The hypocrisy of air travel

This will be posted well after I am writing it. Why? Because I am currently on a trans-American flight long enough to be uncomfortable but not long enough to warrant a movie. I found I couldn’t wait until morning (I am on the second leg of a three leg flight from Los Angeles to Albany, NY) to write document the insanity and hypocrisy of the friendly skies.

First some background information before we get into the thick of it: A number of years ago I flew home for my father’s 60th birthday party. It was to be a surprise, but in this moment I can’t seem to remember if he knew I was coming or not – either way, that doesn’t really matter. He was happy I was there, I was happy I was there and peace settled across the land. I was taking the last flight out of Bradley International airport to Los Angeles with one quick stop in DC. The flight took off around 5 or 6pm – red eye flights east west don’t seem to exist. I wonder why? Probably some inane reason like they, the powers that be, – insert “the man” here – don’t want the poor pilots having to fly into the sun. Whatever.

The last flight out of Bradley sat on the tarmac for an hour. Why? No one knows. Mechanical problems? Uh, yeah. Sure. That sounds good. To this day I have no idea why we sat there for an hour, but it was OK. Here I was packed like a sardine having a bad day into a plane that was little more than a matchbox with wings waiting without the ability to turn on my cd player (this was before the advent of iPods) because the sign that used to be “no smoking” now converted to “please turn off electronic devices” was illuminated. Still, I was a lemming and didn’t think about it. They radioed ahead and my flight would be waiting for me, no problem. I was more a lemming than I thought.

Finally we took off. Bumpy as hell and misery inducing. We land and, wouldn’t you know it, my connecting flight to LA might as well have been located in Guam. We ran down the corridor (there were 6 or 7 of us), hopped on a tram, waited the requisite 60 seconds for the doors to close and arrived at the ass end of the new concourse. We ran our little tails off like a pack of wild gazelles, only less graceful, and got to the gate just in time to be told the door to the plane had been closed and they weren’t able to get us on the flight and they were sorry. But said in that way that makes you know they’re not sorry, they’re sadistic and taking great pleasure is ruining your day.

“No, sir. We are unable to do that?”
“Why?”
“Because, once the door is closed we are unable to open it.”
“Huh? They just closed it, I have to get home.”
“I’m sorry sir.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
“I am sorry sir.”
“Look, just tell them we’re here it and have them open the door.”
“We cannot do that.”
“I know, I heard you, but why? Just call them.”
“I’m sorry sir, once the door is closed…”
“I know you said that already, what are you a robot? Pick up the fucking radio and call the plane.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to watch your language.”
“You’re going to have to ask me what? Fuck this. Who do I have to talk to?”
“Sir, if you’re going to continue talking like that we’re going to have to call security.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”

What was my recourse? I didn’t really want to be escorted out of the airport and apparently I wasn’t going to be getting on this flight, which, incidentally, was still sitting at the gate through this whole exchange. Well, I chose to go to the nearest airline counter and progress to have my right to use the f word kyboshed. More threats of security. Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, only made me more angry. I didn’t even want to get on the plane anymore I just wanted to get the pencil pushing dipshit behind the counter to apologize to me for “mechanical errors” that were going to keep me grounded for the night in our nations capitol. No such luck. What I did get was a free night’s stay at the Marriot. Yeah, not so much. I hopped the shuttle and went to the Hyatt and stayed there on the airlines dime.

You know, at that counter I tried to pull the “I’m a big actor supposed to be on set tomorrow morning and you are not only costing the production an inordinate amount of money but probably going to get me fired” routine. Yeah, no. That didn’t work. What they offered me was a note saying it was their fault. Kinda like they thought a note from my mommy was going to make it all ok.

Well, I got on the plane the next morning with maybe 2 hours of sleep flew to LA and went about my hectic day. But the bureaucracy of the situation pissed me off. I was penalized for the airlines error. A “mechanical problem” does not fall into a realm that I have any control over. And, let’s take the racial slurs and profanity that was spewing from me out of the picture, they didn’t really offer anything to placate my upset. Fuel for the fire in reality.

Now for the hypocrisy. Today I am, as we already know, flying from LA to Albany, NY. The red eye – flight was supposed to take off at 9:40 and get into Phoenix with just enough time for me to go by batteries so my iPod doesn’t die (I have an extra battery pack). I got on the plane and sat for a bit. 9:40 became 10:00 and that’s when we got the notification we were going to be waiting about 5 or 10 more minutes for 2 passengers that were on plane that has just landed. 5 or 10 minutes grew into 30. At this point we were informed the 2 passengers we were waiting for were pilots that needed to hop this flight because they had to be in Phoenix the next day. 30 minutes became 45 and at this point I started to complain. Well, it wasn’t just me, there were 21 passengers needing to catch the flight to Charlotte. In the exchange with the oh-so-helpful flight attendant we found out that the city controller in Phoenix had been called and he’s the one holding our flight for these two guys. First off, what the fuck is a city controller doing getting in the way of a flight from taking off? Secondly, what is a city controller? And thirdly, when I was late I was told tough luck. When these guys are late, the 121 passengers are told tough luck. Does that make sense? Just because they are pilots does that instantly give them the right to jeopardize the connecting flights of the 21 to Charlotte. I paid for my ticket so don’t I have seniority? OK, clarification, I didn’t actually pay for my ticket, but someone did and it’s in my name so doesn’t that give me some say? I think so. But again the airlines said “tough luck.” The hypocrisy of the situation is astonishing. Astonishing. We who have paid for our tickets have no rights – we might as well ball up our money and throw it at each other.

Did I mention we were flying into a city that lies in the path of a hurricane? Did I mention that I hate flying? Did I mention that the person to the right of me and the person to the left of me are both snoring and I can hear them through the dangerously loud music playing through my headphones? Did I mention that I believe the seats have been crammed closer to each other and I feel like a piece of meet placed in a vacuum sealed bag?

It’s now 1:30, I have no idea how long this flight is and since everyone is trying to sleep and I’m the asshole with the exceptionally bright screen blaring – and hurting my eyes at the same time – I think I should end soon. So, let’s recap real quick: Air travel is for the birds!