passes less painfully. I assume it is a similar response prisoner’s use to mentally escape torture. Without warning the bell rings and I am allowed to leave my seat. It’s over; I can go home and rest. I know I’ve got another full day of waiting tomorrow.

Tyler Durden: “We just had a near-life experience”

Reality comes home to visit when you least expect it. Thursday night at 11:45, I logged on to my computer to print a boarding pass and was frozen by a new screen on Southwest Airline’s website. The “Incident” page appeared indicating that Midway Airport was shut down until further notice. I was scheduled to travel to Midway on Southwest at 7:00 am in the morning. I sat back and considered what I had just read.

Southwest is one of my most frequent carriers. Last year alone I traveled 87 segments on Southwest, 35 of those to Midway. In the past 10 years can only guess I’ve traveled over 500 segments on Southwest. Midway is a second home to me. In the rainy summer of 2003, I was spending 6 hours a week in delays alone in Midway. My knowledge of Midway probably exceeds many of the employees that work there.

Southwest has adopted a simple business policy that has served them well over the years. They only fly one aircraft, the Boeing 737. Every pilot, every mechanic, every ground crew and every flight attendant knows only one plane; and they know it in detail. As a result Southwest in 35 years of flying never had a fatality, until Thursday.

Southwest described the Incident. Last night, Flight 1248 was involved in an incident at Chicago Midway Airport at approximately 7:15 p.m. CST while the aircraft, a Boeing 737-700, was landing. The aircraft veered off the runway and through the blast fence at the northwest corner of the runway -- stopping at the intersection of Central and 55th Avenues. The weather conditions at the time could be described as one-quarter to one-half mile visibility with snow. The flight, which was on arrival from Baltimore/Washington International Airport, was scheduled to continue on to Las Vegas and Salt Lake City.

CBS News correspondent Bob Orr reported. Investigators on Friday studied the crash scene where a Southwest Airlines jet trying to land amid heavy snow plowed off a Midway International Airport runway and into a street, killing a 6-year-old boy in a car. The crash is the first fatal accident in the 35-year history of Southwest Airlines.

Southwest Airlines is currently the dominant carrier at Midway, controlling 25 of the airport's 43 gates and with 196 departures daily. “Originally named Chicago Air Park, Midway Airport was built on 320 acres in 1923 and consisted of a single cinder runway that primarily served airmail services. During its first full year of operation in 1928, the airfield was home to twelve hangars and four runways, lit for night operations. Air traffic control was handled by flagmen, who would be positioned at the end of the runways, where they were responsible that year for controlling 14,498 flight operations carrying 41,660 passengers. The airport was officially renamed on July 8, 1949, to "Chicago Midway Airport" in honor of the World War II Battle of Midway. Midway reached a height of 10 million passengers in 1959. By 1961, however, the airport faced a 60% drop in passenger traffic, largely due to the opening of O'Hare in 1955”.


Because Midway is surrounded by buildings and other development, the landing thresholds of the runways are displaced to provide a proper obstacle clearance. While adequate and legal for the purposes used, these runways leave little margin for error. Both the FAA and the airlines assure safety by limiting loads and adhering to adjusted weather minimums. The recent Incident has once again raised questions about the safety of MDW's short runways for use by medium-haul commercial airliners, which are heavier than regional jets. Whereas larger airports utilize a buffer zone for overruns, the end of the runway used by the Southwest 737 is adjacent to a fence separating airport property from neighboring streets.

I woke up early Friday to find the airport open. I printed my boarding pass and drove to the airport to travel to Midway not less than 12 hours from the Incident. While waiting in line to board someone asked me if I was nervous? No not really today is the safest day of the year to travel to Midway on Southwest. Today everything is by the book. We boarded the plane and sat at the gate. The first report was that Midway was shut down because of a low cloud ceiling. Our delay was estimated at 90 minutes. The second report was that midway opened but now was under flow control. Flow control in used to space plane landings and departures three minutes apart. This is typical when weather is a problem and visibility is obscured. Our second delay added another 90 minutes. After three hours of sitting in the plane, we departed for Midway.

The flight was smooth and generally uneventful, however as we approached Midway it was odd that the sky was crystal blue without a cloud for miles. Why does the airline assume that I am not intelligent enough to be told the truth? Where was no weather issue at Midway! Where was no ceiling at all? I tend to mistrust anyone who is fearful of telling me a simple truth. I understand that there was a recent Incident and the airport needed additional time to pick up strewn parts. Or whatever the reason just tell me the truth, I’ll decide if it bothers me.

As we landed the downed plane was hidden in the far corner of the opposite runway. A handful of emergency vehicles surrounded the plane which was still in the middle of the adjacent street. I’m not sure if anyone else on our plane noticed the scurry of activity. I disembarked from gate B23 and walked to CTA orange line train to the city.

The following day, went back to Midway at 1:45 to catch my 3:30 flight home. All of a sudden it started snowing again. By the time I got to the gate the 3:30 flight was cancelled. As the snow became thick, the next flight at 5:30 was delayed until 8:45. Midway began to resemble the weather conditions when the Thursday Incident occurred. As soon as this happened Southwest began to cancel every flight from Midway. Phoenix, Tampa, Orlando, Providence, it did not matter the destination. My last flight was cancelled at 6:30. I shook my head and figured there was worst places in the world to be stranded other than Chicago on a Saturday night. I got a good room rate at the Fairmount downtown and headed for the famous Palm Steakhouse to idle away the evening.

I realized while eating a steak and drinking a martini that Southwest was just having a bad day. I’ve seen them fly in weather many times more severe than the ½ inch snow that shut down operations Saturday. Southwest was in the center of the media crosshairs. They just could not afford another Incident and panicked. For as far as Southwest and I go back, they can have a bad day now and then. I’ll be content to have a nice meal and a warm bed. Sunday I headed to the airport again for my trip home. Things were back to normal, the flight departed on time. Everyone is entitled to a bad day, even Southwest. I’ll be back! After a day in the office I’m heading out to Midway again in the morning. Some things never change.