Airport Saga

                                                            

Airport Saga

Late August, 2015.

We are flying from NJ to CA, five passengers in our group: Anna 12, Emma 13, Mike 14, mother Brett 46, and grandpa, yours truly, 75. There is one stopover, in Chicago, a fifty minute window to change planes, and connect to LA.

Bad weather over Ohio causes a thirty minute delay before takeoff from Newark so our connection time is now down to twenty minutes. Ten minutes exiting the plane and we'll have just ten left.

I can only think, we'll never make the connection.

Off the plane at Chicago's O'Hare, I spot a nearby official. "Where is Terminal H?”
I shout as we bolt past.

“Straight ahead, then second left,” she says, pointing the way.

“How far?” I yell over my shoulder.

“A mile,” she says.

Perhaps thirty years back, circling a track in ideal weather and strong wind always at my back, I could cover a mile in 12 minutes, not sure really, but at 75, lugging an over-sized duffel bag with ten days worth of clothes plus a computer case slung around my neck and swinging side to side. - not likely.

Regardless, we sprint onward. I lead the pack for maybe a hundred yards, but then, despite feeling legitimately proud of my early speed, I give in and fall back like a NASCAR pace car. My new aim: just keep the leaders in sight.

I am dripping sweat and well behind the teenagers and their forty-six year old mom when we turn the corner into terminal H.  

At our gate, 12, the plane is just pulling out as we arrive. Not a soul in the boarding area.

My shoulders drop. I really thought we had a chance. Planes take off late all the time. Why not this one? 

Despondent, we shuffle over to United's departure board to check for possible later flights.  

Suddenly I notice that our flight number (1752 United) is actually listed as delayed for “mechanical problems” and it is leaving from another gate in an hour and forty minutes.

So, good news, we didn’t miss it. It was actually a different plane we saw pulling out. 

OK. Great!

And the bad news? Brett announces there was no way she is going to get on a plane with “mechanical problems.”

I let this pass. We have almost two hours. Things could change.

Brett doesn’t follow us to the new gate. She takes off for United’s customer service counter where she is told that they don’t know the exact problem, but it could be “something as simple as a broken light bulb.” 

“It doesn’t take two hours to replace a light bulb,” is Brett’s summation of her exchange with customer service. 

I spend the remaining hour trying to persuade Brett to get on board.  Between failed attempts I busy myself pretending to look for alternate methods to LA, car, train, bus, another flight etc. 

Emma dials up her dad in NJ. 

Son-in-law Tom calls me, saying that he has “hotel points” and can get us a room in Chicago (for five?) with his "airplane miles." That doesn’t really appeal to me. My position is to wait out the day. Perhaps, at nightfall, the thought of myself among five forlorn souls sleeping in the airport will motivate me, and others, towards an alternative. But not now.

Finally they bring in our plane. 

Brett bad-mouths it, as she watches it roll up to the gate. "No way," she announces.

Then suddenly we see passengers coming through the exit tunnel. Apparently this (our plane) has flown here from somewhere, with passengers  … so … it can't be the one with “mechanical problems." because a safe flight just ended,

We accost the exiting passengers: "Did the plane fly OK?" (I’m not making this up). One or two, avoiding our gaze, nod, affirmative. 

Brett finally agrees to get on. She is ultimately swayed because she notices two famous celebrities boarding ahead of us. She says it must be OK if they (Seth Rogan and a young woman singer, somebody named G) are on the plane.

So  – miracle - we take off and 4 hours later land safely in LA. All is well.