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.
