I’m sure we all have horror stories of air travel, and each feels that his (or her) tale caps the lot.  So I won’t claim that my trip to San Diego was the worst trip ever.  I’ve probably had worse myself.

Certainly the trip back from Newport during a nor’easter several years ago was a humdinger of a journey: we got as far as Philadelphia (anyone who’s flown through Philadelphia knows what’s coming next), but our flight to Norfolk was delayed half an hour.  Then the gate was changed.  Then the flight was delayed another hour.  Then the gate was changed again.  Then the flight was delayed 45 minutes.  Finally, the gate agent admitted that the flight was cancelled (at which point, ironically, the sign over the desk was changed to read “Thank You for flying with US Airways!”).  Fortunately, while waiting for the procrastinated flight, I had become engaged in conversation with two Navy Intelligence Officers (1630s), who were themselves conversing with a woman who worked for 3M; we formed a committee, and rented a car to drive back to Norfolk.  On the way to the car rental, we picked up an Air Force Captain, who had just finished a six-month deployment to Kuwait and was on his way home—it was also his birthday.

For trips that resulted in driving home, even that wasn’t the worst that I’ve had.  Three chiefs and I were trying to get back from Groton, Connecticut, and not only had to change gates, but change airports.  In the end, it looked like we were all set to fly back starting from the little airport in Groton, with three of us upgraded to first class, when the flight (the last of the day, of course) was cancelled because the plane couldn’t leave New York to get to Groton.  It’s a long drive from Groton to Norfolk, especially starting at 8 in the evening.

But both of those cases were simple weather problems; for shear variety of mishaps, the trip to San Diego two weeks ago has to take the prize.  It started as a weather delay; we were predicted to get increasing winds as the morning went on, culminating in gusts over 50 mph, and with a flight due to leave at 10:49—in a small aircraft, because it was a commuter hop to Washington Dulles—things did not look good.  But at about 8am I started getting ready to go to the airport anyway, and Henry checked the flight online to see if there were any delays listed yet.  To our surprise, the flight was listed not only as leaving on time, but early—0900!  Rather than waste the time to try to track down what was surely a mix up, I rushed to get to the airport.  Before I even got to the car, Henry had left a message on my cell phone to tell me that 0900 was when the flight left Dulles for Norfolk, and that it still showed On Time for the 10:49 flight from Norfolk back to Dulles; so all was well—except that I hadn’t had time to collect the packets of tissues from my desk drawer, and we still had the winds to worry about.  In the end, the plane didn’t get to the gate until the time it should have been leaving for the return journey; and once we had all boarded and were headed towards the runway, we were put on a 30-minute hold by Air Traffic Control because of congestion at Dulles caused by the winds.  Once we were finally air-borne, the flight attendant asked for a show of hands for people going to San Diego, and said that they would ask Dulles to hold that flight for us, since there were so many people.  When we got to Dulles, the San Diego flight was in final boarding.  Of course, that wasn’t my flight: by the time I had booked, all the convenient flights to San Diego were full, so I still had to get to Denver before boarding a flight to San Diego.  And the Denver flight had left twenty minutes ago.

Checking at the customer service counter, I was booked onto the next Denver flight.  Since the booking agent hadn’t asked to see my luggage claim stubs, I asked whether the luggage had been automatically rebooked two, and she said that it had, to which an English passenger next to me added “the luggage loss program has been unaffected by the current delay”—clearly a frequent flyer.  Ever the optimist, I reflected that now, rather than having a rushed connection, I had time to eat lunch before my re-booked flight (still to Denver).    That plane was also late getting in.  Once we had boarded, the pilot announced that people servicing the plan had noted that a hinge cover on one of the doors was damaged, so we had to have technicians come look at it.  Fifteen minutes later, the technician looked at it, and said it should be replaced: a further fifteen minute delay.  Fifteen minutes later, the technician gave up waiting for the replacement part, and suggested that he just remove the, basically cosmetic, cover.  This would take fifteen minutes.  Finally we pushed back, and headed down the alley, when I noticed all the flight attendants gathered at a row in front of me, staring at the middle seat, while the woman in the window seat kept grabbing her temples in a gesture of helpless terror.  Then the head flight attendant asked if there was a medical professional on board, followed by the plane turning suddenly back towards the gates.

A fifteen-month old infant had had seizures, and become unconscious.  Eventually, the ambulance arrived, and mother and child were taken off the plane.  Then two more ambulances arrived; but they were for the plane at the next gate over.  It was a bad day for United Airlines.  Meanwhile, we had to wait to get a new oxygen bottle, to replace the one that had been used treating the child.  The whole episode was narrated by the man sitting behind me, talking on his cell phone.  He repeated each announcement for the benefit of the person he was talking to; for example:

I’m just glad he didn’t tell his fellow conversationalist to sit back and relax.

Needless to say, we had all missed our connections by the time we got into Denver.  My own layover had only been twenty minutes, so just the hinge-cover had been enough to miss that one.  We had all been automatically booked onto the next flight, and fortunately there was one more flight to San Diego that night.  As it turned out, I had time to eat a leisurely supper in Denver, but had unfortunately splurged on the rather sickly snack box during the flight from Dulles, so was not hungry.

The story would read better if, on arrival in San Diego, my luggage had been lost during the frequent delays, the rental-car company had closed, and the BOQ had given away my room.  But the fact is that everything went smoothly once we had left Denver.  I got into San Diego, and there was my luggage waiting for me; had it had feet, they would have been tapping in impatience.  Somewhere along the way, the luggage made a connection that I did not—I still don’t know how.  Admittedly, the rental car place was running short of vehicles, but they gave me a mini-van for the price of the compact car I’m authorized, so all was well.  It may not be quite as good for picking up chicks as the Sebring convertible the Captain got, but there was no time (or inclination) for any of that during this trip.  My room at the BOQ was ready and waiting, and I was far from being the last to arrive that night.

As I say, everybody has their air travel story, which they consider to be the worst in the world.  Just recently, someone I deal with at work—let’s call him Wayne, mostly because that’s his name—was due to brief our admiral at 9 am, Monday morning.  Already you can the potential for problems, especially given that Wayne lives in Rhode Island; and it’s snowing heavily in Rhode Island.  By 5pm Sunday night, Wayne had boarded the plane at Providence Airport, and was sitting at the end of the runway, next to leave right after the incoming commuter flight from Philadelphia landed.  (There’s that Philadelphia connection again.)  The incoming flight had a problem, caused either by the weather or by an improper landing, the upshot of which was that the plane slid sideways off the runway, with all tires blown.  No flights went in or out of Providence for the next 2½ hours, and the airlines cancelled all their outgoing flights.  (We are now 15 hours from brief time.)  So Wayne rents a car, drives from Rhode Island to Virginia (keeping just ahead of the storm front all the way, and fortunately in very light traffic), and finally collapses in his hotel room at 4am (5 hours to brief time).  He managed to give a pretty good brief all the same, but I don’t envy him one bit.