I could have just called this post "Air travel really sucks these days" and it would have been just as true, but that wouldn't have caught anyone's attention, now would it? But I'm not even being overly dramatic when I say that I long for the "good old days" of air travel, where you and your suitcase could just walk through a brief security check and then right onto the plane with NO DRAMATICS WHATSOEVER.
I used to love to fly. Twenty-plus years ago, I found myself in a job where I had to travel about 5 or 6 times a year to our other corporate locations in the U.S., and once I even got a 2-week trip to Germany. I used to look forward to those trips, not for the work itself but for the experience of going somewhere on a plane (and on that one trip to Germany, I even got to travel in style, on business class).
I used to love picking up someone at the airport, when you as a non-traveler could go through that same basic security check and then meet your loved one right at the gate as they came off the jetway. What fun that was! Now you have to wait in the front of the terminal with a bunch of limo drivers, which kind of takes some of the glamour out of it.
I just got back yesterday from my 2-week visit with my family back in New Jersey, and for the first time ever, I really felt like I hated air travel, despite the fact that I got to actually use my frequent flyer miles to pay for 95% of the ticket. The cheap ticket proved to be the only really good part of the experience.
Let's start with my U.S.-bound flight. I arrived at Terminal 2A for my flight on Continental, which I have been flying since my corporate days, and have used for almost all of my Newark-Paris trips since I've come to Paris. And when I got there, to where the Continental desk was... it was gone! They had moved, and I had no indication of this on my eTicket! They moved to CDG Terminal 1, which anyone in Paris can tell you is the farthest away from everything. It required a long hike through the Terminal 2 complex to the far side of Terminal 2F to catch the shuttle-train, which then takes you from Terminal 2 to a parking lot, to Terminal 3, to another parking lot, and THEN to Terminal 1. Did you note the illogical numerical NON-order of the terminal numbers on this shuttle line? Fortunately I had arrived at the airport with time to spare.
I then checked in and checked my one free piece of luggage (a second checked bag would now cost me $45 USD)... which, by the way, I TRIED doing online the night before, as prompted by an email from Continental, only to be told to print out the boarding passes that were emailed to me but which proved to be documents saying "THIS IS NOT A BOARDING PASS" and instructing me that I still had to get my boarding passes at the airport. WTF? Georges traveled Air France and he got to print HIS boarding passes off online the night before... so what the hell is wrong with Continental?
Then it was on to airport security. 99% of the time, I breeze through security with no problems, even with all the extra security measures. Once I got wand-scanned, and one time I got my purse randomly checked, but that was it. I know the drill. I'm even patient with it. THIS time, however, something on my person really set off the security beepers, and the next thing I know, some female security guard is groping me from head to toe, including a full frontal breast-grope that would have made my gynecologist proud, and feeling around the waistband of my pants, IN FULL VIEW OF THE ENTIRE WORLD. While she is doing that, another guard calls to me because she has my purse on the side table, and she wants me to come over there after my legally sanctioned feel-up so she can look through the purse. Then the groping guard needs to pass the wand scanner over me, then she gropes me AGAIN, still trying to figure out what was setting off the metal detector. The final determination? It was... MY UNDERWIRE BRA. (A Lilyette Minimizer model, in case you are wondering what bra to AVOID wearing to the airport next time you travel.) I mean, WHAT THE HELL? Thank goodness they didn't want to strip-search me. The other guard then had me open my purse so she could take everything out of it, including my tampons, and then she put it all back again, finding nothing of concern. She didn't even toss out my travel-sized antibacterial hand gel or my travel-sized hand cream... or the hemorrhoid cream (never mind why I had that with me, but suffice to say on an 8 1/2-hour flight, it might have come in handy and I'm glad she didn't confiscate it).
The rest of the west-bound flight was blessedly uneventful, smooth and on time. I even got a nice person sitting next to me, and she didn't chatter the entire trip, either.
Fast forward to yesterday. I knew I was in for a very long travel day, due to not being able to score a direct flight back to Paris with my FF miles. I was on the 3:10 Continental Express flight (small jet) arriving in Montreal at 4:40, followed by an Air Canada 777 to Paris, scheduled to leave at 7:50 pm, so a 3-hour layover. My sister gave me a lift to the airport, but because she had a graduation party to attend, she had to take me to the airport about 45 minutes earlier than I normally would have gone. So, I was up at 9am and out the door by 11, whereas normally on a direct evening flight I wouldn't have left my mom's house until around 3pm. But OK, it was what it was.
My bigger concern was the weather: a prediction of severe afternoon thunderstorms. THAT is something I couldn't even blame on the airport or airlines, but I was just hoping it would work out. I checked my one bag (again, could not check in online the night before, even though once again Continental emailed me that I COULD) -- Georges had flown back the day before and we paid $50 USD to Air France for him to take the second suitcase full of (mostly my) stuff, but it's still cheaper and faster than shipping it home to Paris. I got through security without raising so much as a single security guard's eyebrow -- and THIS time, my underwire bra (a new one I'd just bought at Nordstrom's) didn't set off a strip-search and they didn't want to look in my purse, but I did have to remove my shoes, something the French security is not yet requiring. In fact I don't think I've ever seen anyone take off his/her shoes going through French airport security. Which is kind of interesting when you consider how much attention they paid to my breasts.
So I'm sitting in an over-heated Terminal A at Newark Airport, waiting for my little jet to Montreal. I was kind of excited about flying in a smaller plane, as I haven't done it very often. As I am sitting there with my book and my post-security-screening water bottle, I am noticing the weather is getting worse: big greyish-black clouds are forming to the west and moving closer to the airport. But the flight is still "on time" according to the departure board and the Continental employee manning the gate kiosk. I call my mother to assure her that it looks like I'll get out of there roughly on schedule.
I see the flight crew head down the jetway into the plane; a promising sign. At the appointed time, they start boarding the passengers, which on a small flight takes next to no time at all. I take my seat, noticing the dark clouds are now getting heavier and blacker. But we push back from the gate, ON TIME. We start taxiing for about 10 minutes. And then we stop.
It is only THEN that the flight attendant (only 1 on this little plane) gets on the intercom and informs us that due to the bad weather that is north of us and directly in our flight path, we may have some problems taking off on time... or at all. They are "checking on" their options and seeing if they can somehow go around the big, ugly, dangerous thunderstorm clouds... because of course you don't really want to go through one of those in a plane, right? So fine. We wait. They turn off the engines, but they do keep the air conditioning on, and tell us we can get up and move around, use the toilet, etc. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with glasses of water, then with peanuts. Seems like they are taking that "how you treat customers trapped in a plane on the tarmac" stuff seriously, and they're trying to keep us comfortable until they can give us more information.
An hour passes. It starts to rain. A lot. Sheets and sheets of it. There are wind gusts that rock the plane; first time I've ever experienced air turbulence in a plane that hasn't even left the ground yet. I get up and speak quietly to the flight attendant and explain that I am on a connecting flight to Paris, and if I can't get to Montreal, maybe they can get me back to the terminal and I can catch one of the direct evening flights to Paris after all, even if I have to pay extra? She talks to the captain, who relays the information to air traffic control that there are "international passengers" on the flight (because maybe that will get us clearance to take off? There ARE actually other planes taking off and landing, I can see them from my little round window, and I can't help wondering why WE can't fly if THEY can). They also check to see if there is space on any of the other direct Paris-bound flights, just in case, but turns out they are all over-booked already so my odds of getting to Paris today are pretty much nil if I can't get to Montreal. Another passenger is going to Montreal to attend a wedding, but she says if we can't fly soon she'd rather go back to the terminal and just skip it, because she'll miss the whole wedding if we're much later; I can't help wondering why she cut it so close when she booked her flight, but whatever.
At about the 90-minute mark, the flight attendant tell us that they are still waiting to see what can be done. She mentions the new 3-hour "keeping passengers trapped on the tarmac" rule to let us know that THEY, the flight crew and airline, know the law, blah blah blah. She says that apparently, the airport has sent up a "test" plane with no passengers in it, to see if it can make it through the storm safely, and if it does, then we should be cleared to go "soon". I felt back for her; she obviously was just the messenger and there was nothing she could do, either. Fortunately the passengers were mostly shrugging it off, but most of them were just going home to Montreal, so they could afford to wait. Some of us had other places to be.
FINALLY, at around 2 hours late, they tell us we're cleared for taxiing and then take-off. The flight? A non-event; hardly any turbulence, so I guess the worst of it had already passed. The clouds were really pretty, though.
So we arrive in Montreal. I still have time to catch my flight but I can't afford any more delays. I take a LONG walk, along with the other passengers, to find the right place to do passport control for a connecting flight. I have to ask 3 different airport employees where to go, but finally I get there, and there is the same small core group of us that need to get on other flights to Europe, one guy going to Paris like me, and a group of four going to Frankfurt. Then they tell us they are "not sure" if Continental is going to transfer our checked baggage for us, or if we have to go and get it and then re-check it ourselves. OY VEY! I told them what Air Canada had told ME when I called 2 days earlier to reserve my seat, that I wouldn't see my luggage until I got to Paris, the airline would transfer it to the second plane. The security person calls another security person, who rides up to us ON A BICYCLE, listens to my story, checks all our flight numbers, gets on a cell phone, and after a 10-minute delay confirms that our luggage WILL be transferred to our planes.
Luckily, the departure gate is very nearby. I get there just as boarding has begun. I get in line even though they haven't called my row yet (tant pis for that, by now I am past giving a shit, I just want to get in my seat and get settled in and go home to my husband).
My seat number was 41G, an aisle seat. For some reason, when I got on the plane, I thought it was 41K, which was a window seat. I put my carry-on bag in the compartment about the 3 seats ending in 41K, and sit down. A moment later, I check my boarding pass because I was SURE that the Air Canada person had told me I was getting an aisle seat rather than a window... and then realized my mistake. No one else was seated yet so I was inconveniencing no one when I got up and moved across the aisle to the block of 3 seats in middle, and took my aisle seat at 41G. I decided to leave my suitcase where it was, since it was still close by and there was plenty of room for other passengers to put their luggage in the vicinity. After all, the storage bins are not "reserved" or "assigned" anyway, as we all know, right? I mean, the airline does not guarantee that there will be space for all the carry-on bags of all passengers. The whole freaking flying world is aware of this, right?
Wrong.
Enter Mister and Missus Pain-in-the-Ass-Travelers. Well, SHE was ok. It was HIM. They had the aisle and center seat next to the window in row 41, and as they started to put their luggage in the bin above, he SHOVED my suitcase to the left rather violently so that he could put his stuff directly above his own head, and I had my computer and camera in that suitcase. So I said, "Excuse me, sir, it's OK for you to move my suitcase, but please be gentle, I have a computer and camera inside and they're fragile." And I wasn't even nasty about it.
WELL. He turns around and in the snottiest voice says that I shouldn't even have my bag THERE, that MY "assigned" place is in the bin above my own seat, that I have no right to put MY bag in "HIS" bin. I remind him that the bins are NOT reserved or assigned to specific passengers, and he retorts, getting louder and angrier, "YES THEY ARE!"
And the words that came out of my mouth in reply were: "Huh. What planet do YOU live on?"
Uh-oh. Wrong thing to say, apparently. That man turned around so fast I saw the blur, and I could also see the absolute FURY in his eyes. Like, how DARE I contradict HIM. And he even took a step toward me. Like he was just spoiling for a fight, a fist fight. I could see every muscle in his body flexing and tensing up; like a lion about to leap onto a helpless gazelle, he was going in for the kill. And I was his prey. I'm not even kidding: this guy was one second away from hauling off and belting me in the face. He didn't just want me and my annoying luggage out of his sight; he wanted me DEAD. Preferably in the most painful and bloody way possible. It was right there, in his eyes, and it took me a millisecond to see it all.
Until his wife flew to her feet and grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. I knew in an instant that this was her life: she was married to a guy with anger-management issues, and she'd made a career out of stopping him from killing those of us who happened to get in his way or upset his plans or weren't doing what he wanted. I wondered what carnage he left in his wake on a daily basis when she wasn't there to stop him. She shot me the most apologetic look you could imagine; without a word, she was letting me know this wasn't my fault, while she simultaneously soothed her husband. She was also silently pleading with me not to make it any worse.
I didn't move an inch. I didn't even flinch. After all, I'm a Jersey Girl, you ass-HOLE (he was not just an asshole but an ass-HOLE), and you don't mess with a Jersey Girl. I held my ground, and said, "Look, I've had a really long day too, so just leave it". He turned around and finished settling himself and his wife in (interestingly, he didn't seem to be taking his anger out on HER). A few moments later, I did decide to just go ahead and move my bag anyway, mostly because I didn't trust him not to knock it around later in the flight or during deplaning, just out of spite.
Fast forward again to around Hour 5 of the 6 1/2 hour flight. I'm not sure what actually happened but apparently one of the flight attendants, while wheeling one of the drink carts to the front of the plane, had bumped into Mr. Nasty Pants, possibly causing him to spill his orange juice. And OK, I'm sure she could have been more careful if that's what did happen, but suddenly he was on his feet and YELLING at her -- in the process, spilling even MORE of his own juice on himself and on his poor wife. He stopped short of cursing but once again, his wife had to climb out of her seat and grab his arm to pull him back because I think if the drink cart hadn't been in his way, he might have lunged at the flight attendant. He yelled something like "AT LEAST YOU COULD APOLOGIZE!" in the middle of his rant, at which point the flight attendant said (in a rather snippy tone of voice) "Sir, I DID apologize" because clearly she'd dealt with his kind before and she wasn't putting up with any verbal abuse from difficult customers. The abusive customer and his door-mat of a wife went to the toilets to clean up whatever had spilled on them, and that was it. My seat-mate and I looked at each other and raised our eyebrows (he had witnessed my own altercation with this crazy man), and I just said, "Well, at least now I know for sure: it's not me, it's HIM". And we both agreed it was lucky for that guy that his wife was on hand, or he might have been taken off that plane in handcuffs. A few minutes later, a male flight attendant came by and spoke quietly to the man; perhaps his colleague had tipped him off that there was a human time-bomb on the plane.
Oddly enough, when Georges and I compared notes on our flights home over the past two days, he also had a small "situation" with a very crabby older woman on his return flight, because she thought a specific space in the overhead luggage bin was HERS, and hers alone, and she demanded that he move his things. I guess there is some segment of the flying population who really think they're entitled to THAT SPACE, and by God, they're gonna GET that space all to themselves, come hell or high water.
After all of this drama, the flight landed in Paris ON TIME (we could have arrived in Paris almost an hour early, but we got held up waiting for a few passengers from other connecting flights). The Air Canada plane was newer, and didn't feel overly cramped; it even had a good movies-on-demand system that I've seen on the Air France planes. The flight attendants seemed pleasant and professional. We didn't sit on the tarmac for more than 3 hours, and when we were stuck on the tarmac, at least we were treated well. I even got my luggage in Paris without too much waiting around at the carousel, and got a taxi without waiting as well. So in the end, all was well and nothing was as bad as it might have been.
And yet, I still can't help longing for the "good old days" of air travel, when it not only felt more civilized... it felt more FUN. Now, we're reduced to "tolerating" all the things we can't change: layer upon layer of new security measures that aren't even consistent from airport to airport or country to country; airlines not charging us peanuts but charging us FOR peanuts -- LITERALLY -- on top of the already ridiculous airfares; profit taking priority over passenger comfort. And all because they KNOW that some of us will continue to fly no matter what. For me and people like me who live abroad, if we ever want to see our families and friends again, we have no other alternative but to cross oceans, and the only way to do that is by air.
The only thing I have to say to the airlines now is: We, the flying public, are the reason you airline and airport security people have jobs and that your stockholders are making money. So, have a little bit of compassion for us, won't you please, while you're groping our private parts looking for weapons and while you're packing us into a plane like sardines in a tin can (and while WE'RE paying YOU for that privilege).
We're just trying to get where we're going.
