Well, more like a story about trying to get to Alaska. As I watch through social media, and the news about how terrible the airlines in America are becoming, I can only share this in empathy to say, airlines, and airports have always been pretty terrible.
I wrote this on March 12, 2008
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
It has been a struggle. Arriving late at the Buffalo airport Monday afternoon, I found parking was almost completely unavailable. Yes, it is the start of spring break and the parking lots were jam-packed with cars brandishing Ontario license plates as the Canadian flocks started their southern migration with a drive to Buffalo to catch their flights to warmer climates.
Combined with the mess of this weekend’s winter storm that dumped nearly a foot of snow on the area from Friday through Sunday, the parking lots in general were a complete disaster.
I made my way to the far back corner of the auxiliary lots. The warm morning had started melting the snow as the parking control crews were busy scooping and pushing snow further back out of empty parking spots and out of the roadways of the lots. The result was the world’s largest Slurpee; ankle deep and covering the entire lot.
This is when I discovered my new boots are NOT completely waterproof.
After a 45 minute wait for a shuttle to take me and many others to the terminal, I was really cutting it close. I made my flight just in time and started my trek to Alaska with a quick flight to Philadelphia.
And… boy, do I despise that airport.
Despise. It might not even be a strong enough word.
Entering the terminal and checking the flight monitors the next leg of the journey, a flight to Phoenix, was delayed an hour already. Mechanical problems with the plane grounded it in Phoenix. This posed an immediate problem for me since I only had an hour layover for my flight to Anchorage.
“Oh, you’ll still make your connection,” the representative behind the customer service desk assured me.
“But, it’s only an hour layover and that hour is already gone.”
“It will be tight,” she said as if this hadn’t occurred to me yet, “but you’ll still make it, so we’re not going to rebook you to anything else yet.”
“But what about a flight to Seattle? Maybe switch to Alaska Air from there?”
“Nuh uh, can’t do that. You’ll make your connection, don’t worry.”
I worry. If you know me, you know sometimes I worry. But in this case it wasn’t worry. It was the knowledge that if they say it’s an hour delay, it will soon be an hour and a half. And that would mean I wouldn’t be making my connection.
Frustrated I walked away. I went to the Jet Rock in the terminal to get lunch.
Eating at a restaurant in the Philly airport… I cringe just thinking about it. Not only are the waiters/waitresses uncaring, unhelpful and sometimes just flat out rude, but you’re taking your life in your hands just ingesting the food at times.
And sometimes you’re joined at your meal by cockroaches the size of poker chips.
I sat at the bar. This is usually the best way to get attention, but I was promptly ignored. A bartender watched me walk in, park my bags, sit at the bar and didn’t even consider offering me a drink… or a menu… or a sharp stick in the eye, but probably for a lack of having a decent stick.
The woman sitting next to me was sipping a red beer and fanning herself with the menu.
“Can I borrow your fan for a minute,” I asked of her after waiting more than 5 minutes without being offered a menu.
“Oh sure,” she said, “by the way, if you’re not used to Philly, if you’re not the loudest squeaking wheel here you’ll never see any grease.”
I smiled at her.
“All too familiar with that, thank you. I’m sure if I do get to order something here, a lack of grease won’t be an issue.”
I quickly perused the menu, selected a beer and a sandwich, and handed her the menu with a thank you.
A few minutes later I managed to get a bartender’s attention – the same one that watched me come in and sit – and she acted completely surprised that no one had offered me anything yet.
A different bartender brought me my beer- no, sorry, scratch that. He brought me a pint of foam. It was the worst beer poor I’ve seen since high-school keg parties and he apparently thought nothing of dropping a $10 glass of carbonation bubbles in front of me.
The “kitchen” was within my view and I saw my sandwich get placed up for delivery. Over ten minutes went by and not a single bartender or server even looked at it to see where it would go to. It became a point of just timing it after a while.
Eleven minutes…
Twelve minutes…
Thirteen minutes…
I finally stopped a waitress and asked her if this was a self-serve establishment, and if it was it should be stated more clearly because I could have retrieved my own order 15 minutes ago…
The joys of the “City of Brotherly Love.” $20 for a sandwich and ONE beer… I guess the brotherly love part involves bending over.
Lube is optional.
The flight was now delayed an hour and fifteen minutes. The representative in the US Airways Club still assured me there was nothing they could do and although it would be tight, they could make up time in the air and get me to my connection.
“The landing time of 4:50 is solid, so they should turn the flight around and get it out by 5:25. That’s only an hour and ten minutes delay, they can make up about 30 minutes in the air, you should be ok.”
I just looked at him and shook my head. I know damn well a plane in Philly takes at least 40 minutes just for loading and unloading of passengers and bags. Not to mention the extra 30 minutes we’ll be sitting in line on the tarmac waiting to take off…
They’re on crack.
So at 4:50 I headed down to the gate.
At 5:15, there was still no plane at the gate.
At 5:25… the time when it is supposed to be taking off they announce the plane has landed and will be to the gate shortly.
At 5:50 they finally have the plane unloaded. Now they have to clean it, restock it and turn it around.
But wait! A new twist – they have no available cleaning crews to clean the plane!
At this point I know I’m not making my connection, no way in hell. I ask again for them to change something... move me to Alaska Air… check for another available flight out of Vegas… do something.
Again, they refuse – not denying that I’m going to miss my connection. They know now I won’t be on that flight. No chance. None. But now it’s too late in the day and there are no options.
I sigh a long sigh and stand frustrated waiting for the boarding to actually begin.
The flight to Phoenix wasn’t entirely unpleasant, despite having a middle seat. But the people to either side of me were nice.
In Buffalo I tried to get them to get me a seat other than the middle seat, but they said there was nothing available to move to. They asked if I booked at the last minute, since I’m such a frequent flyer she found it hard to believe I would get a middle seat. I booked it over a week ago – hardly last minute by my standards.
So I asked the woman sitting in the aisle seat next to me… “So, you must have booked this trip weeks ago, eh?”
“Oh no, this was a spur-of-the-moment thing for my company. We just decided to have this meeting on Friday.”
“Oh, so you must REALLY fly a lot, eh?”
“No, maybe once a quarter…”
…and she got the aisle.
I must be wearing a sign that just says, “Fuck me over this week, please.”
Oh well, I watched a good movie.
Landing in Phoenix I made my way to the customer service counter to re-ticket for the next day.
“Best we can do is put you on Alaska Air for tomorrow morning.”
“So you can transfer me to Alaska Air?”
“Sure, we have no options for you out of Phoenix…”
“But the customer service people in Philadelphia made it sound like it would take an act of congress to move me to Alaska Air…”
“Oh no, it will just be a minute…”
At this point my head was about to explode. Seriously. Do I fly so much that I actually know this shit better than the people who work at the airport?
I wanted to scream. Instead I just patiently waited for the customer service rep to finish re-ticketing me. As I looked around, I noticed a small placard on the customer service stand announcing, “Airport A.A. Meetings are held in the Airport Chapel every Friday at 12:15 PM.”
Interesting.
I asked the young lady, “So, are the A.A. meetings exclusively for the customers US Airways constantly screw over, or do the pilots get to attend them to?”
She giggled, “I think after today, I might be attending this week’s meeting.”
I took my new ticket information and made my way out of the airport to find the hotel shuttle. We’ll try this again tomorrow…