It is fitting to end my November Thanksgivings with gratitude for a wonderful visit with family and a safe journey home. Despite Heather’s prediction that I would post more about our activities than she would, you’re not likely to hear much about them. I was too busy living the adventure to write about it.1 Of yesterday’s voyage from Pittsburgh to Orlando I have much to say, and the illusion of time to say it.
It was a long day—nearly 16 hours door-to-door—but I can’t complain as Porter still had some 13 more hours to travel after I was safe in our own house. If it weren’t for the final blow from JetBlue, I wouldn’t have minded at all.
Perhaps the beginning of the trip was a portent, as we began by brushing the first, wet snow of the season off the car.2 Traffic was bad but the driving fine on the way to the airport, and there was no line at either of our check-in counters, so we had plenty of time. The security line was by far the longest I’ve experienced in Pittsburgh, but short by Orlando standards, and neither of us had to make the body scanner/pat down choice.
All too soon we had to go to our separate gates, but kept in touch by SMS:
many flights out of nyc canceled3
mine ok so far
delayed to 10:40
our plane just landed. praying for your connections
ours not here yet
on plane
me too
Remind me not to schedule non-direct flights during the winter if possible. I was flying through New York City instead of directly home to Orlando because I was taking a free trip Porter had earned by being bumped from a JetBlue flight earlier in the year. If it weren’t for the most important part—I got to my destination and home again safely—I might be tempted to say the flights were worth the cost.4
Flights out of JFK airport were delayed and cancelled left and right…but not the one flight I wanted to be delayed: my 12:30 New York – Orlando leg. I must say that JetBlue got me to New York in time to catch the flight, had we not been so far above the airport at boarding time.
When we finally were allowed to land, I remarked that if I had wanted a thrill ride I could have stayed at home in Orlando. One of the airport employees later described the weather as a monsoon and a tornado combined. In Florida we’d call that a hurricane, but whatever it was, that’s what it looked (and felt) like from the airplane, too.
Safe on the ground—not without a cheer and a communal sigh of relief from the passengers—I sped out of the plane hoping that my connecting flight had been delayed at least as much as we had, but it was no longer on the display board. I noted that the next flight to Orlando was currently boarding, so I sprinted from Gate 6 to Gate 17 to pant for a seat. No go. Well, no go for me. As it turned out, they had room for my luggage, though I would later learn that the price it paid for the privilege was not one I would be willing to pay for myself.
I almost didn’t mind the delay, however, because I received one more SMS from Porter:
just made the narita flight, got my first jog in in 2 weeks
Better him than me, by far. If he’d missed that connection, his next chance wouldn’t have been until the following day.
Another sprint—or rather, a fast walk, as there was plenty of time before the next Orlando flight—brought me to the “Just Ask” desk, where the friendly and apparently helpful agent listened to my story and quickly printed me a new boarding pass. I walked away, very impressed with JetBlue’s service.5
That good feeling lasted just long enough for me to get to the gate and be told that my boarding pass was not a ticket, just a placeholder on the standby list for a completely full flight. Still, the gate agent was fairly encouraging, as if he expected several of the “already checked in” passengers to disappear at the last moment.
Being on standby pretty much tied me to the gate area, as I wanted to be available at a moment’s notice. In fact, everyone was told to stay in the gate area, since flight statuses were changing with a fairly regular randomness. Not that this kept me from getting my exercise: the gate changed from 14 to 5, pretty much as far as you can go in the JetBlue area. Presumably this was because the plane we were to take to Orlando was now coming into Gate 5 instead of Gate 14, so we were hopeful that we6 might soon be on our way.
Just kidding. I dutifully re-told my story to the new gate agent and settled in with the crowd, but after much more waiting and wondering, we were informed that “our” plane had been diverted to Atlantic City. Fitting, I suppose. Air travel in winter is always a gamble.
I had asked the agent at Gate 5 if it wouldn’t be better to get a confirmed seat on a later flight than to take my chances with a sold-out flight that piled delay upon delay, but she told me to stick with the standby. The Atlantic City diversion sent me back to Just Ask for a second opinion. The agent there confirmed that the later flight was also full—but that a few seats had opened up on my standby flight, and he would confirm me on it. Hallelujah! I wish the gate agent had been willing to do the same, but in all fairness she was mighty busy, and it did take 10 minutes and a phone call or two to make it happen.
But happen it did, and clutching my confirmed boarding pass I pulled up a square of carpet near an electrical outlet and sat down for the first time in hours.7 I finally felt secure enough to relax and pull out my computer, but alas, those waiting for posted updates did not get any, as for reasons still unknown I could make neither the gate-area wi-fi nor our air card work. I soon repacked the computer and resumed standing—the floor was cold and hard.
At last our plane escaped from New Jersey, and even managed to land without another gate change. We boarded and were soon in the air and on our way home.
Flights to Orlando are unique in that the pre-boarding line, which includes those travelling with young children, can fill up much of the plane before anyone else gets on board. Amazingly, although a baby or two cried occasionally, and one two-year-old with a high-pitched scream was set off ‘way too many times, the children were incredibly well-behaved for having been cooped up in an airport for most of the day. Not that this stopped one nearby passenger from complaining, loudly and rudely. I would guess he was in his mid-20’s, but even the two-year-old with the nails-on-blackboard screech was more mature than he.
Even more amazingly, he was the only rude and immature person I encountered. The camaraderie of shared difficulty mostly seemed to make people friendlier. We talked, we joked, we helped one another. I’ve had less fun at parties!8
Three hours later, the plane touched down at good ol’ MCO. We cheered, we packed up our belongings, we retrieved our luggage from the overhead bins. We waited patiently for the exit line to start moving. And waited. And waited. The jetway at our gate was broken, and all other gates were occupied. After much effort and failure, the proper mechanic was sent for, but his efforts were equally fruitless. At last another gate opened. Thanks no doubt to the same regulations that require us to learn on every flight how to fasten and unfasten a seat belt, we couldn’t moved until all the luggage was restowed in the overhead bins, and all the passengers back—and belted—in their seats. Thus protected, we made our way—at an altitude of 0 feet above the ground and at a speed slower than I can run—around the corner to our new gate, and deplaned at last. Even so, everyone but the aforementioned rude young man was cheerful and patient. My neighbor did refer to this delay as the final blow, and I told her to wait to say that until she had her luggage in her hand. Sometimes my prescience astonishes me.
Cheerfully I hauled my heavy backpack and heavier duffle bag across the airport to baggage claim, where I searched in vain for my suitcase. It should have been easy to spot, with its 1992 Sunshine State Pow-wow patches and bright red Towers-Perrin strap, but bag after bag went by, and I reluctantly had to admit mine was not among them. At the JetBlue baggage desk I was astonished to find that they could not tell me if it had made it onto the plane.9 I did, however, find it myself, in a small group of orphaned bags from previous flights.
My rejoicing was short-lived. The bag was canted at an odd angle, and refused to come along when I pulled. The cause of this recalcitrance was not hard to discern: the wheels—both of them—had been Snapped. Clean. Off.
Back to the baggage desk line I went, only to be told, “They don’t cover wheels and handles.” I ask you, does the above look like normal wear and tear? Having had my bag badly mangled on a previous trip, I took especial care to pack this one completely full and in a way calculated to minimize problems. And it worked—the body of the bag came through in fine shape. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so diligent, as if they’d bashed the body they would have acknowledged the claim. But then the contents might have been damaged, and so far all looks well in that department. The bag, however—our one remaining of that size not damaged beyond usefulness—is a total loss. The clerk said I could file a “courtesy claim,” but when pressed admitted that it would make no difference whatsoever. Mindful of the hour and my kind neighbors who had been waiting a long time for me, I said good night. But for the record, whatever JetBlue claims for its successful baggage handling, their statistics are off by at least one bag.
Did I mention kind neighbors? We have the best! My original plan had been to take the bus home from the airport and walk the mile and a half home. When I ended up bringing home the extra 48-pound bag, my revised plan was to ask our neighbors to pick me up at the bus stop and save me the half-hour walk with heavy luggage. However, as my chances of getting into Orlando at a decent hour grew slimmer and slimmer—and the odds of my getting to the bus stop after midnight greater and greater—I went for Plan C and asked for a ride from the airport. This is no small favor, the airport being 45 minutes away, but as I said, they are great neighbors and came to my rescue. Given the baggage situation, it was a much greater rescue than any of us knew—dragging the wheel-less bag the 50 feet to their car was difficult enough. I think we owe them Outback dinners for the rest of the year.
On the way home, after I told my baggage story, they—seasoned travelers themselves—remarked that these days you almost have to look on luggage as a disposable item. Perhaps they’re right: We reuse plastic cutlery, zip-lock bags, and yoghurt containers until they give out, but don’t mourn overmuch when they do. I’m pretty sure some of our yoghurt containers have lasted longer than the dearly departed suitcase, but then again, they never had to go through the airline baggage system.
Adventures or misadventures, all in all it was a great trip. I’m glad to be home, and thankful for all the wonderful people who made it enjoyable from beginning to end.
1I know I posted something every day in November, but that’s because all but one of the posts were written before I left home, so all I had to do was activate the posts.
2 We had to borrow a brush from Heather, as our car did not have one. I maintain that all cars rented during snow season should come equipped with a brush and scraper, even if they do have Florida plates.
3 I generally prefer the British spelling, with the doubled letters—“cancelled”—despite the objections of most spell checkers, but I am so slow a texter I take shortcuts, as you can tell by the lack of capital letters. SMS is ruining the language.
4 But really, 16 hours from Pennsylvania to Florida would have been considered extraordinarily fast even when I was a child, to say nothing of what the trip was like for my ancestors. I was warm and dry the whole time, too.
5 Though not nearly as impressed as I was with USAirways when Eyjafjallajoukull caused us to miss our connecting flight home from Switzerland.
6 Note that by this time the crowd of passengers had become “we,” a community. On an individual level, I was still in standby limbo.
7 There were nearly as many passengers on the floor as in seats, and I felt very privileged to find a space within reach of an outlet. As Ma Ingalls always said in the Little House on the Prairie books, “There’s no great loss without some small gain”—the nearby massage/facial/manicure store was doing a booming business.
8 Except for the food. Parties usually have good things to eat and drink, and JetBlue never even came through with a meal voucher.
9 On our first trip to Switzerland, the French baggage clerk in Basel/Mulhouse was able to tell us within seconds that Porter’s bag had missed the American Airlines flight out of Miami, and would be delivered to us between 10 and 11 the following morning.
Whew! I'm glad I suggested mailing the heavy, fragile things...
Yes—I'm glad I have a brilliant daughter! Actually, two brilliant daughters.
And stunningly brilliant grandchildren, of course.
