AIRLINES AND HOW THEY CONSPIRED TO BREAK MY SPIRIT

Throughout my career as a traveller, I have always stood up for right against wrong, as a paying customer. Whether, this be in travel, lodging, meal service or anything else that I paid for during my long trips away. For many years, I managed to retain a righteous indignity towards every incident that, I felt, warranted my rage. It was a crap British airline that finally brought me to my knees and broke my fighting spirit. It was only at this point that I realized, all of the “fits” I had thrown, were for nought. The net result, was that I had really, never won, even one, of these battles. It finally took a small crap airline, British Midlands, to crush my spirit forever. Having said that, today’s post is a recap of the most memorable.

During our time in Scotland, I would make regular visits to our plant in Norway. At that time, there were no direct flights from Edinburgh to Stavanger, Norway. Hence, it became necessary to fly thru London, both ways. This resulted in a very inconvenient travel connection, especially going home. If I worked until the afternoon flight from Stavanger, then I could make the last connection to London and then home. The last flight home left at 8:00pm from London. Miss this one and your ass was in London overnight until 7:00am the next morning.

I had flown this connection a couple of times and “ran” thru Gatwick each time to just make my connection to Scotland. Until, that is, the one evening that I needed to get home on time. It was during the winter of 1998 and Deysi had just joined me in Edinburgh. She was, as usual, taking care of all of the details of the move, including the quarantine of another of her annoying cats. This beast, one of her most miserable. As part of her activities she was to find us a home, arrange the movers, get Ange in school and visit her, jailed cat, twice daily. In her mind I was just flying around like a “blue ass fly” without a care in the world. So this one particular trip I promised to get home to help with something. What could possibly go wrong?

It started with BM (the airways) waiting in Stavanger for a late arriving flight, then hauling the plane over for de-icing. As I calculated it, that would give me 30 minutes to sprint for my connection. Of course, leaving late resulted in arriving in London at the peak of air traffic. Which meant, being “stacked” in a holding pattern, and flying round and round Gatwick waiting our turn. Finally we land, I sprint for my connection only to see the gate closed and no one waiting. Breathlessly I gasp out to the lady at the desk, “I’m here, I need to go to Edinburgh”. This only causes her to look patiently at me and say, “the plane has left already”. “Hold it”, I gasp out as I see it backing slowly away from the gate.

Now I’m starting to get my voice back and feel a righteous indignation creeping up the base of my spine. “Wait a minute, I’m only late because your crap airline waited in Stavanger for a late arriving flight!” “Just a minute”, she says in her most pompous British royalty voice. She flutters around a sheaf of papers, pounds a couple of keys in her machine, sniffs a couple of times and then…. pronounces, “no, your plane was delayed for de-icing, that is why you are late”. You’ll just have to wait until the morning flight. I’ll see if I can get you a seat on that one”. At this point, my usually calm demeanour is starting to fray. I feel a string of swear words welling up in my throat. I know, I’m going to lose it. And sure enough, I do.

A stream of loud, high pitched vulgarity erupts from my mouth. I am now recovered from my run thru Gatwick and am fully pissed. I direct my wrath at the airline, the pilots, the airport and the very gate we are standing at. Even then, in my rage, I am lucid enough not to direct my comments towards the lady in front of me. In the middle of my rant, she yawns a bit, shuffles some more paper, and peers down her nose at me. I explain that I have to get home, I need to get home, and I deserve to get home. She appears to be completely uninterested and continues messing around with things on her podium. Finally, exhausted, I pause to recharge.

I fully understand that Deysi is never going to believe that I am stranded in London, on this the most important of days. Obviously there will be no sympathy, coming my way, from any of my options. I ask her to check all other, choices like trains, other carriers, dogsled or any way to get me home. She appears quite cheerful when she says, “no sir, you are well and truly stuck, there is nothing leaving for Edinburgh until the morning!” “Well then, what am I supposed to do”. She looks along her nose, sniffles and says, “well because weather is no fault of ours. You might want to go across the street and get yourself a hotel room”. Now I’m in a complete rage and near catatonic. I blurt out, “NO, I’ll just stay right here all night until you rectify this situation.”

Apparently this was not her first rodeo. Calmly, as if speaking with a, somewhat, slow child, she throws out, “please help yourself there are plenty of seats right here”. Well now I have planted my spear in the ground, the only thing left to do was plop myself down in a seat, right across from her. I put my most angry, righteous look on and scowl across at her. She is completely oblivious to my temper tantrum. She proceeds about her business with a “la la la, tee he he, ho ho ho” and completely ignores me. Now I have my most angry face on, but she just looks above me, around me, or thru me without making any eye contact. After about 2 hours my rage subsides and I slink away, tail between my legs to seek accommodation.

As expected, Deysi, had zero, nada, zippo for sympathy to my plight and accused me of having too much fun. This however was not quite the end. The next morning, still indignant and after refusing their breakfast on the plane, I arrive in Edinburgh only to find they have now lost my bags. Again this sets me off on another fit, venting my anger on a “tree” dressed as an agent. He listens to my rant, yawns, then asks my address so they could deliver my bag if it ever showed up. My name must have then been added to an unruly passenger list, because the next 3 times I flew that route they lost my bags each time. It got so bad that each time I landed and approached the “tree”, he would wave me off and say, “don’t worry Mr. H we’ll send it along.”

Ultimately, these last few trips led to my giving up on fighting “the holy fight” against the airways. My spirit was broken. And finally, to end this delayed rant I will now describe , briefly, a few more of my most memorable times. All of these, and many more, lead to a lifelong battle with flying. Times such as;

Once while travelling on an internal flight in Russia, when I discovered I had no seatbelt. The cabin crew reached across my lap and undid the seatbelt of an army guy sitting next to me. He then clipped it on my seat. Geezus, this guy is sitting there with a pistol strapped on, no seatbelt and looking pissed. It made for a very uncomfortable ride. I tried to look the most “Canadian” I could. I didn’t want there to be any mixup.

Or the time when Ange, Deysi and myself are transiting thru Frankfurt, late at night in a very silent, empty airport. As we pass the American Airlines gate we hear a commotion. A lady is yelling at the gate agents to stop the plane, she has to go to New York. The agents are explaining, in their irritatingly calm voice, that it was impossible. To which the irate passenger replies with a “right cross” to the agents chin, “decking” the offending agent. All of the sudden out of nowhere appear about 50 security staff, descending on one, slightly tipsy, tourist. I bet the only place she didn’t go that night was New York.

Or on final approach to Thailand or Singapore, on each of the many times I landed there, this announcement. “Please be advised that if your are found transporting drugs in the country, the penalty is death!” It always made my stomach churn. Only worse was when you went to get your bags, the police wandered in and out of the baggage area with drug sniffing dogs. Each and every time, one of these dogs hesitated by me and took a good long sniff. Each and every time, I could hear my bowels gurgle and my knees turn to jelly. Even knowing I was innocent could not stop the thought of what if……..?

Or maybe in the early days when Deysi and I boarded a plane from Lima to Cusco. We were so happy. It was a bit of a delayed honeymoon. We were so excited. Then, shortly after takeoff, the plane seemed to be struggling to gain altitude, it would go up, then sink down and then up again. The pilot was now executing a slow circle, over the ocean back to the airport. Up and down we went, with a loud engine noise and then silence. The steward came past us and strapped himself into the seat behind us, The only seat with the “full monty” of harnesses. I’m now feeling a little loose in the bowels. Deysi turns to this “steward”, who was there for our safety, and asks, “are we going to make it?” He was noticeably pale and replies, “I hope so”. That filled me with confidence.

Perhaps the time out of Mumbai, India when a supplier offered me a ride in his private plane to visit a mine I was interested in. I jumped at the idea, anything was better than fighting traffic to the airport in Mumbai! And then, after arrival, fighting thru the half million, or so, people that were milling around the airport. I was in great spirits, thinking of a luxury jet, a few bonbons and a morning Baileys. We arrived at this little, crap looking, airfield, the only plane in sight is a four seater “crop duster” type beast. My heart sank. I could see no cabin crew, no pilots, no red carpet, only this one little lonely looking plane. Of course, he makes for it and climbs right into the pilot’s seat. Geezus! I was never so happy to get my feet back down on the ground, in my life.

Well I think that is enough for now. If anyone likes this type of story, just say so. I have hundreds.