Crime, Punishment and Air Travel

Air travel is a test of human character. It is just simply out of hand. And sometimes it feels like a crime against human nature.

I flew in and out to New York on Wednesday for a 1 1/2 hour meeting, and the entire process took me 15 hours. Long day, but sometimes it is best to meet face-to-face.

But, let's face it. The whole shebang is just plain exhausting. While waiting for our flight, hoping for standby on an earlier one, sitting in Laguardia's measly little United gate area, I told my colleagues the story of my worst flight experience ever.

And, now I feel that to complete the cathartic circle of this story, I must share it with you. I'm warning you—it dredges up some pretty unpleasant memories, but it is worth it. You're worth it.

The year was 2006. The employer was different, and we had a client in Billings, Montana. I know you haven't heard of it—it isn't the picturesque destination in the great state of Montana that you're hoping to visit. There are no mountains, no ski slopes, no beautiful nature trails, no hot springs, no spa resorts, nothing. Billings is what Montanans often refer to (Ok, so one did) as "the armpit of Montana."

The beginning.
That may be a little harsh, but there it is. Billings is only reached via other places. You have to go to Salt Lake City or Denver to get there from here. And, the getting home from there is the problem.

I was traveling to Billings for the account at least once a month, often for 3-, 4- or 5-day trips. It was not a highlight of my business traveling career, but the work we were doing, and the people we were working with, made it worth it.

The flights to Denver on United were pleasant. Often we got upgraded to Business Class on the huge planes, and the hot nuts and warm towel and bottomless red wine made it seem just right. Fun, even.

Upon arrival in Denver, however, the earth grounded to a shattering and noisy halt. That airport is crazy, and this is coming from someone who has logged many an hour in O'Hare. It is loud, long and always active. And, since I was constantly flying in and out of two snow-filled cities, there were always delays due to weather.

This one time was no exception. We had just finished a 4-day meeting in Billings, and were boarding the tiny 50-seater Cessna operated by SkyWest to head to Denver. The weather in Billings was fine, and we weren't sure of what else the country's forecast had to offer.

My travel companions were Liz, on her first business trip ever, and my boss, who never handled travel with that much ease or comfort. So, I hoped and prayed for the best. We were all exhausted and just ready to be home in Chicago.

Not so fast, my friend.

We get close to Denver, and the pilot informs us that thunderstorms had wreaked havoc on the city, shutting down Denver's airport. Okaaay....so we were diverted to Colorado Springs which is only about 30 minutes by plane away.

Fine. Whatever. Just get us there safely and in time for us to make our connection in Denver.

And, we land in Colorado Springs and find out there is not ONE open gate. The entire airport had planes just sitting, on hold, waiting at the gates, so they couldn't get us into one. We were parked out on the tarmac. Waiting.

Which was fine for a while. Then it started to get warm and sticky on the plane, because they'd shut off the AC. Then the bathroom started to smell, which is just highly unpleasant on a 50-seater plane.

And, we wait. An hour passes. Two hours pass. People are begging for beverage service, but water is all she has that is cold. No food, nothing. Three hours pass. The natives are growing restless, and the bathrooms stink even worse. Four hours pass. Now it is just ridiculous. By this point, it was about 10:30 pm, and we've long since missed our connection in Denver to Chicago. We'd been sitting there since 6 pm or so.

Liz, while leaning over into my seat to watch the DVD on my laptop (which soon became entertainment for about 4 aisles worth of people), looked over at me and said, with sad eyes, "is business travel always like this?" and I assured her that this was just bad. A four and a half hour interruption in our life. I was just sure that we'd be moving soon.

Boy was I wrong.

At this point, the pilot comes on and offers for anyone that has available transportation in the Colorado Springs area (i.e., someone to pick them up) that wants to de-board, can. Since there was not ONE rental car to be had at the Colorado Springs airport, that left anyone else (like those with connections) no choices.

The 10 or so anxious people raced to the front, climbed down the stairs and boarded a van that would drive them to the airport where they could be picked up (and saved from the rest of the mess).

We were so jealous.

The 40 people left just waited.

Another hour passed. The sixth hour came and went. By now it was after midnight, and there was absolutely no hope of getting to Denver, and out to Chicago, that night. We resigned to that fact.

But, we were still on the stinking tarmac in Colorado Springs!

Finally, they re-opened the Denver airport and we made our way there, arriving at approximately 1:00 in the morning. Per our instructions, we approached the re-book gate and stood for 45 minutes to talk to someone. They re-booked us (at 1:45 am) onto the next flight out in the morning, at 8:30 am.

The crime scene.
Fine. But, I should remind you that we've not eaten anything, and we're all still in suits from that morning's last meetings. Luckily, Liz and I had our bags with us and were able to change into jeans and comfy shoes. Our boss, however, was none to happy to be stuck in his suit and tie.

We take the hotel voucher and begin to call the 800# for a hotel that night. It was 2 am at this point, and the lady said everything was booked. That the entire city of Denver was booked because of some conventions, and the weather.

Grrreeeat.

So, my boss, refusing to take "no" for an answer, insists that we get into a cab, and take the 40-minute ride into Denver, where he would "find a hotel, because I have so many connections." Uhhhh, yeah. No rooms at the inn, buddy.

We stopped by, and were turned away from, no less than 5 hotels (with the cab running in the drive) before finally admitting defeat. Told you so.

The cab driver turns around, and takes us all the way back to the Denver Airport. With the meter running. It was about $120 by the time we were through with him. I'm sure we made his night.

Dejectedly, we re-enter the airport and realize that now it was 3:00 am and we had still not eaten, and yet, we're outside of the security lines in the main atrium. Where nothing was open.

Finally, we see a mad rush to a deli where they had wisely decided to send some Joe Schmoe over there to sell us some sandwiches. Everyone happily stood in line. Okay, so happily wasn't true, but we were deliriously hungry. And tired.

This part burns me up—we waited AN HOUR for a sandwich. A pre-wrapped, pre-made sandwich. With the choices all lined up on the menu board above us. Easy, right? Not even close. Some people, at 3:30 in the morning—nearing 4 am, had the AUDACITY to ask for custom-made sandwiches. I'm pretty sure this Schmoe normally empties trash cans—he had no idea what he was doing, and thus the line just snaked further and further around the lobby.

It was horrendous. We finally get our food, and eat, with our eyes burning, our hair greasy, our minds numb.

But we still can't go through security. Not until 5:30 am.

So, Liz and I assess the situation, and determine that the carpeted area in front of the Budget Rental Car desk was the softest landing. We use our sweatshirts as pillows, and stupidly lay down. We were just simply stupid by this point. Our boss chose a seated position.

And, just when the tiredness reached its peak, and we almost slipped into a deep, coma-like sleep, the noise started.

HUMMMM. HUMMMMM. HUMMMMM.

What the?

Oh, as I look over my shoulder, past the sleeping families and drowsy crowds, I see that guy. The one. Who has been assigned to wax the atrium floors. During the night shift.

The offender.
Did he not realize that there were hundreds, no, thousands of people sleeping in the airport RIGHT where he was waxing? I'm pretty sure common sense should have kicked in and guided him to his manager where he could do some QUIETER job that night.

Nope. Between the HUMMMM of his waxing machine, and the constant, ever-present, super-annoying voice of the female PA announcing safety updates and the like (the pre-recorded ones), we didn't get much "sleep."

Finally, at 5:30 in the morning, about an hour after laying down by the Budget desk, it was time to go through security. We did, with no issue.

Our 8:30 flight to Chicago never looked so good. We didn't get upgraded, and we didn't care.

I've never slept so well on a plane. The guy next to me was lucky he didn't have drool stains. And, the cab driver here in Chicago had to wake me again when we arrived at my house that next afternoon, at about 2:00 pm.

Needless to say, I "worked from home" that day.

Billings, Montana—you can't be blamed.

Denver International Airport—I hate you.

*Side note: this is not the only time I have been stranded in Denver and had to sleep at the airport. Does my anger make more sense now?*

How to Commute to Chicago...in a Snowstorm

In an effort to share the highs and lows of blogging, as well as to momentarily travel back to the commuting theme, I present to you today a guest blogger. Yes, that pun was intended.

You know her from my previous posts. Elizabeth is one of The Posse, was part of the Costa Rica adventure, and has been featured many other times in blog posts, stories and references. She is a regular reader and a hilarious commenter. We've been friends since the 9th grade, despite the fact that at first, we were like oil and water. She quickly became one of my favorite people in the whole world, and I couldn't be happier that we're now in our 17th year of friendship.

So, I am proud to offer up today's post from Liz, in her words. My notes are in italics, because you know I can't keep quiet THIS LONG without saying at least a few things.

--
How to commute to Chicago...in a snow storm!
By Elizabeth Norris

In August 2006, Colleen's friends in Chicago, Jill and Josh, began contacting her friends, family and coworkers about throwing a surprise 30th birthday for her in December. Four months before the party date, there were 15 out of towners who had booked plane tickets for the big surprise. The bulk of the party goers were traveling from Atlanta, LA and St. Louis. Needless to say, everyone was very excited and found it challenging to keep the secret from Colleen. She's quite the crafty, nosy, smart girl...whatever you want to call it.

I'd call it sly and brilliant, but that's just me.

The party was scheduled for a Friday night, the first weekend in December, so most guests had plane flights departing their respective cities early in the morning. The Thursday before the party, a massive snow storm decided to visit Chicago.

Slam into the city is more like it!

This created a huge mess for travelers all over the country. Four girls traveling from Atlanta (me ---> Liz, Mandi, Heather, Lauren) were lucky to get on the 8 AM flight to Midway. This was the ONLY Delta flight out of Atlanta heading to Chicago that was not canceled that day. Lauren was using a buddy pass and made it on the flight at the last minute and was forced to ride First Class with our world traveler and Delta Sky Mile collector, Heather. Rough life.

We were so excited to be on our way to Chicago because a great panic had set in that we may not make it. The flight was marvelous and the smells of poop filled the plane. It seemed a passenger had a "grumpy" in the bathroom and it circulated throughout the air system of the plane. It even made its way to the cockpit and the pilots were phoning the Flight Attendants in the cabin asking what the hell was going on out there.

The plane made it to Chicago and circled and circled and circled. And then..landed in Indianapolis! Yeah! This is where everything got interesting.

The flight crew informed the passengers that:

a) the plane was returning to Atlanta, and
b) nobody was allowed to get off the plane.

Angry passengers began shouting and some finally just bailed past the flight attendants and left. One man, with carry-on luggage, kept saying that he'd rented an SUV and was driving to Chicago and demanded they let him off. He was quite attractive and was standing next to our first class passengers, Heather and Lauren.

In his frustration he began talking to Heather and explaining to her that he had a car and they could not hold him on the plane. Heather jokingly asks "well, can you take us to Chicago, too?" "No problem," he says, and pushes past the flight attendant and onto the jetway.

So long, Mr. Cute Man with the Rental Car.

At this point, it was clear that the crew could not hold us captive on the plane so we began crafting our getaway plan. We needed to know what would happen to our luggage if we got off in Indianapolis. Originally, Delta told us our luggage was going back to Atlanta—no questions asked. While this was not 100% appealing to us, we were ready to bail on our luggage and make-up for the entire weekend and hit the first H&M we saw. The excuse for a shopping spree was thrilling to us.

Side note: then, I broke the plane.

It was a very nice new plane but my booty broke it. I'm packin' some heat in the "trunk" for those of you that don't know me. Therefore, I plead genetic defect.

To sum it up, I was up in first class with Heather and Lauren, trying to feel superior and rich, leaning against the wall of the plane. I was leaning over with my hands on my knees, so I was applying a decent amount of pressure to the cabin wall. Next thing we heard was "POP" and the wall collapsed in a little. I have concaved the wall and separated a seam of the airplane wall. Freaking genius. I knew Delta was gonna make me clean out barf bags and pick up tiny peanuts 'til I paid for the damage. Luckily, I used my massive rear to conceal the damage from the crew.

Remember, this is Liz talking. My booty isn't quite this powerful.

At this time, 45 minutes had passed since we'd landed and Delta finally said that we could all get off the plane. They agreed to unload all our luggage and said they were trying to organize buses to Chicago. These buses were going to be there to pick us up who knows when (they were predicting 3+ hours). The plane was still going back to Atlanta for those who would like that option.

Poor Lauren, with her buddy pass status, knew that her chances of getting on a flight back to Atlanta from Chicago on Sunday were slim. She could have been stranded there 'til mid- week. So we waved good bye to our friend as she headed off to complete the most pointless plane trip of her life.

We exited the plane, celebrating our escape, but wondering how we were supposed to get to Chicago. As we left the jetway we saw a beam of light from the sky that created a glow around...Mr. Cute Man with the Rental Car!

The Hallelujah Chorus was heard in the background and we ran in slow motion toward him with our arms outstretched. Ok...not really, but that's how it felt when we saw him still waiting at the gate for us. He was with a flight attendant who had been riding as a passenger next to Heather and Lauren. She also needed a ride to Chicago. The two of them had waited on me, Mandi and Heather, and we could not believe our luck.

Doesn't hurt that I have attractive friends.

We grabbed our luggage and all piled into the mid-size SUV rental car. There was a snowstorm going on and we had a two-hour drive to Chicago. A two-hour ride with strangers is something I recommend everyone do. It was quite the experience. I learned that Indiana is flat...VERY flat. We talked a lot about Colleen's party and how we'd been friends for so long. We knew almost all flights into Chicago were canceled and were keeping our fingers crossed that all the other party guests were going to make it.

Throughout the ride, Rob (AKA Mr. Cute Man with the Rental Car) was getting a lot of business phone calls. We could tell he had an interesting job so we all began quietly trying and figure it out amongst ourselves. Even the flight attendant in the front seat was turned around whispering to us. It was very funny.

Finally, one of us just asked him what line of work he was in. He replied, "I'm a reporter for Dateline." THE Dateline we were all thinking? Yep...THE Dateline that, at the time, was on NBC two or more times a week. His name is Rob Stafford, and he lived in Chicago. He currently does the weekend news for NBC5 News in Chicago, and yes...he's pretty darn cute and charming.

We talked about some of the stories he'd covered. In Georgia, he did a special on the Bart Corbin trial and the Amy Yates investigation. He explained that his phone calls were with a P.I. he was working with trying to locate a suspect. They were plotting how they could approach him with cameras at his job and confront him about the murder of his girlfriend. Rob had worked for Dateline for ten years and knew Stone Phillips, Chris Hanson and Ann Curry quite well. He was a mini-celebrity who had saved us from Indianapolis and nicely driven us to Midway.

He dropped the four of us off and Midway and rode off into the sunset.

Considering that we had gotten about 12 inches of snow that morning, let's assume this is the proverbial sunset, ok?

Not sure if Rob even knows what his generosity meant to us that day. How many grown men would even volunteer for a long car ride with some giggly girls excited about a surprise party, drinking the night away and a cheap clothing store? Brave soul. I bet his wife is pretty cool...like us.

We shared a taxi to the city with the flight attendant and made our way to our friend Jenny's Dad's condo on LaSalle St. Jenny had arrived the day before and avoided Snow Storm '06.

Sadly, the four of us were the only out of town guests who made it. Colleen's parents and sister were stranded in the Atlanta airport for more than 13 hours, Aunts and cousins never left St. Louis, a friend didn't make it out of South Carolina, an Aunt and Uncle didn't make it from Michigan and old friends and more cousins never made it off the ground in LA.

What was going to be 15 strong had become only 4 visitors from out of town. But, three of us had managed to write our own version of planes, trains and automobiles. Quite the unexpected but memorable adventure!

Luckily, Colleen is blessed with a wonderful group of friends in Chicago. There was no shortage of people at the party and we had a great time. If Colleen is brave enough she'll post the video of her running in and seeing the four members of "The Posse" in the room. I highly recommend watching this bit of comedy. Judging by her reaction it's probably a good thing all 15 out of town guests weren't there. I'm not sure she could have taken it!
--

Thanks, Liz! She's right. However, it was one of the best days of my life. What a surprise. And, what amazing friends I have! Somewhat embarrassingly begrudgingly, here's the video of my arrival. All my friends are tucked behind the camera-girl hiding behind the bar. Laugh away.

Yes. I'm prancing. That is some gen-u-wine emotion, people. And, my guest blogger Liz is the one in the black short sleeved blouse with the loud contagious laugh.

Happy Birthday Colleen


The best girlfriends anyone could ask for
Even considering the foot of snow and the ruined travels, it was fabulous. Everyone should be so lucky.
-Colleen

Hippy Dippy

With 3 flights, 3 airlines and 4 airports in 7 days, and NO TRAVEL DELAYS, I know I have absolutely no right to complain.

But I must.

Flying from Chicago Midway to Atlanta on the 23rd, I was on an Airtran flight, and had booked the aisle when I checked in 24 hours in advance like the good little traveler that I am. I boarded the plane, with my group, and make my way back to my seat, only to see that a woman is occupying it. Fully.

I say, in that nice casual but borderline annoyed voice, "I think you're in my seat." And she says, while nodding at the middle seat, "would you mind sitting in the middle?"

I paused. The polite southerner in me wanted to say that of course I would, that it would be no problem, that I wouldn't mind at all.

I didn't.

With a controlled politeness, I said, "Well, actually, I'm very tall and would prefer the aisle." (THAT I BOOKED, LADY.) She harumphs, and says, "Okay then, you're going to have to deal with these hips."

I look down.

She has the BIGGEST HIPS I'VE EVER SEEN.

They blossomed out from under her rather large chest. Buffooned out from each side, stretching out at least 12 inches to and fro. I know, I'm a terrible person, but she brought it up.

I said, "Okay." and sat down. In the aisle seat, as planned.

Here's the breaking point. My big mistake. Huge.

I didn't put down the arm rest.

For everyone that has ever boarded a plane, and all those that will travel in the future, this is your warning. Your note to self.

Put down the arm rest.

If I had done it after the fact, it would have bruised her, I'm convinced. So, I spared her that pain and left it up. All this meant for me was that she was more than 1/3 of the way into my seat with those hips. Her body heat and mine combined to create a friction that warmed the entire back half of the plane. For more than 2 hours.

With my 6' self contorted to avoid the sheer suction effect of sharing that much body with another woman, I was practically curved into an "S" the whole trip. I am not sure I am still back to normal.

You'd think that I'd have learned my lesson, and would have boarded earlier, more aggressively, and more attuned to the passengers around me from then on.

I guess not.

I boarded a plane on the 27th for St. Louis, a little American Airlines express flight, and found myself in the window seat on a 2-person row on a tiny little jet.

In the process of sitting, rearranging, and stowing my carry-on fully beneath the seat in front of me, I make the same grave mistake.

No arm rest down-putting. Big mistake. Huge.

Then I see her.

She is young, pausing, looking at me, and I immediately know she's going to be in my aisle. She, too, has the biggest hips I've seen (okay, since the first flight, but still).

I pity her immediately because she's red-faced, sweating, and young. Like 17. She sits down, and then I realize my tragic error.

Again, it is too late.

We, too, shared body heat and personal space the entire way from Atlanta to St. Louis. By the time we got there, I was quite familiar with her body odor. Her scent, if you will.

Merry Christmas to me.

On a Wing and a Prayer

I'm traveling south for Christmas...and leaving the beauty of Michigan Avenue at the holidays behind.

Given the wind blowing outside, it may be a quick trip. I'm saying quiet prayers now that the plane can handle it.

However, knowing Chicago's airports, it is possible (and maybe more likely) that I'll be stationed at the gate at Midway for most of the day. At least I can take comfort in knowing I won't be alone.

And there's nothing quite like airport-people-watching to pass the time (and boost my self-confidence).

I'm certain that there will be at least one group of travelers, one lone passenger, one badly dressed individual, one family fighting, one kid crying, or one disgruntled service worker to make my day by providing me fodder for a later post.

Stay tuned, and safe travels!