Flight Fright - New York, USA

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It started off innocently enough. I arrived in plenty of time and managed to plug in my computer, even send off a few emails before boarding. It was crowded, but I got my usual aisle seat. The guy next to me was big, really big. Not wanting to be confrontational with someone so large over elbow resting rights to the armrest, I figured the best strategy would be friendliness. “Is New York or Los Angeles home?” is my standard opening. It usually works. It did this time. He was from New York, Long Island specifically, worked for a Cisco competitor. We had a lot to talk about.

It’s a good thing too because on the tarmac, ready to release the brakes, scream down the runway into flight - we didn’t. We had a light. Not a big light but a light that would not go away. We had to go back to the terminal. They played with the light (their word, not mine) for an hour, decided it was not lying and finally directed all two hundred plus of us from Gate 38 to Gate 39, where a new (actually not new but different) aircraft (just in from Rio) would take another shot at LAX.

Three and one-half hours after our original departure time, in the same seats, with the same people, the same boarding passes, we were at it again.

This time we managed the miracle of flight. I settled back for some light chat with the big guy about the Internet, networks and PC’s. I was into an impressive story outlining my part in helping Xerox fumble the future, when my audience noted that we were “flying in circles”. I was in the process of assuring him that this was normal when the captain came on and informed us rather nonchalantly that others observing our take off noted that in our effort at getting airborne, this time we had lost a tire. Tire #8 had fallen off. The fact that it was tire #8 at first may seem to be a meaningless piece of information, but on closer examination, it is quite comforting to know that you have lost only 12 ½% of your wheeling capacity.

Slowly the misery unfolded. It seems we had to get lighter in our tire-depleted state. For some unknown reason, we could not dump our fuel to lighten up. Our only option was to slowly circle over the ocean with flaps down, burning off a couple of thousand pounds of fuel. It would take about three hours. Silently, many of us blamed the damn environmentalist for our ridiculous plight, but no one said anything. Most were somewhere between anger and fear.

The captain was reassuring (how do they practice sounding so cool in situations like this), telling us how bad things like this always came in threes. He had had a mast snap on a windy Texas lake over the weekend (I guess from his perspective, light+tire+mast=3). This actually increased our apprehension since; although a snapped mast may be his #3, what about the other 200 of us? Or don’t things work that way? Anyway, he may have been right since our landing went off smoothly to the minor disappointment of the stream of blinking pale green emergency vehicles that lined our runway in welcome.

After the applause of relief had subsided, it was confirmed. We had lost a tire all right (correctly identified as #8), but all else was well and we were going to the gate under our own power at the head of our small parade of green trucks with flashing blue and red lights. As we approached the gate, we were greeted with an impressive sight. Pressed against the glass of the terminal was a line of red and blue coated agents waving in welcome. There were more of them than there were of us! Like a crown of puppies, they swarmed us, licking our faces, ready with sandwiches, calling cards, forms and yes, another plane at an adjacent gate. We’d all seen that one before, too much fate-tempting for about twenty of us, including my big companion. He concluded that somehow NYC looked a lot more attractive at the present moment than yet another attempt at LAX; he didn’t buy that mast story for a New York minute. I was a little unnerved with his certitude in canceling his opportunity for a third attempt at LAX.

Despite a full schedule of meetings, he was not going to try it again, content to take his luggage and go home. This was a little unsettling since I considered our prior attempts and came to the opposite conclusion. Given the two failed departures, I assumed our chance for uneventful success was greater this time, not less. I know the laws of mathematics do not permit us both to be right, but I really hoped I was.

Anyway, I got a sandwich and spoke to a couple of answering machines with my five-minute telephone card. Then here I was again in seat 26B with the added luxury of a vacant armrest, ready for the third attempt of the day. Oh, they just let us know there will be a slight delay in getting all our luggage from the plane without Tire #8 to this one.

Here we go, pushing away from the gate, ten hours delayed, hoping for 5 ½ hours of blissful uneventfulness.

 

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