Flightmare..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Flying is something I dread. It does not matter if my destination is a tropical island or a frozen tundra; the fact is I dread the wasted day on each end of the trip. One may suspect I live in ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Oregon because my chosen destinations involve 2 – 3 hour treks over mountain passes or through the gorge. Living in Portland allows for relaxing weekend trips to Bend, Hood River, or the coast. My ride time in a flimsy pressurized tube is normally limited to the Christmas holiday, where I join my family in Wisconsin.
On a good day, the flight from Portland to Minneapolis is a relatively pain free three hour ride. I could easily rent a car from Minneapolis and drive to my dad’s place within 3.5 hours. Dad, of course, would prefer to greet me at the airport. When there are no air delays, I can get to central Wisconsin within the 3.5 hour time frame. Add any long layovers or delays, and I am fuming, because I could have been at my destination instead of some airport bar chatting it up with another unlucky stranger.
Dad suggested I fly into Madison for Christmas in 2007. Madison is only ninety minutes from Stevens Point, it is a larger airport, and Dad was convinced that I would have few problems flying in and out of Madison. To humor him, I ordered a ticket to fly me into Madison via Minneapolis, without the words "renting a car" exiting my lips.
As expected, air travel during the holidays is hectic, and that Saturday morning before Christmas was no different. Despite arriving at the airport two hours before my flight was to take off, I was standing in one line or another until I sat in my seat on the plane. Since I booked the flight many months earlier, I had the luxury of sitting in the very back of the plane. There was no luck in finding a seat closer to the front (thus allowing me to deplane sooner). The middle seat was empty until close to departure time, when I looked up to see a rather large man, reeking of body odor, smirking with an all knowing Cheshire cat grin. The odor was overpowering. The woman at the window seat was pinching her nose against the window avoiding the stench. I had my nose out in the aisle, like a dog sniffing the fresh air. It did not help that I was feeling slightly under the weather in the first place. The three hours dragged on as I made frequent trips to the lavatory to get gulps of fresh air. By the time we descended into Minneapolis, my body was trembling with agitation from being on an airplane while enduring overpowering body odor. The flight attendants were aware of the situation, and kept my cup of soda water filled. As soon as people were allowed off the plane, I was immediately fast tracked off the plane. Nevertheless, as soon as I reached the gate, I raced to the nearest outdoor smoking kiosk for some fresh air.
My dad called as I was walking towards my gate to tell me he was on his way to the airport and "everything was on time." This seemed too good to be true, since a winter storm warning was imminent. As that adage goes, it was. Shortly after that phone call, I arrived at my gate to learn that my flight was delayed by a half hour. I took advantage of the short delay to get food at the food court. Twenty minutes later, I arrive at my gate to see people boarding the plane to Omaha, NE. "What the hell!" The monitors showed my flight was cancelled, and no direction was given as to where the nearest customer service agent was.
Trying to rent a car was futile. With it being the holiday season, the car rentals were booked and the only thing available was a 16 person passenger van requiring a return trip to Minneapolis. Having worked in lawsuits involving large passenger vans, I had no interest in the responsibility of driving that van. Since I was already beyond the security gate, I tried my luck at the ticket counter in hopes of catching another plane out. By not yelling at the ticket agent, I was secured a 7:30 p.m. ticket to Minneapolis and $20.00 in vouchers. It was not over yet. While standing in the security line, I cavalierly told the person behind me, "I need to kill some time." The next thing I knew, I was being whisked to the increased security lane, to insure that the only thing I was going to kill was time.
By this time, the intercoms were announcing bus service into the regional airports. One look at the Doppler radar, and I had this gut feeling that I should try to get on a bus. I still had four hours until my flight, with no guarantee of the plane actually taking off. As I got closer to the gate, I felt the frenetic buzz of confused travelers. I had it pretty easy, compared to what others were going through. There were groups of people who had been stranded from the previous night in Minneapolis. Sign up sheets for the busses were hastily taped onto the desks of the flight counters. I had arrived in time to sign up for the 6:00 bus, with a chance of getting on sooner. Shortly thereafter, another flight to Madison was cancelled, and the restlessness was apparent. An irate traveler attempted to storm through the gate to get on a bus, demanding a seat immediately. Like the rest of us, he was given inaccurate information. We could do nothing but gawk at his tirades, as he was saying what we all were thinking. A ticket agent got on the microphone, in attempt to drown out the f-bombs from the man’s tirade, announcing open seats for a bus to Madison. I was 40th on the waiting list, and carried little hope that I might get on that bus. I heard my name called during the pingponging of gate announcements and obscene threats by the angry passenger. People were getting visibly agitated and I was eager to have the opportunity to exit the situation. I sprung out of my seat and leapt towards the bus.
The bus was in no hurry to depart. Ironically, the same people who wanted to get the heck out of the airport were taking their time boarding the bus. I stayed quiet, since I was not one of the unlucky travelers who had been stuck overnight. Forty minutes after my name was called, the bus slowly pulled out of the terminal. From Highway 35, it did not look like there was any fog danger nearby. The sun was trying to peak through the high clouds and the bus was traveling near the speed limit of 70 mph. My seat mate was another young professional, so we able to converse beyond the polite "Hello". I learned he was just starting in his career path in marketing down in Memphis, Tennessee. I told him I was a personal injury paralegal, as if on cue, an ambulance careened by. Both of us smirked.
The sun set as we approached LaCrosse, Wisconsin, and heavy snowflakes began to fall. There was an inaudible groan as the bus slowed down. I attended undergrad at the University of Wisconsin-LaCrosse, and by this time I had wished I could get off the bus with the other LaCrosse travelers. Normally, I relish warm recirculated air, but the stuffiness of the bus had dried my throat. The only drink we were given was a sugary soda, which does nothing to quench thirst. I leapt out of the bus with the people whose final destination was LaCrosse, just for five minutes of refreshing cold winter air. We were a little over two hours away from Madison, and everybody was antsy to move forward.
It was pitch dark and snowing heavily when we returned to the freeway. The temperature was ripe for slick roads and black ice. We had barely left LaCrosse when somebody screamed "OH MY GOD, WATCH OUT!" I looked ahead to see a whirlwind of headlights and taillights spinning ahead of us. A crash was imminent; no sooner did that thought run through my head did I hear a sickening "THUD" Out of my window, I could see the hatchback spin its way near the side of the bus before it was stopped in the median. The sound of the crash and the sight of the car made me worry that it may have been a fatality. Fortunately, that was not the case; still we had to spend an hour filling out paperwork for the police. My seat mate looked at me and said, "Why don’t you give them your business card."
"Because I am not affiliated with any Wisconsin attorneys." I replied.
We spent an hour outside Top Foods exchanging information. Despite the fact that we did not have to stay on the bus, nobody took advantage of getting food and water at the store. Perhaps people thought this stop would only take a few minutes. Denial. I called my dad to explain the situation, only to hear what could be best described as a sigh. I had to remind him that he was the one who told me to keep my sense of humor and to be patient.
After what seemed like an eternity, we rolled out of LaCrosse. People no longer wanted to sit quietly and wait, so we began to engage in conversation. We soon learned that an older man on the bus was having a diabetic issue, and if he could get dropped off at his home in Mauston, it would be of great help. Cell phone service worked wonders, because we were able to call the person who was supposed to pick him up in Madison to explain the situation. The man was obviously confused as to where he was and why he was not at home. Given his condition, we may have had to stop at a hospital before we arrived to Madison. Arrangements were made to drop him off at a gas station in Mauston, about sixty miles away from Madison. What was once quiet restlessness became visible agitation. There was a married couple, sitting ahead of me, with their infant son asleep, loudly grousing about the number of stops. When they were not grousing, they were telling everybody else to be quiet so their baby could sleep. While the husband was gamely attempting to be mild mannered, the wife was continually berating the bus driver for not having adequate food and water for people on the bus. True, but we were stopped for an hour at Top Foods. Surely, she could have picked up some emergency food for her family. Like everybody else, she did not want to delay the trip any longer. In hindsight, a food run at Top Foods may have made the remainder of the ride just a bit more pleasant. Everybody was hungry and thirsty at this time, and Coca Cola does nothing to quench hunger or thirst.
We were barely 10 miles away from Mauston when the bus slowed to a stop, for no reason. The hot air inside and the cold, damp air outside joined forces to fog up the front window. Despite an auto mechanic on the bus explaining that the air conditioner could defog the window, the bus driver refused to turn it on. For fifteen minutes, an auto mechanic and the bus driver argued the merits of air conditioning. The woman with the baby handed her infant son off to her husband and launched into a tirade with the bus driver about how Northwest Airlines was mistreating her infant son by depriving him food and water. Her husband had to pull her away to prevent further delay. It did not even seem like we were moving forward when we had to stop in Mauston to drop off the elderly gentleman. He was grateful for the assistance from strangers. Others were not so grateful. Several passengers took advantage of the stop to grab food and water. The couple ahead of us ran to the door to blockade it, shrieking "NO, WE CAN’T STOP. WE HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF MY BABY!"
"Look!" said the other woman. "I have a three year old and a five year old back there, and they are also hungry and thirsty." Indignantly she brushed aside the young mother to get bottled water and snacks.
My phone rang again. Of course, it was my dad on the other line, telling me he heard the bus would be coming in the next five minutes.
"Well, Dad, we’re in Mauston. We had a mechanical problem, and we just had to drop off a man who was having a diabetic emergency."
"Well, the people at the counter said that the buses were on their way from Minneapolis, and there were no delays."
"That’s a load of bull" Shortly after I hung up, I heard the tail of a sentence of "stopping in Wisconsin Dells" to drop some kids off. Near the back were two perfectly healthy kids in their twenties, happily making plans with their friends. Any patience that was preserved throughout the day had just been snapped. The couple with the infant no longer demanded that people be quiet, while the wife yelled, "Hey, I need to stop in Sauk Prairie, can we go there next."
As the punks got up to exit the bus, I leapt out of my seat, looked at one of them one inch from his face, and said, "Where did you get this idea that this is Greyhound!"
They slunk to the front of the bus; knowing full well if there was rotten food on the bus, it would have been flung at them. The stop in Wisconsin Dells was quick, as the bus driver pulled off at the exit ramp, opened the door, and the two boys darted off into the snowy prairie.
"RUN FOREST RUN!" yelled an agitated passenger.
Two seats behind me, I heard a woman chatting on her cell phone about not being able to rent a car to get to Wausau, and that she would probably be sleeping at the airport. I overheard her tell her daughter, "No, you can’t drive down from Stevens Point." I picked up my phone, and dialed Dad.
"Where are you?"
"Outside Wisconsin Dells…hey, did you bring the Cadillac?"
"Why?
"We might have a stowaway to take. There is a woman here who needs to get up to Stevens Point, and her ride can’t come down to Madison." There was an audible pause before my dad said yes.
"Dad, what if it was me stranded and somebody offered a ride?"
"Ugh, well it is Christmas. Can I get you anything?"
"WATER!!!"
What was normally a 4.5 hour trip became a seven hour trek across snow covered icy road. The sight of the Dane County Regional Airport was almost surreal. Did the events of the bus ride just happen, or were we in a bad movie? The bus stopped for one last time, and every passenger gave the bus driver a standing ovation. Before the doors opened, I took a moment to turn on my mock smile and say, "I hope your trip with Northwest Airlines was pleasant, and we hope you chose to fly with us again." People burst into giggles just as the doors opened and everybody flooded out of the bus. There was a small crowd outside, cheering as if they were at a Pep rally. I ended up in the arms of some stranger wearing a Chicago Bears hat. I pulled away from him and yelled, "Bears Still Suck! Don’t touch me."
Dad appeared with two bottles of water for me and Kathy. After all of the hassles of the trip, I was delighted to see that my luggage had arrived before me. I was not looking forward to more time on the road, but those two hours passed quickly as the three us drove north, grumbling about the airlines.
We got to Stevens Point after 1 a.m. Fortunately, Kathy was staying at a hotel only a mile away from Dad’s house, so it was not out of our way to drop her off. Dad was not quite in the mood to hear, "So, I should fly into Madison, since there are fewer hassles."
A good portion of the conversation over Christmas involved my flight. Everybody remarked that they hoped I would have a better return trip. All I can say was it was only slightly better. I flew out on Christmas Day. Dad wanted to get back home before dark, so he dropped me off at the airport with three hours to spare. Since I missed my flight to Madison days earlier, I was selected for additional screening. I normally treat this as a part of flying, except for I was standing in a glass cage in the middle of all of the travelers. Some middle aged guy looked at me, pointed, and laughed. Oh, grow up already. If any place in the Midwest had a bar open on Christmas day, it would be at an airport. The bartender at Great Dane Brewing was sympathetic to my Portland tastes, and allowed me a sampler tray before I picked my beer. After each beer, I checked the flight status. Surprisingly, my flight out of Madison was delayed. After calculating the time, I knew chances of catching my connecting flight to Portland were slim.
I approached the ticket agent, and said in my nicest voice, "I am concerned that I will not make my 6:30 flight out of Portland. I had a horrible flight here, and I really want to go home." Fortunately, fewer people fly on Christmas Day, so I was given a boarding pass for the 9:20 flight along with ten dollars in coupons to use at Minneapolis.
After a ninety minute delay, we departed Madison. There was a sliver of time left for me to catch my connecting flight. That sliver was quickly disappearing as the plane circled the airport several times before getting clearance to land. It was a small plane, and I was near the front, so as soon as the door opened, I immediately bolted out of my seat and did the Lindberg Terminal Sprint. By just walking, it is forty minutes between gates. I do not know how long I sprinted, but I reached the ticket counter just to see the Portland sign flash "Departed." Dejected, I looked at the ticket agent, but the plane had already left for the tarmac.
I spent Christmas Dinner at the Rock Bottom with another stranded couple. At least I was not alone. Beer, appetizers, and conversation made the four hours go by a little faster. By 9:30, I was collapsed in my seat on the plane, exhausted from the hassles of Christmas. I woke up an hour later, and saw that we were on the runway. Had we already arrived in Portland? No such luck, as I saw the same scene I had seen before falling asleep. Angrily, I lowered my head and fell back to sleep. This time, I did not wake up until we descended into Portland.
Confused and agitated, I woke up with a numb feeling in my right hand. It must have fallen asleep, so I kept shaking it for that familiar tingling sensation. "Weird." I thought as I walked down to the baggage carousal. My right arm hung limp to my side, as I tried to negotiate three bags with my left hand. That was child’s play compared to loading my truck and driving home. I had to cross my left hand over the wheel to start my truck. At least I was driving an automatic, so I did not have to concentrate on shifting. It was 1:30 when I got home, and I had a long day of work ahead of me. After plunking my luggage in my room, I picked up my phone. I did not have my dad on speed dial, so I negotiated the numbers with my tired left hand.
"Dad, I’m home."
"Jill, I’m sorry I mentioned flying into Madison. I hope your not mad at me."
"No, just the airline. I am NEVER taking a puddle jumper in."
My right hand slowly regained its feeling over the next ten days. However, to this day, I have not regained my desire to board an airplane again. I am thankful to live in Oregon, where I can take exciting vacations within driving distance of Portland.