Around the World in a Bad Mood!

by Rene Foss

TRAVELING BY AIR these days is demoralizing. Let’s admit it, the thrill is gone. I speak now on behalf of the tempest-tossed traveler, yearning to breathe free amid a sea of chaos, crowds, and confusion. Road warriors with travel savvy may have a better understanding of the system than vacation travelers who may venture out only once, maybe twice, a year, but even they have their moments of despair. Let us begin at the beginning, if for some reason you want, have, or need to go somewhere. It occurs to you that traveling by car, bus, or train might be better than going through the entire airline experience. You seriously consider these alternate modes of transportation only to realize that they are far too slow. You’re in a hurry, need to get there now, you have things to do, people to see, history to make, and you can’t be screwing around on some slowpoke train. Besides, you have acquired some “free mileage” from going into major debt on your credit card or by using your long distance excessively, so why not cash it in?

  First of all, you have to buy a ticket. There are a plethora of ways to go about this: You can call your travel agent, check out the Internet, or, if you are very bold and daring, you can call your favorite airline directly! You make the call, then you’re placed on hold for a long time with annoying background music underlying the latest details of their upcoming sale (this alternates with a well-modulated female voice breaking in to apologize for the lengthy wait). Finally the salesperson answers, and you tell her you want to purchase a ticket to XYZ and need to leave on such and such a date and return on such and such another date and you want the cheapest fare.

  CALLER: What is the cheapest fare?

  AGENT: Where are you starting?

  CALLER: New York.

  AGENT: Where are you going?

  CALLER: Around the world.

  AGENT: Can you be a little more specific? Like what is your first stop?

  CALLER: Johannesburg.

  AGENT: We don’t fly there from New York, we would have to route you through Europe.

  CALLER: I don’t want to go to Europe first. Is there any other way?

  AGENT: One moment please (she takes out her atlas). . . . Umm . . . you could start in Tokyo and work your way west.

  CALLER: I don’t have that much time.

  AGENT: Perhaps you should call a travel agent and have them arrange a tour package for you.

  CALLER: Call a travel agent? I AM A TRAVEL AGENT.

  AGENT: One moment please.

  Click.

  CALLER: Hello, hello??

  It’s one of life’s little mysteries how calls are conveniently disconnected when the conversation gets too complicated or too intense. Moving on, let’s assume you have made a successful purchase. The next step is a trip to the airport of origin—what fun! If you can’t get a ride from a friend or take a taxi then you have to drive your car. Big drag, because this will require parking your car. Sometimes it seems that the parking lots are bigger than the actual airport. Apparently most people go for the drive-yourself option because the parking lots are always very full. It also seems as if they’re always under construction, so you end up having to park about one million miles away from the airport. But not to worry because the little courtesy van will chauffeur you from one of the lots to the airport. Of course, you may have to wait a while for it to arrive, and when it finally does you will then take a “see the airport” tour while the van picks up more and more and more people with more and more and more bags!

  Eventually you will arrive at the airport, exhausted, just in time for the real fun to begin. These days most people do not check bags; they prefer to drag all their paraphernalia with them and hope that there is space for it in the overhead bins. However, if you should choose to check your bags you will need to proceed to the ticket counter where there is usually a long, long, long line of people standing, growing old, also waiting to check their bags and check in for their flights. It’s interesting to me how technology is supposed to make things more efficient, and yet the more technologically advanced we become, the longer it takes to accomplish things. Don’t worry, the line will move, it just moves slowly, so try and think of it as a chance to rest your weary bones from the car-parking experience. Finally it’s your turn! You’ll need to have that photo identification ready and you’ll have to be prepared to answer a series of questions about your bags. Now if you find this annoying, just think about the poor agents; they have to ask every single passenger the same questions day in and day out: Did you pack your own bag? Has this bag been under your control since you packed it? (Actually, my bag gets a little out of control occasionally, but after I give it a good talking to it’s able to compose itself.) Upon completely and successfully answering the twenty questions at the ticket counter, you’re qualified to proceed to security. Another long line, a bit of radiation for the road, and you’re off to the gates!

  Congratulations, you’ve come a long way since parking the car. Your journey begins on the West Coast, you will make a connection somewhere in the middle of America, and then continue on to a major city on the East Coast. Let’s also say that you’re fortunate enough to have an on-time departure, an exit row, and your choice of a hot breakfast on the first leg of your journey. You think things are going well when you land on time in the middle of the country, but then it is time for that connection—this is where the trouble can begin. The plane lands, amazingly enough, early. Can’t beat that; this is great because you had only about forty-five minutes to make your connection. This gives you a little extra time; maybe you will have a cup of coffee in the airport. You’re waiting for the plane to park at the gate when suddenly the captain makes an announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, the good news is we have arrived early. The bad news is they do not have a gate for us yet. It will be just a few moments while they locate a gate. Please remain seated, and thank you for your patience.” Well, things could be worse. This isn’t so bad. About ten minutes later, “Sorry folks, we’re still waiting for a new gate, shouldn’t be too much longer. Thanks again.” Now you’re beginning to get a bit concerned; at this point you’re right on time and have exactly forty-five minutes to make your connection. Another five minutes pass and you feel the plane begin to move. It moves for a while and then stops. Apparently, they’ve found a gate . . . relief!

  But what is this? No one is moving, and you begin to wonder, Now what? More waiting. You look at your watch and realize that now you have only thirty minutes to make that connection. What the hell is the deal, why isn’t anyone moving? Another announcement, this time it’s a flight attendant, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are having a little trouble with the jet way. Apparently they marshaled us in a little too far and now they can’t open the door. They have to push the plane back a few feet, so please take your seats. Thank you.”

  Everyone sits down, sort of, and the aircraft moves. Then everyone rises again and after a brief pause the crowd slowly begins to inch forward. You’re down to fifteen minutes’ connection time, but at least you’re off the plane and within the confines of an airport somewhere in the middle of America. From an architectural standpoint the place is a monument to stupidity—whoever designed it had no concept of the word “space.” Having arrived at gate 99 you begin to walk in what you think is the right direction to get to gate 27; the place is crowded, kids are screaming, electric carts are beeping as they whiz past you, and all of a sudden you need to use the rest room. You locate one only to discover there’s a line about a mile long . . . forget it! You still have about fifty gates to go when you discover you’re walking in the wrong direction. Politely you try to navigate through the crowd, cursing the slower folks who are impeding your progress, tripping over baby carriages, and finagling your way through Japanese tour groups. You pick up the pace from a brisk walk to a jog, your heart is pounding, you’re sweating, and everywhere you look there are people! Could this be hell?

  Finally you get to gate 27 only to discover that your flight has been canceled. It’s a mob scene at the podium. There are two agents, two computers, and two hundred disgr
untled passengers of whom you are one. They’re trying to rebook everyone on the next flight, and tempers are beginning to flare. After you catch your breath and compose yourself, you take your place in line, realizing you’re at the mercy of the airline. It has been my experience that this is the most common time for air rage to kick in. You’re up: “I need to get to XYZ today—do you think you can put me on the next flight at two-thirty?”

  “That flight is oversold, you can be on the standby list, but there are already seventy-five people on the list.”

  “Well, when is the next flight after that?”

  “Six o’clock. It’s also full and there’s also a standby list of about fifty people.”

  “Well, what do you suggest I do?”

  “I can book you confirmed space on the ten o’clock flight tonight, which arrives at one A.M. at XYZ.”

  “It’s about noon, so that is like ten hours from now. What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  “Well, if you don’t want to wait, I could reroute you through ABC at one and then you could catch the six o’clock from there, arriving in XYZ at eight, but you have to hurry and make up your mind because that flight is now boarding at gate eighty-eight.”

  Gate 88 is close to gate 99, where you just came from. The thought of rushing all the way back there is daunting. The other option is to sit and wait around for ten hours—what a choice. The pressure is mounting, there’s a throng of people behind you, and the agent is impatiently eyeing you while waiting for your answer.

  “Well, what’s it going to be? I don’t have all day.” He may not have all day, but you might. You could take the next ten hours and think about all your options. . . . Maybe you should just go back home and forget the whole thing. You’re practically ready to give up and then something hits you. You want to meet the challenge; a “yes, I can” attitude springs forth from somewhere in the depths of your soul. You think to yourself, I’m not going to let the system kill my adventurous spirit! You want to go where no man has gone before and you are without fear! You look the agent in the eye and boldly tell him, “Book me on the flight to ABC and call the gate. Tell them I am on my way from gate 27. I’m going to get to my final destination, even if it kills me, and nothing you or this airline can do is going to stop me.” You take a deep breath, gather your courage, and begin to run through the airport to gate 88. This time, however, nothing can stand in your way. You shove through the crowds. You are unstoppable. An Olympic athlete of sorts, going for the gold. This is your parade and no one is going to rain on it. You arrive at gate 88, and the boarding area is empty except for the gate agent. She is waiting for you just as you commanded. . . .

  “Hurry!” she yells.

  “Out of my way!” you respond as you throw the boarding pass in her face and fly past her down the jet way and onto the airplane. At last you have made it, and what is this? They have given you a first-class seat! Life is full of pleasant little surprises, isn’t it? Now this is more like it! An attentive flight attendant asks if she can hang up your coat or get you a drink. You give her your coat and ask for a glass of chardonnay as you settle into your seat. Granted, making a detour through ABC is not the most direct way to get to XYZ, but it sure as hell beats sitting around the airport all day. You’ve certainly made the right decision. You sip your wine as the flight attendant acquaints you with the safety features on board. Then a little word from the captain: “Ladies and gentlemen, hello and welcome aboard from the flight deck. The good news is that once we take off the weather is clear and it should be a smooth flight. The bad news is that we have a little mechanical problem and are going to be delayed indefinitely. Right now we’re trying to locate another aircraft, so we want everyone to remain on board until we hear what the mechanics have to say. Thank you for your understanding.”

  You calmly wait. The chardonnay is easing your pain a bit, and you’re still better off than if you had chosen to wait around for another ten hours in the airport. The flight attendant comes around again for refills, this time with some warm honey-roasted pecans. Delightful! The captain interrupts your reverie with some wonderful news: “Looks like we have a new aircraft that’s ready to go so we’ll have you off to ABC before you know it. The only hitch is that we will have to transfer to a new gate. Please gather your personal belongings and proceed to gate 26. Thank you for your cooperation!”

  After making the five-mile jaunt, for the third time in one day, you’re now at gate 26. The plane is waiting, you board, the crew is there, it seems things are going to work out . . . but bad news. This time you don’t have that first-class seat. This time you have a center seat—in coach. Things don’t get much worse than that in life. It matters not, at least you have a seat on an aircraft that seems to be going in the general direction in which you want to travel. The door is closed, the safety demo is completed, and miracle of miracles, the plane is pushing away from the gate. Relief sets in, when all of a sudden the captain speaks: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re ready to go on our end, but the control center at ABC has informed us that a cloud is passing over ABC and the surrounding area, so they’re holding all arrivals and departures in and out of ABC indefinitely. We’re going over to a remote area and waiting for an assigned slot time. We’ll be getting an update in forty-five minutes. In the meantime just sit back and relax, and we certainly do apologize for this inconvenience.”

  There you are, trapped on the tarmac because a cloud is passing over ABC. Not much to do but to think about the road not traveled. Perhaps you should have just hung around the airport and waited the ten hours for the nonstop to XYZ, which is where you really need to be. There probably isn’t a cloud in the sky there, but you, genius that you are, chose to route yourself through ABC. Think how different your life would be if you had chosen the other alternative. You’d be in an airport with shops, restaurants, bathrooms, telephones, and Starbucks. But you picked this path. And now you’re crammed into a center seat. On your right sits a three-hundred-pound bruiser who’s taking a little catnap, shoes off and snoring up a storm, blocking easy access to the aisle, not a care in the world. To the right, by the window, sits a strange man from a strange land in strange garb emitting a strange odor from his body. He speaks in a foreign tongue, which is unrecognizable, yet you’re becoming more and more familiar with it because he mutters constantly, with an occasional outburst of sound that appears to have no defined meaning whatsoever. Isn’t this a cozy little arrangement? Well, you might as well get used to it because nothing seems to be moving. Sitting in the center seat is a bit like being in prison. You have no rights and you have no privileges; you are a nonentity.

  Let’s begin with the armrest. There are three seats, three people, but only four armrests. Guess what, center seat? You don’t get an armrest! The man on the right assumes that both of the armrests are his, and discussion about the matter would be next to impossible because of the language barrier. The bruiser on the left is out for the count, and not only is he hogging both armrests with his burly arms, but his stomach is also drooping over what little area of the armrest remains, further invading your space. You’ve got the picture, I’m sure, because you’re the unlucky victim of the “center seat dehumanization process.” You will have to remain seated with your arms at your sides, facing straight ahead. What’s a person in your position to do in the rare and unlikely event that you have the pressing need to leave your seat? Forget about it. You are not going anywhere, you are shackled to the center seat. What do you need to get up and walk around for anyway, you little nonentity? When you were in first class on that last flight, you had some leverage, but since you have been relegated to coach class and to a center seat, your rights have gone out the window. It wouldn’t be so bad if the passenger behind you wasn’t a child who has discovered the joy of kicking the seat in front of him (yours), and he’s screaming with delight each time he rams into you. You feel weary. Perhaps a nap would be appropriate, but alas, there is really nowhere to rest your weary head. You stare st
raight ahead, arms at your sides, head bobbing up and down, miserable. Finally it occurs to you: Maybe if you lower your tray table (you do have your very own tray table, that is one privilege you still retain) you could just lean forward and place your head there and close your eyes for a few moments and escape, if only mentally, the torture chamber, also know as the center seat. Yes, it works, and it’s the first peaceful moment you have had in God knows how long. Just as you are about to fall into a deep sleep, the jerk in front of you decides to recline his seat back all the way, thus smashing your head so hard that it lands in your lap. Meanwhile the kicking from behind resumes, the muttering interspersed with occasional screams on the right continues, and the snoring on the left does not cease.

  There you are curled up in a little ball, sucking your thumb, on the verge of uncontrollable sobbing, when the captain makes an announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, I have some bad news. It appears we will be here for at least another hour. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to make you more comfortable. Thank you.”

  Heard It Through the Grapevine

  WHENEVER I TELL other airline employees I’m writing a book about our world, they all have wonderful little stories or jokes they think I should include. Of course, I can’t mention them all, but here are a few goodies that I think you will enjoy!

  There was a period of time when one airline was having problems with customs because flight attendants were bringing fruit from foreign countries into the United States and the airline was being fined each time it happened. So during flight attendant briefings the supervisors were reminding everyone not to bring fruit into the United States. One day a new supervisor at the base had to give the briefing. She was a bit of a scatterbrain and did not have a complete command of the English language. Her briefing went something like this: “OK everybody, listen to me. This airline been getting a lot of fine because flight attendant bringing in fruit from other country. Every time flight attendant bring in fruit this airline get fine. Bring in orange, one hundred dollars; bring in apple, one hundred dollars; bring in pear, one hundred dollars.” At that point some wiseacre, unable to resist an opportunity to get in a little joke, raised his hand and asked, “What about grapes?” She answered, “That a good question. I check it out for you.” She left the room, made a phone call, and then a few moments later came back and responded, “I check it out about the grapes and it is one hundred dollars per bunch, not one hundred dollars per grape. Thank you very much.”