Ignorance is Bliss

I have finally topped my all time stupid move in an airport. Feeling a little smug I was reading the paper this morning about how July was the second worst month for delays in the airline industry since they started keeping score. During this epic carnage I’ve been able to dance around delays for the last couple of months. It would be ingratiating to attribute it to my exceptional knowledge of the airline industry, but in reality it is just random luck. The article indicated that in June 367 flights endured more than a three hour runway delay. With a great sense of accomplishment I’m happy to state that not one of those flights was I a passenger on. The airlines must be distributing the punishment to some other deserving folks and leaving their old whipping boy alone.

Here I am sitting in BWI happily reading about what will be considered by travelers as the worst travel month in airline history waiting for my flight home. Early completion of my business meetings facilitated a four hour early arrival to the airport. During a leisurely stroll to my gate I noticed an earlier flight home leaving at 11:40 am connecting through St. Louis arriving at 2:10 pm. My direct flight was scheduled to leave 12:55 pm, arriving at 2:30 pm. Briefly I considered the potential for delay in St. Louis for only a 20 minute arrival advantage and decided to pass on the first flight for the safe bet of the direct flight. All seemed smooth sailing with blue skies from coast to coast.

I started the computer and got involved working on some reports. Checking my watch occasionally the hours passed quickly. I watched as the gate attendant asked for volunteers to give up their seat on the Kansas City flight in exchange for two hundred dollars and a round trip coupon. Gradually they loaded up the plane and pushed off from the gate. Heavily focused on the work at hand, I didn’t pay much attention to the activities surrounding me at the gate. As the watch crept closer to my departure time I put away the computer and began to get ready to board the flight home. Funny I thought the gate was A2 right where I was sitting. No need for concern they change gates all the time. The alarm went off when I looked at the status board and my flight was not listed. Oh No! My watch was still set on Central Time and my flight was Eastern Time.

Then the realization struck me like a car wreck. I just missed my flight after getting to the airport four hours early. It wasn’t the normal missed flight where you are stuck in traffic or at the other concourse with a broken tram shuttle. I was sitting at my gate not 20 feet from the door. What I assumed to be the first Kansas City flight was my direct flight. If I have actually been on the earlier flight they would have been boarding St. Louis not Kansas City. The simple facts never dawned on me. In the process the entire aircraft of passengers had to walk around me to get onto the flight and I sat there smiling at them stone cold brain dead. I continued to sit there watch them close the door and push off the gate. At one point, I actually smiled at the pilot as he called for the tug. Since they needed someone to miss the flight to get all the standby passengers on board, they never called my name to board. Someone should have taken pity on the poor retarded person sitting in bliss at the gate but it never happened.

Funny you know a missed flight looks like just every other flight leaving the airport when you’re sitting watching it from the terminal window. Nothing really out of the ordinary as it rolls away without you. Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought “Suckers, I bet I’ll still beat them to Kansas City. They’ll certainly take a hit in St. Louis". The insult added to injury was the fact that they were asking for people to volunteer to take a later flight for 200 hundred dollars and a free roundtrip coupon. In my best Forest Gump impersonation I smile politely as they begged for people to give up their seat. No not me, I’ll wait until the offer expires before I realize that is my flight. Not only did I give up my seat but I failed to even get compensated for it. For my ignorance and the heavy summer travel schedule I was unable to get on the 2:30 through Chicago, the 4:35 through Chicago, the 5:05 through St. Louis and the 6:05 through Nashville, all of which I waited at the gate as a standby passenger. After mugging some poor elderly gentleman in the restroom I was able to obtain a seat on the oversold 7:30 direct flight. The day turned into a 10 hour delay. It serve me right to tempt fate and make fun of the travel gods.

“Education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance.”

Will Durant (1885 - 1981)

Them Dawgs Don’t Hunt

“Travel is only glamorous in retrospect.”

Paul Theroux (1941 - ), Washington Post

Another first is eclipsed as I sit once again in the Philadelphia Tarpits waiting for the last possible plane ride back home. Funny my plans never include a trip to Philadelphia, but it appeared as the only hope left in a weather challenged world. I am continuously reminded of the old W.C. Fields quote “I spent a week in Philadelphia one day.” The scent of misfortune hung in the air like a rotting carcass when I looked at the ignorant itinerary a misguided travel agent booked for me. I can no longer stomach dealing with rookie travel agents whose only travel experience is between home and grandma’s house a couple blocks around the corner. They have little idea of what each of the destinations mean as they scroll though the list of possible connections. I have decided to forego using travel agents for the rest of my life. It is my greatest source of aggravation, much like I’m the dog of stupid dog tricks.

The first leg of my ill advised itinerary included a three hour delay in Chicago O’Hara on United while heading to Wilkes Barre. The very first thing they need to teach a new travel agent is the greatest opportunity for complete failure is flying into O’Hara anytime between December and December. In other words the only reason to fly United to Chicago is to get stranded in the airport, get a free roundtrip ticket you will never be able to use and acquire a consolation gift cheap shave kit that will rip the skin off your face like a serrated knife. In other words steer clear of O’Hara like it is ground zero for the black plague. Unfortunately in my quest for simplicity I decided to allow my client to carry my travel cost by using their inept travel agent and travel account.

The brutal carnage in O’Hara is no longer a surprise, if fact the long lines of anger red faced businessmen screaming at arrogant stone faced heartless gate agents surrounded by hordes of abandon families sleeping on the floor seems quite normal these days. The chaos is reminiscent of the fifth level of Dante’s Inferno,a place of constant pain and suffering requiring an eternity to endure. The scene at O’Hara is now so commonplace that it is not really worth writing about on the average travel day. My late night arrival at Wilkes Barre at 1:30 in the morning was only memorable because the airport did not have a single taxi waiting at ground transportation. Apparently the taxi drivers don’t like to drive down from Scranton to wait for fares, so it is necessary to wait for 30 minutes before the dispatcher can convince some bored Somalia to jump in his brother’s car and pick you up. I’m always thrilled about get into my hotel room at 2:30 am, knowing my meeting with the client is scheduled for 8:00 am on the opposite side of town.

The three days of meetings in Wilkes Barre was intensive and demanding with interactive sessions occurring all day then followed by the design team to working late into the night to refine solutions. This rigorous mental activity is always enhanced with sleep deprivation, poor dietary habits and excess consumption of caffeine. Compounding this type of impromptu business gymnastics is the usual array of technological complications, a broken scanner in the business center, the plotter at the printing service with a drive belt on back order, the compatibility issues between the computer networks and blackberry that receives email but won’t send.

On the last day we begin to allow ourselves the luxury of thinking about traveling back home to a familiar environment and some simple comforts. Reading the newspaper during breakfast dispelled any hope that the return trip would be easy with a front page lead story of “Chicago cancels over 400 Flights Due to Weather”. The dominos have been falling for the last 24 hours and there is no place in the entire aviation system that won’t be impacted by this severe hemorrhage. The team members begin watching flight status lists on the internet as the cancellations cascade both east and south. Wilkes Barre is a smaller regional airport with flight options that are extremely limited.

It didn’t take long to find out my United flight back through Chicago is cancelled. The call to our inexperienced travel agent revealed that she that booked me on the only available flight from Wilkes Berre without clearing it with me. With such a proud sense of accomplishment she told me that it was all taken care of and I was rescheduled on Delta from Wilkes Barre to Atlanta to Cincinnati to Kansas City. I truly think she was offended when I told her I would rather have her cut off my left nut and force feed it to me than to embark on visiting all nine levels of Dante’s inferno in a single day. With bad weather already a known factor how can anyone think that going through Atlanta and Cincinnati would accomplish anything but cause me great distress. Delta is the canary in the coal mine for the airline industry, the first sign of trouble Delta drops dead. In biology we would call Delta an indicator species, it’s the first place trouble is evident in a system. This is coupled with five bad experiences on Delta in Atlanta and another four bad experiences in Cincinnati on Comair, Delta’s dysfunctional little sister. This is absolutely the last place in the world to send me.

During one of my long stays in the Cincinnati is decided to look for a new name for the faltering airline. Delta is the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet and in mathematics is the symbol used to represent change. While I like the concept of change and foward thinking Delta is no longer worthy of the name with its frozen brutal uncaring approach. I carefully looked over each of the other Greek letters and their associated symbols and meanings in order to find a new replacement which better represent the airline. I was about ready to pick Iota meaning insignificance when I found that in court transcripts a small Delta represent the word defendant. How appropriate, maybe Delta is named correctly, we just need to change the capitalization.

Talking into my cell phone in a firm but decided tone I informed the travel agent that her first attempt at getting me home was a disaster and she should get back online to try again. Recognizing my own personal need to understand the situation I grab a computer. My first website I pull up is Google maps in order to determine other adjacent airports with better travel options than Wilkes Berre. Newark Airport is a two hour drive east but flights are typically full and most flights to Kansas City travel north into the problematic weather, not a particularly positive solution. Philadelphia is a two and a half hour drive south but it is the “tarpits” , a place where no one ever seems to escape alive. I’m still using solvent to remove tar and feathers from me from my last visit to Philadelphia Airport. However Southwest Airlines does have a direct flight from Philadelphia to Kansas City which is a reasonable option. I notice that driving to Philadelphia we pass Allentown, a city with a bit larger regional airport, which could have some options only an hour drive away.

The next step is to jump on the travel sites and look at available flights from Allenstown. In a minute a long list of options flash on the screen. Scrolling down the list the options, the obvious problem connections are discarded, Chicago already closed, Cleveland weather heading that way, Atlanta just because it’s Atlanta, Washington the delays are already piling up. Wait a minute, Charlotte appears and that airport is never crowded. The flight times are perfect plus they only want $450 for the ticket. This is truly my best option to get home tonight, a one hour drive and a connection through Charlotte. Before I can contact the travel agent, she calls me to inform me that the Cincinnati leg of the flight I was booked on was canceled. I must be psychic to realize that Cincinnati was a one way street to nowhere. It’s not that hard to understand especially if you travel frequently. I make the suggestion to fly from Allentown connecting in Charlotte on US Airlines, only to find in her eagerness to make up for her two stupid move she has booked me on an American Airline flight from Philadelphia connecting in Dallas. It is a lost cause that even Saint Michael could not remedy. Our modern world needs a new Saint for stupid travel agents so I can pray for their souls. The team is already loading the van for our unscheduled drive to Philadelphia. Reluctantly with a resignation of knowing with high certainty what my future is to be, I toss my travel bag into the trunk and jump into the passenger’s seat.

At first I am concerned with the high rate of speed our van was traveling until I find out that since we were switching airlines, the travel agent could not complete the reservation, so we have to get to the Philadelphia gate agent by 4:00 pm in order to convert our reservation into real seats on the flight. I look at my watch and note that it is12:45 with a two hour drive ahead of us. I silently realize that this is not going to happen and decide that it is every man for him self once we arrive at the Philadelphia airport. Without anyone noticing I fire up my computer, turn my broadband card, and start surfing for options out of Philadelphia, because by the time everyone get though the long customer service lines those reserved tickets will be long gone. I focus on a Midwest Airline connecting in Milwaukee. It’s a long shot since the Philadelphia delays may be such that I will probably miss the connection. Hoping for the best I booked the last seat on the 6:45 flight to Milwaukee without anyone in the van knowing what I was attempting. It was a selfish act of self preservation, I not going to the slaughterhouse without attempting an escape.

The high speed steeple chase ends with a furious gauntlet in Philadelphia rush hour traffic. Frantically we bolt from the rental car and jump the shuttle bus to the terminal. Each of the team members is balanced between sheer exhaustion and debilitating panic as they fidget in the fake leather seats. At the first stop the shuttle bus driver announces Terminal A which includes Midwest Airlines at which point I jump off the shuttle. I can hear the team member yelling at me that I’m not at the correct Terminal. I turn and reply “Sorry but you all are headed to a fool’s paradise and I would rather try to get home tonight. I release you all from any responsibility for my wellbeing.” Smiling I glance back to see three stunned faces wondering what went wrong with the plan, why the break in ranks?

Finding the Midwest Airline service desk I am the second in line behind an irate older businessman in a dark three piece suit who is reading the gate agent the riot act trying impress upon him just how important a traveler he is. The gate agent is restrained and polite as the egomaniac denounces every aspect of company policy, finally moving on to a personal attack on the gate agent’s character. This rant continues for over twenty minutes as the line of customers grows behind me. Apparently in his ignorance or more likely arrogance, this savvy world traveler decided not to come to the airport to check in since his flight was delayed for three hours and because of this failure to report his seat was released and given to another passenger. Unfortunately because of the weather delays the flight became oversold and there was no longer a seat to give him. In fact all the flights for the rest of the night were oversold and the alone option for this grotesque tyrant is to book a flight tomorrow.

Finally the gate agent realizes that this barking Philadelphia bulldog is not going to leave until he wins some sort of concession from the airline and this gate agent in particular. In a worthless gesture the gate agent decides to get the line moving again by offering Mr. Big a standby ticket on the last flight out. Waving the ticket as a captured enemy flag and cursing the soul of every airline employees he stomps off to spend the next three hours waiting at the gate with his worthless gesture for a flight he will never get on.

Feeling sorry for the gate agent I try to open the conversation in a conciliatory gesture. “Man, how did you ever keep your cool? I’m sorry I would have finally told that jerk where he could stuff that ticket. Why can’t they realize that it’s the weather isn’t not you?”

The gate agent looks up and shows a slight smile relieved from the past hour of abuse “How can I help you?”

Having just over heard the status of every flight heading to Milwaukee, I realize that my flight is also delayed three hours and there is no way of making my connection. I began in a voice which coveys the hopelessness of the situation, “Thanks, I was trying to get home to Kansas City tonight, but I understand that could be a long shot. I’ve got an interview tomorrow and getting to Milwaukee tonight would help a lot. No offense, but getting out of Philadelphia just suits me fine.”

Without responding the gate agent begins to diligently work at typing away at the computer in front of him. After about five minutes he looks up and hands me my ticket with a bit of a funny grin across his face. “You need to hurry and get to Gate 12.” At this point I’m confused since my flight is leaving from gate 17 and I know it is delayed three hours.

My confusion becomes evident and he explains “Don’t tell anyone but I put you on the earlier flight which was also delayed three hours, but is now just getting ready to push off from gate 12. The flight you were originally on is delayed long enough that you would miss your connection in Milwaukee and need to spend the night.” The slight grin on his face erupts into a huge smile as he tells me the punch line. Slightly leaning over the counter he whispers “I gave you the seat of that bastard that was giving me such a hard time. You better hurry it was the last seat on the plane.” I chuckle while thanking him profusely, finally ending our shared secret with a warm handshake. “Can’t tell you how much that makes my day.”

The shock begins to wear off as I hurry to my gate realizing that this gesture of kindness will allow me to make it home less than two hours late. Most gratifying is that it will be at the expense of Mr. Big, the arrogant business traveler that knew how to bully the system and ended up waiting another three hours before he is told of go away and come back tomorrow. Quite an accomplishment all things considered. The travel gods are smiling. Finally sitting in my seat it occurs to me that I was booked on eleven separate flights today and the revenge of the gate agent allowed me safe passage home.

As I’m settling into the seat my cell phone rings with one of the team members. “Mr. Blue, You wouldn’t believe it, we stood in line for almost two hours and when we got to the desk they had given away our seats. We are now headed back to your terminal, they told us there is room on the delayed Midwest flight to Milwaukee, but we’ll miss our connection and need to spend the night. Are you still on that flight?”

With a slight feeling of guilt I acknowledge “No I was able to jump a different flight and will make the Milwaukee connection.”

“Good for you. How did you know to break rank and head to Midwest Airline?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time and I just knew by looking at the situation that dog don’t hunt. By the way say thanks to your travel agent, I think it might be a long time before I talk with her again”

The voice on the other end of the phone sadly confirm the thought “Yeah I know what you mean”

“Travel only with thy equals or thy betters; if there are none, travel alone.”

The Dhammapada

Philadelphia Tarpit

tarpit  [tahr-pit] –noun. A seepage of natural tar or asphalt, esp. an accumulation that has acted as a natural trap into which animals have fallen and sunk and had their bones preserved. (Origin: 1830–40)

Silence of the night is shattered by a chilling shriek cascading through a damp primeval forest. Somewhere hidden in the darkness a behemoth fights to escape, trapped by the thick gooey mass of black tar oozing from the recesses of hell. Unable to extricate itself from the deadly pit the behemoth struggles to no avail as the movement only secures the beast’s untimely dead. With its fate is sealed, only time stands between the beast and its final resting place. Hours upon hours pile on the back of this forgotten creature as searing thirst claws at its flesh. Soon the behemoth will succumb to the lack of water no longer able to keep its head erect, as the strength ebbs it will fall silently into the black sewer never to seen again. The scene disappears as a noise from the concourse loudspeaker awakes me from a brief nap on the uncomfortable bench specifically designed to prevent anyone from reclining, regardless of how long you are caged in this sterile environment.

The day was another typical one day grinder to Philadelphia and back. The day although difficult was going exactly according to schedule. I arose at 4:00 am to catch the 6:00 am direct flight to Philadelphia. Arriving at 10:30 am, we flagged the rental car shuttle just as we stepped onto the sidewalk from the concourse. I mentioned to my business associate, Richard, that was a positive sign indicating we would have a flawless day. In the rental car lot we boarded a new white Chevy Impala from the executive aisle and bounded out of the airport for a 90 minute drive to meet our new client. Unfamiliar with the Brandywine district back roads, but armed with a computer generated directions we navigated narrow winding streets and obtuse intersections effortlessly without incident arriving at the appointed address fifteen minutes early. It was a perfectly executed plan covering 1500 miles with a Swiss watch maker’s precision.

Our meeting was a success as we met with the director of facilities and director of capital improvements. They received glowing recommendations from a previous client, researched our company and without our knowledge decided to offer us the job without requesting proposals from other companies. This is a highly unusual circumstance for a public entity. After a quick tour of the site and we jumped back into the rental car for our country drive back to the airport after only spending 2-1/2 hours with the client. It was a beautiful fall day with the maples ablaze in orange and red set against the bright green hills as we drove the back roads with the windows rolled down.

Our first sense of concern was how early the rush hour traffic started on the back roads. It was only 3:15 and the roads were already clogged resembling virtual parking lot. We maneuvered the highway inch by inch with an increasing sense of urgency until we reached the accident which was causing the delay. It was the normal mating of a Ford Taurus and a Chevy Suburban. For some strangle reason these two vehicle are attracted to each other while at high rates of speed. Passing the pile of shattered glass and chrome we took our time rubber necking at a crawl like each car before us in the traditional Philadelphia ritual. Almost 30 minutes of our precise schedule was consumed by the unplanned mechanical pornography. Driving the rest of the way to the airport utilizing my best over aggressive macho Philadelphia attitude, we arrived back at the airport just in time to board for our 5:00 pm flight back home. We dropped the car off right next to the attendant, who immediately gave us a receipt as we bounded back onto the moving shuttle bus. Three minutes to clear the car rental facility, not bad. We reclaimed six minutes of our schedule.

Our spirits were high as we reclaimed another five minutes by finding an open ticket kiosk. The last hurdle was clearing the security checkpoint after which we would have executed our game plan with commanding precision only requiring the airlines to fulfill their part of the agreement, an agreement which was confirmed with the purchase of two $1100 tickets. Punching the flight number at the kiosk in front of the counter a chill ran down my spine as the dreaded phase appeared “Unable to check in. Please see the flight attendant at the gate.” I looked at Richard, “This is never a good sign, is fact this is a very bad omen.” This typically means the airlines have such distasteful news that they need to get you through security ensuring you’re not armed before they break the bad news to you. Past security the Philadelphia airport at 5:30 pm resembles a Hollywood disaster film set, with throngs of panicked wild eyed customers running and screaming in a sea of chaos and confusion. The phase “City of Brotherly Love” doesn’t come to mind as crazed adults trample small children trying to escape this seventh circle of hell.

Slowly we approach the gate only to find the counter crowded with agents, heads bent checking schedules on small green screens, typing away with mindless fury. We wait in line for a small French girl with a pleasant smile and calming demeanor. It is clear from her polite helpful manner that she has not been hardened or scarred by the human carnage surrounding her. She informs us that our flight to Chicago is delayed 2-1/2 hours and it is probable that we will miss our connection home from Chicago. If we were not boarded by 7:20 pm we would be staying overnight in Chicago. Normally I consider this a good trade, Philadelphia for Chicago. Having traveled to Chicago over fifty times in the past two years, I am well acquainted on how to get in trouble in the city with big shoulders. The primary concern is that I am scheduled to fly to Charleston at 8:30 am in the morning and assumed I would return home to pick up my luggage before heading to Charleston. It was time to get creative about our situation. Utilizing years of travel guile we poured over the flight monitors and travel schedules to find alternate routes home. Houston was overbooked. Atlanta was overbooked. The connection through Washington did not work. It didn’t appear that home was going to be a viable option tonight.

Glancing down at my leg I notice a patch of tar on my pant leg and shoe. Slowly I began to realize that we were partially stuck in a modern day tarpit. I refuse to comprehend the futility of struggling by continuing to extricate myself from this black hole of hell. Finally a solution dawned on me like a single ray of sunlight peaking through black circling storm clouds. Why travel from Philadelphia to Chicago, Chicago to Kansas City, then in the morning travel from Kansas City to Atlanta, then Atlanta to Charleston; why not just travel Philadelphia to Charleston tonight. Without tomorrow’s travel itinerary in hand I called the office to talk to Mary and had her contact the Charleston hotel and check to see if they could an extra night to my reservation. A few moments later my cell phone rang, retrieving a message from Mary “You are confirmed for today in Charleston”. I may be on to something here. Clearing the first hurtle I returned to the demur French girl with the smile, asking if there was a flight to Charleston tonight. This is when she informs me of my dilemma. I was booked on US Airlines in the morning and the second part of my return trip was United Airlines through the code sharing partnership. I could book the Charleston flight but I need to go to from Terminal D to Terminal C to talk with US Air and have them book me on the flight.

I look at Richard and say “It’s been nice knowing you, but I’m dumping your ass and getting out of this mess. You’re on your own.” Survival ends up being an individual sport in the seventh circle of hell. Richard knows the call. He has elite status on at least two airlines. This is one of the written road warrior codes of conduct when all hell breaks loose, save yourself. You are no good to the organization “missing in action”.

I offer Richard one piece of advice as I depart, “I would stick on the Chicago flight. The way things usually work is that Chicago is just purgatory and after a delay they will let you back home. You will probably make it home after midnight, if not get a room at the Fairmont Hotel in the loop and have a steak at the Palm Restaurant across the street. You’ll like the food there. All your need to do is take the Orange CTA train and get off at the Randolph street exit. It costs $1.50. Good Luck!”

Turning to leave my cell phone rings. A computer begins “Hello this is Orbitz with an automated flight delay alert. United Airlines flight 1027 to Chicago leaving Philadelphia airport at 5:01 pm is delayed. The new departure time is now 7:20 pm.” I look at my watch and it is 5:12 pm. Now that’s what I consider totally useless information. If I’m not on the airplane and moving down the runway at 5:01, by 5:12 it is even apparent to me that my flight is delayed? What am I support to do with this information? I shake my head and turn toward the moving walkway to take me to Terminal C.

A brief brisk ten minute walk thought the screaming masses of trapped travelers terminates at US Air gate C26 where I wait in line twenty minutes before I was informed by a thin black nervous gay gate agent that in order for US Air to process my request, United first needs to make a reservation on the Charleston flight then release my ticket to US Air. “Sir you need to go back to Terminal D and get United to process the reservation.” Glancing at the gate I notice the departure time is 6:30 pm and it is already 6:10 pm. Recognizing my concern he offers what he considers a gesture to comfort me.

“Don’t worry this flight is delayed three hours due to weather somewhere.” He says with a twinkle in his eye.

Walking away I mumble “Great I feel much better now knowing that I’m going to spend another three hours in hell.”

Weather seems to be airlines standard response for any misjudgment or ineptness in operational execution. It is the one thing no one can deny, yes there is weather somewhere, but I’m not sure I get the connection yet. A cloud appears over Dallas and my Philadelphia-Chicago flight takes a three hour hit? A snowstorm in Buffalo and all west coast flights from Washington DC are cancelled? A butterfly flaps its wings in the Sahara of Africa and Miami airport closes for the night? Why don’t you just tell me the truth, “We are not allowed wake up the union mechanic from his nap until 6:15 and after that time he will look at the plane?” Shaking my head I start back to Terminal D to talk to United again.

On the moving walkway between terminals my phone rings again. A drone of a computer voice begins “Hello this is Orbitz with an automated flight delay alert…….” This time the voice changes from an automated female to a recorded male. “This is Chicago O’Hare meteorologist. Due to low clouds and limited visibility we have instituted air traffic flow control. Travelers can expect delays of 60 to 90 minutes for flights leaving Chicago O’Hare International Airport until 11:30 pm.”

Before I can place the phone back in my pocket it rings again. My favorite computer girl says “Hello this is Orbitz with an automated flight status update. United Airlines flight 2421 to Kansas City is scheduled to depart Chicago O’Hare airport on time at 7:53 pm.” I stare at the phone like I’m in some type of reoccurring nightmare. You just called me telling me of a 60 to 90 minute delay and now it’s on time? The flight is delayed, it is on time, it is delayed, and oh hell you don’t have any idea what is going on!!! I have found the automated flight status update program useless and even annoying. The only benefit of the system I can assign is to allow friends and family to listen to frontline battlefield reports informing them how the war is going. If you’re on the frontline there is no lack of understanding as to the status of the war.

Back in Terminal D, I pass Richard sitting at the gate looking surprised. “Thought you were going to Charleston, you decided to have dinner with me in Chicago instead?”

Pulling the wad of tickets from my breast pocket I say “Well I was still trying to get to Charleston, but our new girl didn’t know how to complete the ticket transfer properly.”

With a smile knowing he had the opportunity to pimp me a bit, he says “Well I saw you were delayed to Charleston by three hours. You probably didn’t have anything else to do and probably needed the exercise. I like how the airlines look out for your health”

“Hey screw you too! Remember while you’re waiting to get out of O’Hare, I’ll be stretched out in that luxury bed in Charleston” I replied wiping the sweat from my forehead.

“You want to bet who gets back first?” Richards says with a smile.

“You’re on! The first one to get back on the ground in the desired location should call the other.” I scan the counter for my cute French girl.

Quietly I stand in line waiting for my turn. “Next” she says blinking her sapphire blue eyes. “I remember you, but I don’t recall what you needed?” as she looked at my tickets. “US Air told me that United needs to release the ticket in order to take control of the reservation and print me a boarding pass for the Charleston flight.” For the next ten minutes she types and enters information on dozens of screens. I watch her small lips pucker as she works through the complex system of screens. Finally she looks up, smiles parting her lips and says “This should do it. Give this ticket to the US Air gate agent in Terminal C.”

I waved goodbye to Richard as I head back to Terminal C. My phone rings again. “Hello this is Orbitz with another automated flight delay alert…….” I hang up before hearing the complete message. “Let me guess the Chicago-Kansas City flight is delayed.” On the moving walkway between terminals I realize that if I miss my first flight leg to Charleston in the morning, the airline will automatically cancel my return flight reservation. I call Mary at the office to have her reinstated the return flight on American Airlines for Monday from Charleston through Atlanta to Kansas City. A few minutes later my phone rings and I answer assuming it was the office. “Yeah, were you able to reinstate the flight?”

A voice replies “Hello this is Orbitz with another automated flight delay alert…….” I hang up, well aware of the problems in Chicago. Arriving back at gate C26 there is no one to be found. As soon as the last flight closed everyone working at the gate disappeared. I position myself in a seat at the bar across from the gate with an unobstructed view of the entire area. I order vodka on the rocks and wait for the gate agents to return.

There are two middle aged gentlemen at the opposite end of the bar waiting for the Charleston flight. Their gestures indicate that they have spent the majority of the afternoon sitting in the bar drinking and waiting. They are now to the point where they are loud and really having fun. One of them has been taking an informal poll with people passing by the bar, turning it into a game. A couple strolls by the bar with their heads hanging in oblivious despair. The guy leans out from his seat and yells to the couple “Let me guess US Air?” The couple quietly nod while the bar breaks out into a roar of laughter. A few minutes later a flight crew in a tight cluster runs at high speed past the bar. Again a voice screams “Let me guess US Air?” The roar from the bar makes the crowd sitting in the concourse turn to see what is going on. I entertain myself by watching the activity in the bar. Each new patron to wander off the concourse into the bar is greeted with the same question in a booming loud voice. “Let me guess US Air?” Each affirmative response is greeted with another roar of laughter and back slapping.

Finally the thin gay guy and a heavy short stern black lady return to the gate. I wander over to exchange my ticket for a boarding pass which will officially guarantee I will be taking the flight if it does in fact depart. I hand my ticket to the black lady; looking at it she twists her face with anguish. “This is for Charleston. I’m working the Minneapolis flight right now. Go away until we finish.” Slowly I turn to walk across the concourse back to my seat it the bar when I hear the drunk guy scream at me “Let me guess US Air?” Smiling, I nod allowing the bar to erupt again with laughter.

The phone rings and it is Mary from the office. “OK we got you reinstated on the flight you were booked on for Monday. It cost an additional $650 dollars. You want the confirmation number?” It takes a moment for the information to sink in.

“Wait, you’re telling me that they charged me another $650 dollars to reinstate a flight I was already on and already paid for?” as my voice started to reveal my anger.

The voice on the phone replied “They said that you can not change your travel itinerary without paying for the difference on the fare.”

On the verge of losing my temper I note “I did not change my travel schedule. It’s the same flight. There is no change. I was even willing to let them have the fee for the missed leg! Did you tell them that we would all feel much better if they would just put a gun to my head while they are robbing me!!!?”

I put the phone away in total disbelief. How the hell does this system work? Could this be the customer service that is causing the legacy carriers to go bankrupt? How soon do you think I’ll book another American Airlines flight? They will screw anyone they can get into their system and treat you like dirt in the process. It is now my mission to screw the legacy carriers out of every dollar I can. It’s only fair. The system is fat, bloated and totally out of touch with the business traveler which is the primary source of revenue for these unresponsive pigs. Do they understand why the no-frills carriers are kicking the snot out of the legacy carriers? As soon as the low cost carriers open international routes the legacy carriers will cease to exist.

My thoughts return to the concourse as another “Let me guess US Air” echoes in the bar. Finally a voice comes over the intercom. “This is the last call for flight 806 to Minneapolis, Minnesota at gate C26. All ticketed passengers should be on board.” I wait another five minutes before approaching the thin black gay guy at gate C26.

“Could you get me a boarding pass for the Charleston flight?” as I hand him the ticket.

Shaking his head he looks into the green screen. “This says your traveling to Chicago not Charleston. I can’t issue a boarding pass until it has the right destination. You need to go back to United at Terminal D one more time.”

With a serious face puzzled I ask “You’re kidding me, right?” Giving me a timid puppy dog look he mumbled “No.”

“It’s almost departure time and I want to be sure that I will in fact get a seat on this flight if I go back to Terminal D?”

“Don’t worry I’ve got a seat reserved for you.” He lifted his arm horizontal and wriggling his wrist is a short sweeping motion he indicates I should hurry up and be on my way.

While on the moving walkway between terminals my phone rings, “Hello this is Orbitz with an automated flight delay alert. United Airlines flight 2421 to Kansas City is scheduled to depart Chicago O’Hare airport at 7:53 pm is delayed. The new departure time is now 10:10 pm”. I smile, thinking that poor Richard doesn’t have a chance of winning our bet.

Arriving back at the Terminal D Chicago gate I discover the flight has departed and my little French girl is nowhere to be found. Just my luck! I glance over at the costumer service desk and notice a long line of very angry frustrated travelers. It appears the crowd will be starting a riot any moment. Deciding I don’t have the time to mess with so called “costumer service” system. It really is a system in the airport designed to punish you. Look here valued traveler we will show you how unpleasant your trip can be, just come by customer service and complain. Instead of enduring another episode of verbal abuse, I pick out a senior flight attendant standing alone of an empty gate and approach her.

“Ma’am, please excuse me, I am in need of a hero today. I’m hoping you could qualify?” As I hand her my papers as she looks at me with a “this better be simple” look from over top of her black rim reading glasses. I succinctly explain my problem as she looks into another green screen. She snips “US Air is wrong our records show they have the ticket.” Picking up the phone she calls gate C26 and begins to rank the thin gay guy on the other end of the phone with a big legacy carrier attitude. All of a sudden her voice changes inflection as she says “Oh that is correct. Oh no, I was mistaken Yes sir, I understand. Yes sir, I will.” I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. Did I really hear one of these hardened battle axes admit that they were wrong? No, I didn’t hear that and dismiss the admission as a hallucination created by my exhaustion. After a few more moments of typing she hands me the pile of tickets back with another new piece of paper added to the collection. “This should do it. We apparently did not have the right destination listed. You should have no problem now.”

On the moving walkway back to terminal C for the fourth time the phone rings. “Hello this is Orbitz with an automated flight delay alert. US Airlines flight 907 to Charleston……” I guess that last trip to Terminal D worked because my phone is now flooded with Charleston flight delay calls? Approaching gate C26, I hear a scream from the bar “Let me guess, US Air?” I turn and nod allowing the bar to roar again in laughter. This time one of the drunks at the bar cuts the celebration short. “Hey, we know him. He has been here before. No fair. He doesn’t count.”

Without speaking I give the little gay guy my bundle of tickets that are now about an inch thick. He smiles, pushes a button and my boarding pass is issued. Somewhat stunned I look at the thin white boarding pass, confirming my name, the right flight, the right day, and that I have a seat assignment. Looking at the clock it has taken me almost three hours to get this one ticket changed. A few minutes later the stern black lady returns to begin boarding the long delayed flight to Charleston.

As the announcement is made to begin boarding the crowd begins to act like a pack of hungry dogs rushing the lady at the gate as if she had a bucket of bones. The gay guy moves aside unsettled by the desperate surging of the crowd. Slowly the plane fills as the passengers elbow each other jockeying for better position. I’m one of the last to board the plane. The plane is a small regional jet with a capacity of about 40 passengers. My seat is the last seat in the plane. This is the seat they use to punish their most loyal customers that pay triple the fare of everyone else. Approaching my seat I notice the flight attendant in the gallery in the rear of the plane is on the phone with the pilot. She appears concerned as her eyes dart back and forth scanning the irritable group.

After everyone is seated and has stowed all their carry on luggage, the pilot comes on the intercom. “We have a switch that is sticking. We have called maintenance to take a look at it after which we will be on our way. It should only take about five minutes” I think to myself, is that five minutes in the real world or is that five minutes in the airline world? From the front of the plane I hear the two drunks bellow “Let me guess US Air”. No one laughs this time.

There is a lot of activity in the front cabin as an array of maintenance personnel mill about whispering to each other. The flight attendant in the rear of the aircraft hunkers down for the wrath of what is to come. After about thirty minutes the pilot comes on the intercom. “The maintenance staff needs to replace the switch and they have sent for the replacement part. It takes about five minutes to replace the switch, however in order to replace the switch we need to power down the plane. This will shut off all power and emergency lighting and by rule we need to de-plane the aircraft and wait in the gate area until power is restored.”

Finally exhibiting his frustration the pilot concludes with a parting comment directed at maintenance. “I had noted a problem with this switch last night when this flight arrived and if the maintenance staff has acted on the request to look at this problem we would have not been delayed tonight. I’m sorry for the delay.” There was an ugly groan from the passengers as the hope of escaping from the tarpit was erased. “You can leave your carry on bags on the aircraft if you like, but please take your boarding pass to re-enter the plane.”

The passengers stand slowly and file out of the aircraft past the surprised gay guy at the gate. When all of the passengers were assembled back at the gate an announcement poured from the intercom. “We expect maintenance to complete replacement of the part and testing shortly. Our new scheduled departure time is 11:15 pm.” Twenty of the forty passengers wander across the concourse toward the bar. As soon as the two drunks were visible the entire contents of the bar screams “Let me guess US Air?” They both raised their arms in victory like two warriors returning home from battle.

By this time my eyes are burning and I am unable to neither read nor concentrate. My legs are throbbing from walking six miles back and forth between the two terminals. My back is aching from carrying my computer bag for almost 18 hours. My mind is numb from lack of rest and stimulation. Sitting isolated in a sterile environment like an airport is exhausting. If it wasn’t for watching the people running around insane from being trapped in the system, I would have nothing to do.

My phone rings “Hello this is Orbitz with an automated flight delay alert. United Airlines flight 2421 to Kansas City is scheduled to depart Chicago O’Hare airport at 7:53 pm is delayed. The new departure time is now 11:30 pm”. Once again I smile thinking about poor Richard. He may not be staying in Chicago for the night, but I might still have a chance of winning our bet.

Before I can put my phone away it rings again. “Hello this is Orbitz with an automated flight delay alert. US Airlines flight 907 to Charleston……”

I hang up and mumble “Yeah, I heard. Tell me something I didn’t know.”

Time slows to a painful crawl. Each second seems like an eternity as I stare at the beaten broken passengers strewn across the gate. Earlier in the evening there was the most delightful baby boy running around the concourse being chased by his mother. He has now been reduced to a babbling mass of tears and screams as his mother attempts to consol his tired body.

11:15 comes and goes without comment. The thin gay guy seems to be handling the crowd well as he calms each new threat just before they attempt to strangle the living daylights out of the only US Air representative in harms way. I can see why they put him is this position. He is nimble and swift on his feet with agility. Plus how much satisfaction can you get from beating up a little gay guy. He ducks around the jetway and disappears for a few minutes.

Upon returning he grabs for microphone and makes an announcement. “The mechanics have installed the part, but are having a problem with testing. We are going to give them another twenty minutes which will give us a departure time of 12:45 am.”

Silence of the night is shattered by a chilling shriek cascading through a damp primeval forest. Somewhere hidden in the darkness a behemoth fights to escape, trapped by the thick gooey mass of black tar oozing from the recesses of hell. Unable to extricate itself from the deadly pit the behemoth struggles to no avail as the movement only secures the beast’s untimely dead. With its fate is sealed, only time stands between the beast and its final resting place. Like the behemoth I understand that I will never escape this seventh circle of hell. Someday they will find and marvel at my ancient bones. I no long maintain the strength to struggle. The perpetual motion of the last ten years will end somewhere in the forgotten depths of the Philadelphia airport.

My slow painful death is disturbed by my phone ringing. “Hello this is Orbitz with an automated flight delay alert. US Airlines flight 907 to Charleston……”

I did not hang up this time; the phone just went dead from the more than 200 hundred flight delay alerts. The system was not satisfied beating me into a slow painful death, but it had to also suck the life out of my little phone. This is great! I don’t typically bring my phone charger on day trips, so I have no way to restore my connection to the outside world. Losing your phone is the modern day equivalent of having both eyes poked out with a stick. You are no longer a functioning part of society. In most airports there is a little rubber room at the end of the concourse for all the unfortunate travelers who have lost their phone. The rest of us avert our eyes when we see these poor souls and now I’m condemned to be one of them. What did I do to deserve this day?

No one is surprised when 12:45 am comes and goes without comment. However, the thin gay guy is getting really nervous as the crowd is getting ugly. He keeps running down to the jetway to talk with maintenance then comes back a little more jumpy each time. I can see his time is running out. The crowd is beginning to think that there is indeed satisfaction from beating up a little US Air gay guy especially at 1:00 am in the morning. He calls in for reinforcement and flees the gate like a jack rabbit. I remember thinking that the gate must be on fire or something? The last I see of him is literally running down the concourse toward security. This can not be a good sign.

All of a sudden his replacement appears as a shadow at the end of the jetway. Walking toward the top of the gate she emerges into the light. It takes my tired eyes a few seconds to focus. Oh my god, it’s the “cleaner”. Not the janitor, but the “cleaner”. The one the mob calls in to dispose of the bodies when things go terribly wrong. You know the guy in Pulp Fiction Winston Wolfe. A harden steel cold blooded eagle that cleans up the worst of messes. US Air is not taking any chances, they have called in the professionals. She was a short stout East German lady in her fifties with thick tree trunk legs and a massive build. Her salt and pepper black hair was rolled into a tight bun on top of her head. There was no attempt to disguise this determination with girly makeup. Her fingers were like big sausages stuck on hands that resembled giant ham hocks. She had no ankles, just thick calves that disappeared into wide industrial black nurse’s shoes. She didn’t really walk like the rest of us, but rather rocked back and forth while alternately extending massive legs. As the earth shook mere mortals parted clearing her path.

Man, I bet no one has ever knocked her off her feet. There was no question that she was in control. I looked around the gate at our beaten whipped group and thought I bet she could pulverize this group without even disturbing the sawdust on the floor. Philadelphia can be a tough town and over the years in the airport she must have kick some major ass. I was impressed.

She immediately stood behind the podium taking a broad defensive stance and picked up the microphone. “The maintenance staff is having problems testing the switch. We are going to try to start the engines. If we are able to start the engines we will leave. If we are not able to start the engines we will go to plan B and you do not want to hear plan B.” The microphone is returned to the podium as she picks up a clipboard and crosses her massive arms waiting for the next challenger to approach. I was surprised that no one went up to the podium to discuss the options, or should I say the lack of options. We were all content leave the “cleaner” undisturbed.

At 1:15 am the two flight attendants scurry up the jetway next to the “cleaner”. The “cleaner” picks up the microphone and in a stern German accent announces “The engines have started. We will be departing. Please show me your boarding pass as you board the plane.” We all file past the cleaner as she shouts out the seat number allowing the flight attendants to record it. I realize she is even larger than she appears from a distance as I pass her on my way to the plane. Assembled back into the plane I am reunited with my computer bag. Once again the flight attendant in the rear of the aircraft is nervous talking on the phone with the pilot. I think, “No don’t tell me something else is broken?”

There is a commotion in the front cabin with the cleaner. I overhear the flight attendant on the phone say “What do you mean our count was 39 we are suppose to have 38.” For the next ten minutes our two flight attendants march up and down the aisle counting heads. I wonder how long it is going to take them to do a complete inventory of the passengers in order to determine who the extra body is. From the front of the plane I hear the cleaner say “Oh the hell with it just shut the cabin door.” Now that’s someone in control. I’m assuming the cleaner has bent a number of regulations in order to get this flight off the gate, the least of which is letting the plane to depart if “it starts”. I’m sure nowhere in the operational manual does it say “If all these procedures fail, just try to start the damn thing. If it starts push off from the gate before it stalls.” A harden steel cold blooded eagle making decisive decisions cleaning up a seven hour mess. The right person in the right place is what I admire.

The wheels leave the runway at Philadelphia airport at 1:48 am and immediately begin to wonder how I will get to the hotel in Charleston. I’m the last person on the plane and by the time I get off the plane all the taxis will be taken. I have never been to Charleston. I have no idea where the hotel is. At this point I am so tire and exhausted that I am unable to relax or consider falling asleep. My burning eyes stare blindly out the window watching the small town lights pass in the early morning hours.

At 3:20 am we touchdown at Charleston airport and taxi to the gate. The ordeal is about to end. I walk out of the plane down the concourse past the worn crowd waiting for luggage into the cool evening air. I snicker thinking at least I don’t have to wait for luggage because my luggage is waiting for me at home. To my surprise there is a long string of taxis waiting for the delayed flight. Apparently the transportation company knowing the delayed status of the flight called all the cabs in town to the airport. You know, I’ll going to like this town as I jump into a cab. As we begin our thirty minute drive to the hotel I mumble to myself “Hello this is Orbitz with an automated flight delay alert. US Airlines flight 907 to Charleston……”

The cab driver turns his head and asks “Did you say something?”

Rolling down the cab window a crack I turn “Yeah, what is the weather going to be like this weekend?

“Sir you picked a beautiful weekend to visit us.”, as the taxi exits the interstate.

A few minutes later the cab drivers turns and points at a high rise building in front of us and says “This is your hotel as you can tell they are doing some work on it.”

Stunned and confused I look at the structure. Doing some work on it is this year’s understatement. We are pulling into a complete construction site. It is not possible to determine what type of structure this is going to be with all the steel beams and open trusses. As we circled a parking lot filled to construction vehicles and storage containers I have no idea on how to enter the construction site let alone the alleged hotel. Every square foot of ground is covered with piles of gravel, iron pipe, wood framing and electrical conduit. Hey, I’m familiar with a construction site, that’s what I do and let me tell you this is not a hotel, this is a construction site. Weaving his way through the construction supplies and temporary fencing, the taxi driver pulls up to a small temporary construction trailer attached to a remote corner of the structure and stops.

Smiling he points “This is the temporary entrance to the hotel.”

I look at him with bloodshot eyes and say “Are you sure this hotel is open for business?”

He smiles and replies “Yes sir, they are open for business.”

Getting out of the cab I pay the fare and ask “Do you have a business card so I can call if this place is closed?”

As the lights of the taxi disappear in the dust of the temporary access road, I slip his business card into my pocket. “Oh shit, my phone is dead. I’m stuck here. Maybe I’ll just break into this construction trailer and wait until someone shows up for work in a couple of hours”

Slowly I drag myself up the wooden steps to find the door open. As I step in, the corridor could be called a hotel like space, I guess. Walking down the corridor I stumble into a larger reception area with a temporary pile of furniture that sort of looks like a reception desk. Hidden from view a young girl is sitting on a folding metal chair decides to stand up when she hears me approach the collection of furniture. “May I help you?”

Startled I respond “Christ, you scared the crap out of me.” Regaining my composure I ask “Is this a hotel and are you open for business?”

Unflustered by this worn traveler she asks “What’s the name?”

“Mr. Blue.” I reply looking around the makeshift lobby. “Nice look you got here. I bet we could call architectural digest and have them come out to snap a few shots.”

“Mr. Blue, your room is 925. The elevators are around the corner and to the end of the hall. Have a good evening.” As the night manager hands me the keys.

Turning past the corner into the hall I am surrounded by only a concrete shell. No drywall, no wallpaper, no pictures, no carpet, no flooring, no furnishings of any sort. There are copper pipes stubbed up against the wall with orange cones next to them. There are holes in the concrete walls with electrical wires hanging out with small ribbons of warning tape tied to the ends. Along one side a long plastic sheet divides the space where wall is going to be.

I begin to wonder what my room is going to look like. Is it going to be another concrete shell with a pile of construction cardboard tossed in the corner for a bed? Will it be decorated with orange traffic cones and OHSA safety posters hung on the walls? Will my furniture be scaffolding with old paint buckets to wash my face in? As the elevator door opens, it is once again bare of carpet and wall coverings. I’m so tired that an empty concrete shell is all I need to get some rest.

The elevator door opens on the ninth floor and to my surprise it looks like a normal hotel corridor. Not that you can tell a lot about a hotel by the corridors. I wander down to room 925 and open the door. Switching on the light I’m surprised to find a completely renovated beautiful furnished room. The room is decorated is a soft mustard motif with an oversized luxury double bed with six white overstuffed pillows and 200 count Egyptian cotton sheets. I think about crying but decide it would be too much effort. In an attempt to get my bearings I look out the window and see the river to the left and the Citadel in the distance on the right. The morning glow is tickling the horizon as the cadets begin to arise for the day.

It is not more than a few minutes before I’ve stripped out of my clothes and am lying in this wonderful luxury bed between the Egyptian cotton sheets. I look at my watch and the time is 4:17 am. This day is now complete. This day was a new milestone for the road warrior. This day was a new record for perpetual motion. Never before in my many years of travel has a day lasted over 24 hours. Never before has a day exacted such an excruciating toll on me both physically and mentally. Never before have I completed the circle 4:00 am to 4:00am. Am I growing old of this investment of effort or is the system becoming more punishing? Is this brutality meant to humble me or to steel my resolve against the inhumanity of the carriers? I feel grateful to have a quiet moment to rest, but feel horribly abused by the entire experience. My body is aching and throbbing like a thumb that has been hit with a hammer. My mind is raw and without focus as if I’ve been drugged. I can no longer process the experience as I drift to sleep.

Sunlight streaming into my face awakes me. I look at the clock and it is 10:30 am. For a brief moment I do not recall where I am. Oh yeah, I thought it was a nightmare. I need to let someone know where I am and that I made it to Charleston. I get out of bed with a modest headache and pull my computer from the travel bag. I’ll just jump on the internet and email the world on my escape from the Philadelphia tarpits. I plug the cable into my computer finding no connection. I search for a wireless network, but there are none to be found. I look at my dead cell phone realizing I don’t have the charger to fire it up. I decide not to use the hotel phone since the rates are usually obscene. My only other option is to go to the front desk and ask where a hotspot might be.

I pull on my clothes from yesterday. Looking in the mirror I am appalled at what I see. A wrinkled, bearded, bloodshot homeless bum. “Man, yesterday put some miles on me and it shows!” There is not much that can be done for me, no razor, no toothbrush, no comb, no deodorant, no mouthwash, no change of underwear, no nothing. My hair looks like I placed my finger in an electric socket. Looking at the bags under my eyes I think “Who says I didn’t bring luggage look at those two overnighters.” The black circles around my eyes give me a raccoon appearance. I look like the drug crazed fiend in reefer madness. “Oh, the hell with it, you can’t look like a beauty queen every day” as I grab my computer and head to the lobby.

The elevator door opens with a young southern bell and her four year old son standing in the corner. My appearance startles her, but she maintains a civil polite demeanor, which is more than can be said for her son. I break the ice with the intellectually stimulating opening line of “Going down?” They both nod as I get in the elevator. The boy plasters himself against his mother’s leg and stares at me like I’m going to bite him. About halfway down to the lobby, the boy can’t bear it any longer “Mommy I’m scared”. To which he is immediately rebuffed by his mother “Shhhhh….!” I look at the small boy trying to ease his concern “You known why I look like this?” Too frightened to speak he just nods his head. “I fell out of an airplane and it drug me down the runway for a long time. So the next time you get on an airplane stay away from the doors unless you want to look like me.” The boy’s eyes are as wide as saucers as the mother gives me this “thanks a lot” look. Take that, the legacy carriers don’t be able to screw that kid because he won’t get over his fear of flying until he’s fifty years old. They didn’t think I could get even with them for yesterday but they were wrong.

The hotel manager has her head down as I approach the counter. Looking up she sees me and involuntarily sucks in a little puff of air like a goldfish eating an insect. She begins by stating the oblivious “Can I help you?” Lady by my appearance it is readily apparent that I can use of whole lot of help. The real question is where to begin? I start with the easy stuff “Is there a shop in the hotel when I can buy some toilettes?”

“No it’s closed”
I try again “Is there a hotel restaurant to get breakfast at?”
“No it’s closed”
“Is there a restaurant within walking distance?”
“No not really”
“Is there a convenience store within walking distance?”
“No not within walking distance.”
“Okay, I noticed there is no coffee maker in the room. Do you have coffee service somewhere in the lobby?”
“No”
Okay, I noticed there is internet service in the room. Do you have internet service somewhere in the lobby?”
“Yes sir we do.” I win. I found something that would classify as a customer service provided by even the meekest of hotels.
“Sir the internet service is not very strong and the customers tell there is only one place to get good wireless connections.”

I look around the temporary lobby and ask “Where might that be?” She leans over the counter and points down to a folding metal church chair sitting in front of the makeshift reception desk not more than three feet from us.
“You have got to be kidding me?”
“No sir.”

At this point in time I don’t care any more and turn to plant my scruffy, bearded, wild hair, wrinkled butt down into that metal folding chair. I am finally able to connection to the internet and tell the world that I have in fact survived the most brutal day ever conceived by the demented minds of the travel industry.

For the next thirty minutes I am a pitiful fixture in this makeshift lobby. I am the homeless indigent bum sitting in a wrinkle shirt and two day old underwear begging for a cup of coffee and mumbling something about a war with the airlines. Most of the people checking into the hotel avert their eyes and steer a wide path around me until they realize that I’m sitting under the reception desk at which time they take pity on me.

Another four years old is staring at me like I’m going to bite him, when he can no longer bear it he says “Daddy, give that man a dollar. It’s so sad.” How low have I sunk in just twenty-four hours? Just twenty-four hours ago I was a consummate professional securing a million dollar contract and now look at me.

My journey has been so harrowing that I have totally forgotten the purpose for me being in Charleston. It is the midyear board meeting of a national professional organization of which I am a secretary. It is a position of esteem to be honored as I participate with fifteen other very distinguished professionals from around the nation. Our group will be arriving today at this hotel for a three day board meeting which will determine the policies to govern the organization for the next six months. All of this information comes flooding back to me as I look up and see a fellow board member walk into the hotel. As we make eye contact I smile.

“Mr. Blue, what in the hell happened to you?”

Silence of the night is shattered by a chilling shriek cascading through a damp primeval forest. Somewhere hidden in the darkness a behemoth fights to escape, trapped by the thick gooey mass of black tar oozing from the recesses of hell. Unable to extricate itself from the deadly pit the behemoth struggles to no avail as the movement only secures the beast’s untimely dead. With its fate is sealed, only time stands between the beast and its final resting place. Hours upon hours pile on the back of this forgotten creature as searing thirst claws at its flesh. Soon the behemoth will succumb to the lack of water no longer able to keep its head erect, as the strength ebbs it will fall silently into the black sewer never to seen again.

Dead Man Walking

Dead Man Walking

The sky is turning steel grey as the sunset highlights wisps of the remaining jet contrails hanging above the worn tarmac. The scene has a sterile industrial appearance with the soft light bouncing off the polished metal machines which line the gates like bees on a honeycomb. The routine has become almost to routine as I follow a well worn path without thinking in a subconscious response like breathing. Entering the concourse through gate B3, I turn left and slowly shuffle with the ear buds pumping Greg Allman singing “the dark side of the road” into my brain as the moving walkway reminds me of its termination for the millionth time in that exceedingly androgynous voice. It’s late and the concourse is largely abandon only littered with a few gate agents milling around waiting for the next cattle car to arrive as I head to gate B21 for the final leg of this trip.

The crowd has always begun to assemble into three simple lines waiting for the jetway door to open. I take my place in line to begin the wait with everyone else. Pain has been welling in the muscles of my lower back which is now attempting to compete for center stage with the low grade thumping headache that has been my companion since Hartford. As my feet burn from standing for the past two days, I mumble to myself "I can’t believe that it’s only Tuesday". The voice over the intercom is droning in the background, but the sound drifts past without importance because it’s someone else’s flight to nowhere in particular. I’ve been conditioned to only respond to the specific drone of my gate like the penguins that can identify their youth after months of separation purely by the small sound of their voice. Like a baby penguin I quietly wait for a familiar drone which begins the process of perpetual motion all over again.

The gate opens as four serious TSA agents scurry down and disappear into the jetway to discover hidden gels and liquids. Travelers have already adapted to the new regulations adeptly discarding all types of viscous personal items without blinking. Less than three days since the spoiled plot to instill fear into the general public, the routine is once again commonplace. The public’s attention span is now so short and dysfunctional that we now act like the last act of terrorism is nothing more than a rerun of a bad sitcom from a show that has been cancelled due to lack of interest. Terrorists are going to need to get creative in order to capture our undivided attention and concern. That’s a problem any more; no one is being creative and simple concepts are being recycled over and over. Even the most diabolical insane terrorist can’t come up with a new idea.

As the door opens again the lines perk up and we start a noticeable shuffle while standing in place. Approaching the gate Ray Charles singing “America the beautiful” filling my head as the TSA agents scurry back out of the jetway past me. I reach up a salute the first TSA agent as he goes by. It just seemed like the thing to do, I guess Ray made me do it. The TSA agent immediately slows to take a good look while a complete shakedown of this potential deviant crosses his mind. The remaining TSA agents press forward distracting him with more important things to do, as they march off like a pack of Elmer Fudds chasing the mythical Bugs Bunny dressed in fatigues and a turban. The line begins to dwindle as I approach the gate in a painful slow baton death march.

Holding out the lottery ticket to win a ride to another location, I’m stopped cold as the gate agent says, “Sir you’re on the next flight.” Stunned I look down at the ticket and see the wrong departure time. “Please step aside, this plane is full.” You mean I’ve been standing in line for the past 45 minutes for a flight I’m not on? What happened to me gate B3 to B21? Sheepishly I wander back to the concourse and start heading to gate A9 for the next flight, when it strikes me that I didn’t need to look at the monitors to know the next gate. I know the 7:40 flight is out of gate B21 and then the 8:55 flight is out of gate A9, then the 9:30 flight is gate B15 and the last flight at 9:55 during the summer is back at gate B21. This realization is deeply troubling to me as I follow the routine and slowly march to gate A9.

Some people might consider this insight and knowledge of airline operations as a badge of honor or a sign of a brilliant photographic mind, but I find it a sign of a hopeless routine of waiting for time to pass. I begin to think that maybe I need a vacation, observing the gates I’m traveling past on my way to A9. B15 Washington DC……no I was there last week. B13 Ft. Lauderdale…….we just got a project there, so I’ll be traveling there a lot. B11 Hartford……….out of the question I just came from there. B9 Detroit……..no way I had a project there a few years ago and I’ve been there enough for a long time. B7 Boston………I was there three weeks ago and will be going back next month. B5 New York……..another trip next month. After awhile I come to the conclusion that maybe a vacation is not such a great idea. I would just be standing in that line instead of this one.

Arriving at A9, I assume my place in the pre-ordained line, this time at the right gate. As the door opens for the flight crew to enter the jetway when I notice that it’s the crew that flies the Chicago-Kansas City-Baltimore-Islip route. Again my sense of well being is shaken by the fact that I can associate particular crews with particular routes. Worst of all the flight attendant smiles and waves as she passes, letting me know that she also recognizes me. I’m of no particular striking physical persona that would make me memorable, just another face in the crowd, in her case a crowd of thousands of new faces each week. Five legs a day at 225 per flight equal almost 6,000 passengers a week, but she remembers me? I must have crossed over into the realm of that stupid little short commercial that bludgeons the airways so frequently that you can’t ignore it. I need to ask this airline about my pension options when I retire, I’m putting in as much time as the crews.

The gentle vibrating of my cell phone is a welcome relief from the depressing thoughts of the retirement dinner the airline will hold for me. I’ve have not heard a ring tone from my phone for the past five years, I prefer to keep the settings on silent so I’m not the idiot that jumps up in the middle of a funeral because his phone begins belting out Barry Manilow. A recent study found that one third of cell phone calls in public are faked because the person is trying to impress the public into thinking they are important. One out of three of the idiots babbling about crap are doing it so I think they are somebody? I need to inform them that I have never found anyone with a cell phone crammed into their ear important, interesting or anything close to a form of intelligent life. Cell phones are an entire subject that I better not get started on.

Answering the phone I recognize the voice of my closest friend for well over 40 years. “Hey mon, you are not going to believe this I’m living your life right now……I’m stuck in Mr. Blue’s hell.”

Knowing that we are now entering our long running game of can you top this I start “Yeah I bet you haven’t been standing in the wrong line for the past hour?”

“No” he replies “I’m been sitting my ass on a broken plane in Seattle for the past three hours and they are now giving me the news that we will arrive in New York at 3:30 am.”

Breaking a smile I need more so I ask “So what’s up with the plane?”

Feeling the anger begin to well he says “They have to replace some stinking part and they don’t have the part here so they are flying it up on the next flight from Los Angeles”.

Knowing he is on the edge and I don’t have a prayer of winning this contest, I begin to badger him, “So what’s the big deal?”

With that little poke it comes rolling out “Dude! I’m in Seattle the home of Boeing, the world’s greatest airplane manufacturer in the world. I’m so close to the factory I can almost see where they make the parts from my seat on the runway and I’m on a fucking French made Airbus!!!!”

There comes a point in our simple lives when we gain comfort in the misfortune of others, smiling I reply “Hey I though you were the one who said how important of a global economy is.”

Interrupting me he says “Mr. Blue don’t go there, right now or else I’ll push this plane to Chicago just to kick your ass!”

In a friendship that has been forged into steel over the years, close the conversation “Hey sweetheart be sure to give me a call when land in New York I want to be sure you made it home okay.”

Placing the phone back into my pocket I hear him talking to himself” I can’t believe I’m Mr. Blue stuck on some god dam plane…………”

For a brief moment my life is brightened knowing that I’m not the only “dead man walking” today.

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.

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.