Frequent Flyer Follies
I’m working in Milwaukee again this week, just a horrible week to be missing in Seattle since the weather there is nearly perfect. The weather here is the prototypical midwest summer heat and humidity, as you can see in the picture at right, taken after a 4-mile run through the park near my hotel. I’ve donated the shirt to science.
I had worked things out so that, instead of my usual early-morning departure on Sunday, I was booked on a 4:15 flight to Minneapolis, connecting to Milwaukee and arriving at 11:30. A little bit of a push to stay alert on Monday, but, really, I don’t get to bed very early anyway. Bonus: a whole week previous, my Platinum-elite upgrades to first class were confirmed on both legs, so no anxiety-ridden hanging around the gate to see if my name is called. Just check in, head to the World Club and relax until boarding time.
Not so fast.
As I checked my bags, the agent said my Minneapolis flight was running at least an hour late, and would miss my connection to Milwaukee, which was the last one of the evening. She put me on an earlier Minneapolis flight, which was also an hour late, but only middle seats in coach were available, with not much hope for an upgrade. Although I was able to change to an aisle seat toward the back of the plane, no first class seats magically became available at boarding time, and I trudged back to the depths of the coach-class catacomb. Still, the plane was leaving about the same time as my original flight, so I’d have time in Minneapolis to grab dinner, and I still had the first class seat to Milwaukee.
Not so fast.
Just as we were 20 miles from landing in Minneapolis, a thunderstorm passed through the airport and they closed it. We powered up out of our approach and probably flew thalfway to Milwaukee before getting permission to turn back and finally land in Minneapolis, about 45 minutes later than originally estimated. It takes a while to disembark if you’re sitting in 39-D, but I still had 25 minutes until my next departure. I walk briskly through airports, bobbing and weaving through the platoons of summer saunterers phalanxed throughout the concourses, and I thought I had plenty of time even though my gate was in a different concourse. I was a little stunned, then, to hear a PA announcement, “final boarding call for flight 394 to Milwaukee. All passengers must board immediately at gate C-16.” As fast as I had been walking, I doubled my pace and opted to use the people-mover belts, which I usually eschew in order to get a bit of exercise. People were, for some odd reason, respecing the Walk/Stand demarcations on the belt, so I was able to cruise pretty quickly along. Still, at Gate C-10, the announcement was repeated, with the addition of, “Seattle passenger Perils of Caffeine needs to check in at the gate immediately.”
At that point, I abandoned any semblance of nonchalance, gripped my backpack tight against my back and broke into an OJ Simpson-esque sprint over the 100 yards or so left. I run as part of my conditioning, but the extra 25 pounds on my back made it feel extremely ungainly. I planted my right foot and made my cut for the gate, resigning myself to the probability that they’d already given my first class seat away. Instead, it turned out that neither the pilot nor the first officer was on board yet, so my athletic feat, while admirable in the abstract, had been unnecessary.
We’re not done yet. Upon arrival in Milwaukee at 12:30am, I found that my car rental folks had bailed on me, and I had to go to another car company and pay twice as much for a full-size monstrosity for the week. My client ends up paying, but still…
Don’t misunderstand, I’m not one to complain about the discomforts of air travel, even when things seem to unravel a bit due to weather or other mishaps as they did Sunday. When you consider the organizational and mechanical complexity required to transport you and your luggage 2,500 miles within a 5-hour period, it’s really marvelous. My heart goes out to anyone who works for an airline in this awful business environment that’s mostly not of their making.
