Although I just completed a trip this week, I’m not going to rant about how air travel has devolved into something akin to a Greyhound bus trip, replete with characters such as the young woman seated next to us, flinging her sparkly hair-extensions about, into my wife’s face, whilst taking selfies to, presumably, be posted immediately onto Instagram, TikTok, or Snapchat, where she might be an influencer who reaches fifteen million followers, or the guy who disappeared from the terminal’s waiting area for forty-five minutes, leaving his two bags unattended (my concern was not so much that his bags might contain a bomb, as that someone was likely to steal them), or the guy who simply did not board the airplane with the rest of the passengers, and had to be retrieved from somewhere in the terminal before we could take off (more on him in a moment). If that sort of thing is what you are after, allow me to suggest that you visit the Rule of Three archives, and relive a column I crafted back in August:
Rule of Three - "The Glamour of Air Travel"
Rather, I’d like to focus my attention more narrowly on the issue of flight delays: what are the root causes; who is responsible for causing them; and what can be done to prevent them from impacting your ability to live an otherwise blissful life.
I’m used to airlines introducing schedule delays as a matter of course, and my most recent travel-leg did not disappoint, as Southwest Airlines posted a one-hour delay more than five hours before the flight departure time, without a word of explanation. But, more rare are delays caused by fellow passengers, which surfaced not just once, but twice, regarding this flight.
Firstly, as our Southwest Airlines cattle-call was completed, and passengers were all nestled safely into their seats, the gate attendant, attired in a bright orange vest (because, you know, Southwest Airlines, although, I have to say that their staff seems less playful now than when Herb Kelleher was still around) appeared at the front of the aircraft, and indicated to the flight attendant that one passenger was missing, and couldn’t be located. I had a front-row seat to this action, as I was located in an aisle seat, in the second row.
This passenger, whom I will call, “John Smith,” because I don’t remember his name, did not appear during the boarding process, and the agent suggested that the flight attendant ask, via the loudspeaker, whether Mr. Smith was traveling with a partner, who might be able to locate him. A woman a few rows behind us registered that she was indeed traveling with Mr. Smith, and I could hear her talking on her cellphone, indicating that the plane was readying for takeoff, and asking, “Where are you?”
Now, I recognize that travel mishaps do occur, and was willing to give this AWOL passenger the benefit of the doubt as he surfaced, and boarded the plane (those of you who know me well recognize that is not true - I was actually thinking the worst of him, and preparing to give him a frosty glare as he boarded), as long as he offered a bit of contrition in his facial expression.
Have you formed a mental image of this latecomer yet? Go ahead, take a few minutes, talk amongst yourselves. Ready? OK, here’s what I saw as he entered the plane, likely delaying our departure (already scheduled to arrive an hour late, pushing arrival past midnight) by at least a half-hour: a guy, probably in his mid-thirties, wearing an untucked t-shirt, with fashionably-ripped jeans, and a logo jacket of some sort (a look which is difficult for twenty-somethings to properly carry off, but clearly not a good look for a guy in his mid-thirties), with a shaved head (balding a bit, but adopting the tough-guy shaved-head look), and, most importantly, not one iota of contrition or sheepishness on his face as he casually sauntered down the aisle to his seat - clearly a serial violator of Rule No. 2 - inexcusable.
With Douchebag #1 now in place, we prepared for takeoff. Suddenly, a skinny, twenty-something guy (thankfully not attempting to duplicate the regrettable fashion decisions the latecomer had adopted) stumbled up the aisle toward the bathroom up front. As he approached our row, he mumbled that he needed to use the bathroom. The flight attendant there said, “Not a good time” (because, you know, we were ready to taxi off to the runway).
The young man then said, “I think I’m going to throw up.” In that his hands were placed on the seat right in front of me, I considered that I was likely in the “splash zone.” He considerately passed out just then, before executing on his promise, collapsing in the aisle beside me. I knew that he was likely in his low-twenties, because he was wearing his jeans low enough that I could see the top of his boxers (yes, I’m as surprised as you are that Douchebag #1 wasn’t attempting to rock that look as well).
A flight attendant patted him, and he regained consciousness fairly quickly, and he was able to sit up, and accept a cold washcloth and a drink of water. A young woman in the row ahead of us, with a very large dog in tow, perhaps in an attempt to offer empathy, indicated that she “. . .passed out all the time”; I don’t even want to know what that means.
The call for a doctor was put out, and an ICU nurse appeared, and said that he looked pale - alrighty-then. They eventually wheeled the young man off the plane in a wheelchair, and we further cooled our heels, for another twenty minutes or so. Eventually, the flight attendant informed us that a paramedic had examined the young man, and had cleared him to return to our plane; he did so ten minutes later, and we did finally find our way to the air. I did not discover why the young man passed out - perhaps lack of nutrition, alcohol intake, drugs, COVID, a different medical condition, who knows? As you can imagine, I was not mentally passing judgment on this young man (mmm-hmm). Perhaps, much like the woman with the large dog in the seat in front of us, he just “. . .passes out all the time.”
Our flight landed in Pittsburgh when it was nearly 2:00 a.m., at least two hours later than planned. Now, if you’ve been following this story closely, you’ll no doubt recognize that the moral of this story is, “It is impossible to locate an Uber driver in Pittsburgh at 2:00 in the morning.”
You might have noticed that I haven’t delivered on any of the three promises I made at the outset of this piece - that is, root causes of flight delays, who causes them, and what can be done about them. The fact is, I have no advice to offer on any of these fronts - it was simply a pretext to relate to you a story I thought you might find amusing. Man, you need to lower your expectations!
Happy Christmas to all!
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