Rick’s Rants and Raves

You can’t get there from here

A travelogue for February 3, 2008.

9:00 AM ET
My day started out wonderfully. My kids and wife were dressed and ready to take me to the airport. There was a little frost on the ground, and the air was brisk. We made the drive to the airport in under 20 minutes, about normal for a Sunday morning.

10:00 AM ET
While sitting at the gate waiting for a 10:30 departure, I’m amused by an older gentleman with an all-gray ZZ Top style beard. He was PISSED that he was going to have to check his “roller bag”. He argued with the gate attendant that the bag was within regulations, and should therefore be allowed on the plane. She would not be deterred, and handed him the green stub, indicating she had won. He then proceeded to call the airlines customer service from his cell phone to bitch them out for the hassle. I think he was worried that they would lose his bag somewhere between the jetway and the cargo hold.

10:45 AM ET
We start boarding the plane. Its departure had been delayed because it was late in arriving from the previous flight. The flight was full, and pleasantly uneventful after we got in the air shortly after 11:00 AM.

11:45 AM ET
We land in Detroit. My connection to SFO is scheduled to depart in 35 minutes. That’s tight, but I’m still reasonably young and fit. I figured I would end up on the plane winded, but on the plane nonetheless.

12:03 PM ET
It took them 15 minutes to get the jetway up to the door of the plane. I’m now really concerned about the connection. I call my wife as I’m speed walking on the human conveyor belts. But still, it should be OK. My arriving flight came in at gate B 10, and the departing flight was at A 10. Given typical airport design, that should only be 20 gates. I’m still young, right?

12:10 PM ET
I get to the A concourse, and find that I’m starting at gate 60 something and going down. I have 50 more gates to go, so I ran. I ran until my legs felt like lead, and my arteries pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.

12:20 PM ET
I finally arrive at gate A 10 to find the door closed. The agent standing there informs me that another agent had just helped someone down the jetway and would be right back. When she returned, she informed me that they had just closed the airplane doors and the jetway had been pulled back. So sorry, I was too late. She checked for other flights, but none seemed promising. She directed me to the “rebooking” desk 30 gates away. Oh, and you can take that tram overhead…

At the rebooking desk, I’m presented with three options.
a) A flight departing in 1 hour to Minneapolis, three hour layover, then connect to SFO, arriving 7:30PM PT.
b) A flight departing in 3 hours to Minneapolis, 1 hour layover, then connect to SFO, arriving 7:30PM PT.
c) A first class seat on a flight departing Detroit in 5 hours, non-stop to SFO, arriving 9:30PM PT.
With wondrous hindsight, I chose the worst possible option, a.

I head to the gate for my 1:30PM departure to Minneapolis. I see Mr. ZZ Top beard waiting there. I walk up to him like we’re old friends and comment “Well, at least they didn’t lose your bag.” We continue to chat about the missed connection–he was heading to San Francisco also, I believe. His anger regarding the bag was but a snowflake compared to the blizzard he was blowing now. He reported that he was out $60,000 because he didn’t make it to San Francisco by 4PM. There was going to be a lawsuit. I quickly made an exit with the excuse of getting lunch.

While eating my lunch, I wondered what series of incompetencies (or very poor planning) leads someone to have $60,000 on the line for which they must be present, and no possible way to reschedule. If I had $60,000 on the line, I don’t think I would leave it to airline fate by cutting it to within two hours. I’d spend the extra $100 for a hotel room the night before, just in case. That seems like a wise investment to me. But then again, I don’t have that kind of money to lose.

1:30PM ET
My flight departs Detroit on time. It was full, but uneventful until we had flown about 30 minutes. The captain announces that we had some damage to the plane and would have to fly back to Detroit to have it examined. Oh, and we’ll have to burn off some fuel on the way… great. That’s always a good sign.

3:15PM ET
Back on the ground in Detroit, we learn that something (a bird is my guess) had hit the tail of the plane, and FAA regulations stated that we must have it inspected immediately. The mechanic looked it over, and gave the plane a clean bill of health. He filled out forms in triplicate and filed them with the proper authorities. But, wait, the flight crew had had a 13 hour day already, and can’t fly to Minneapolis. So we waited for another flight crew to arrive. Then there was some seat shuffling as they tried to figure out how to get the now off-duty crew home to Minneapolis. Ages later, they decided that the off-duty crew would waive their legal right to not work too long so that they could fly home. So the replacement crew is dismissed, some more paperwork was filled out, and we took off.

4:00 PM ET
We leave Detroit the second time. We never got to leave the plane. We weren’t even supposed to leave out seats in order to pee.
When the flight attendants brought the drinks by, I ordered a beer and one for my single serving friend. I had been given three food/drink vouchers by the rebooking desk. The attendant looked at the vouchers and said “Do you have more traveling to do today?” Yes, I was connecting to SFO. Then forget about the vouchers. OK, can I have a can of $2 pringles for the voucher? Sure. But she never took the voucher. So, for our troubles we got two beers and a can of pringles.

6:00 PM ET
We arrive in Minneapolis. My three hour layover has now dwindled to 25 minutes. Again, I’m trying to be optimistic. How big could Minneapolis be? Then we wait for the jetway. And wait some more. Finally, someone shows up, and it doesn’t have any power. So that person has to call a mechanic. Meanwhile everyone around me has heard my complaints about missing a connection in Detroit. They were so sick of me, about 20 people let me get off the plane before them. Or maybe it was the nice off-duty pilot sitting in front of me who said in a uniformly commanding voice “Excuse me. We need to get this gentleman to his connection.” That rocked. He and I ran up the jetway, got my connecting gate info and learned it was WAY far away (“Take ALL FOUR of the moving sidewalks”). No problem, the gate agent assured me. Yeah right. A lady (bound for the same connecting flight) and I share a ride in a people mover almost all the way to the gate. When I sprint ahead, I assure her that I’ll hold them for her. When I get there, they are still loading the plane, with 30+ people in line at the gate. Whew. The lady I shared the ride with joined me in line. I even had time to grab a Whopper at the BK across the way.

6:20 PM ET The gate agent interferes with my ability to see who won the Super Bowl coin toss when he demands that I had him my boarding pass. Prick.

While I’m standing in line waiting for my seat, I’m intrigued by the fashion of the young woman in front of me. She’s wearing a decidedly retro, 1930s era outfit that reminds me of Amelia Earhart. She has a brown knit hat with ear flaps covering most of her long banana curls. She’s wearing a brownish sleeveless cropped sweater thing over a blouse. Draped over an arm is a navy herringbone wool coat. In her left hand (with the coat) is a gold rimmed journal and an organic coffee (ok, that’s the only thing out of place…). On her right shoulder is a brown leather messenger bag that could have come straight out of her great grandfather’s storage chest. In her right hand is a piece of luggage (I think) that is a metal box with chromed corners and hinges, and the side panels are painted in primary colors. But its so old (or well distressed) that the clasp and corner chrome have rusted almost completely. She also had on knickers, socks that went under the knickers, and tassel loafers. And she kept looking around like she was wondering if anyone was looking at her. (Yes honey, The fatherly figure standing behind you!) The whole outfit worked well, at least from my straight guy perspective, at being different, but not outrageous. I wanted to ask her if she was in costume.

I land in my seat, one of the last people on the plane, and proceed to scarf my whopper. I’m sitting in an exit row, so the flight attendant is obliged to tell us to read the card. I’m actually quite amazed she didn’t do a better job of a) making sure she had our attention, and b) actually explaining it to us. They explain to people how to use a seat belt 15 minutes after they had to put it on, but they aren’t going to make sure the emergency doors are opened properly in an accident?

After I wipe the remaining bits of whopper from my mouth, I grab the card. One of the guys sitting next to me explains “Its pretty simple. Just pull the handle and lift the door.” I responded, “Ah, the illusion of safety. Exit door procedure at 30,000 feet.” He got the reference (to Fight club) and laughed.

The flight was very smooth. I burned two of my complimentary coupons on a pair of beers. I returned them to the airline a little later via two trips to the lavatory. I observed on my treks that obese people treat the aisle as if it was a perk that came with their seat. I don’t really mind if you take up half the aisle (plus your seat), but at least make some small motion to try to contain yourself when someone else needs to use the aisle.

10:30 PM ET
We’re on the ground on time with nary a hitch. I proceed to baggage claim to find my bag waiting in the office. I produce the claim stub, and am allowed to take it with me. It whimpers a subtle sigh of relief.

Off to the rental car agency, and I walk up to the clerk who gave me a Hummer the last time I was in San Francisco. Notice the capital H on Hummer. It was a red H3. This time they have a car in my preferred class ready for me. I got a little twisted around on the freeway, but only delayed my arrival at the hotel by maybe 5 minutes. Considering the way the rest of the day went, it was easy to correct my heading.

11:45 PM ET
I arrive at the hotel and check in. I’m looking forward to drinking some water, talking with my wife, and relaxing a bit before heading to bed. The clerk hands me my keycard and points the way to my room. I arrive and swipe. Swipe again. Turn the card over, swipe. Backwards, swipe. Fast swipe, slow swipe. I returned to the desk for a replacement card, which worked the first time.

So, total travel time: 15 hours
My personal average speed for the day: 164 MPH. Better than I could have driven, but totally sucks for a 757.

What did I get for my troubles?
4 free beers (3 for me, one for a friend)
1 can of pringles
1000 bonus frequent flyer miles
$25 off my next trip of $100 or more
One more coupon that will probably get me a beer on the flight home.