My adventures in flying have taken a hard left.
Here I sit in SFO with I don’t know how many others, waiting for news about a flight that was to have left 90 minutes ago. The holdup isn’t some huge problem with the landing gear; it’s not a terrorist plot; there’s no hole in the windshield.
Some idiot on the previous flight flushed a piece of plastic or some such thing down the loo. And now the toilet is stopped up and there are too many of us to chance a flight without the full complement of powder rooms.
What the heck is wrong with people? I mean, really. What are people thinking half the time?
Still, there’s nothing I can do but fume.
I’m watching right now as they back our plane up to the hangar in an attempt to start the engines and try to blow out the blockage. I guess it’s the aeronautic equivalent of a call to Roto Rooter.
I have my fingers crossed that the pilot was telling the truth when he told us all that the crew and the plane are needed in New York and he is sure mechanics will be working to fix the problem not cancel the flight. Just in case, I’m on standby for the redeye. And listening to a mechanic explain the finer points of airline plumbing to the desk clerks.
Although I’ve seen this story played out a million times on the evening news, I wasn’t expecting to live it.
(Insert your favorite expletive here. God knows that I am.)
For now, we’re a resigned bunch — reading, calling home, using the Internet.
A few are dozing. One fella repacked his luggage (boxers in case you’re wondering).
The clerks are doing maintaining their cool, patiently explaining the situation, over and over again.
I’m trying to go with the flow, think of it all as a big adventure, assure myself that getting in to JFK at 3 am wouldn’t be all THAT bad, but after a week away, I’m more than a little homesick, overtired and cross.
As I said a week ago when setting out on this trip, I’m really more of an armchair traveler.
It’s a damn good thing, since this chair is about as far as I’m getting right now.