JANUARY 2, 2011
6:00am, Delta Airlines, Pittsburgh --> New York City (JFK), Seat 18A.
Window seat. Sweeeeeet.
What could be better? Nobody in the seat next to me!
Granted, I'm in literally the last row of the plane, but I've got my headphones, complete with abundant assortment of only the best indie/alternative traveling tunes, and plan on trying to catch some of that 'shut-eye' stuff I once heard about. Even if it is just a 50 minute flight..
Takeoff. I've always loved flying. I'd really love to be a pilot, but the Air Force just wasn't in the cards with the 'rents. Not that I blame them; it's scary stuff with wars abound and whatnot. And I think of my buddy Dan on the front lines in Afghanistan. Miss you buddy, come home safe. But in the almighty words of the glorious Monty Python's 'The Dead Body That Claims It Isn't', "I'm not dead yet!". You can bring out your dead folks, I'm living forever. The pilot's license can wait - I'm headed to London.
Good morning, Pennsylvania sunrise on the wings of a Canadian Regional Jet headed to NYC.
A bright and sunny day ahead. Perfect.
But then, DISASTER STRIKES!
Not really, but the pilot comes over the intercom and announces that JFK's all fogged up. Who saw that one coming? Not the guys in JFK - couldn't see a thing through the fog, from what I hear. Here's where being a pilot has it's downsides: try announcing to a bunch of restless flyers at 7am that we're just going to fly in circles for a while and cross our fingers that the wind rolls up its sleeves and rips that fog a new one. As expected, that doesn't work - sadly, wind doesn't wear sleeves.. shame..
But also as expected, there's a lot of groaning from the majority of the passengers. From the back of the plane, I pretty much see everything going on: there's the crying baby who I'm pretty sure puked all over his mother, the surprisingly-composed semi-professional dancer who now might miss her show this afternoon, and of course the general mish-mash of penguin-suited high-ups with their Bluethooths (Blueteeth..?) pretending to call imaginary clients and cancel very important imaginary meetings that they can't imagine (how ironic!) making it to now. I assume they were imaginary, of course. You see, being at 10,000 feet in a piece of metal that uses satellite reception to orient itself in almost every way tends to interfere with the mundane operations of the casual business cell phone. Or the other way around, I don't remember.. Anyway, there's interference and no one was yelling at any else to stop interfering with the other's very important signal-based communication. The suits weren't yelling at the pilots about how they didn't care if the plane went down due to technical interference, they were just either concerned about missing their very important meetings or too preoccupied with the revelation that they were important enough to cancel very important meetings. The pilots weren't yelling at the suits because no one else would take the wheel. Plus there was some kind of interference..
I kid, I kid. What really happened? The pilots are sweating bullets and decide to gun it through the fog like something out of a Die Hard movie. Mel Gibson's at the wheel and he yells something over the intercom, but it's indistinguishable due to the blaring action-movie music now rebounding through the cabin. This is going to be a good one, I've seen this film before! The black dude in the co-pilot's seat shrugs and tells everyone 'he's too old for this shit!' Then they get the bad guys. Eh. Average at best. I'll check RottenTomatoes later to confirm..
OK, I kid again. I literally had too much time on my hands. Plus, I like my version better. Because what really, really happened is that we just decide to land at the one, the only, glorious.. Allentown, PA national airport. And sit there. On the runway. There's only something like two gates at this thing - one's currently docking a plane that might actually fly after a couple years' maintenance. I'm pretty sure the other is docking a tractor. So this why I had time on my hands: we sit on this runway for upwards of an hour and a half. The pilots and attendants, while probably completely knowledgeable of the vehement verbal beating they're receiving under the breath of the majority of passengers, and of that number, the majority of the awake passengers (those that weren't awake were probably still cursing under their breaths, but I'm assuming only because they're dreaming of being in the same situation, but are in their case, mad at the dream-pilots and dream-attendants, in which case, it certainly is a fantastic coincidence that they are participating in said verbal beating), repeatedly do make attempts to fix the situation.
**That was like a 6-line sentence. Apologies, I get that way sometimes. Just remember that the main clause constitutes the pilots and attendants making the attempts at the end of the sentence. Enjoy my writing style, I blame Dickens and Douglas Adams.
Anyway, I'm sitting in the back actually enjoying myself, believe it or not. You see, my layover is a whopping 9 hours already - anything that leaves less time for me to twiddle my thumbs at the foreboding JFK airport is a welcome reprieve. Anyway, I can't say as much for the actress I mentioned. The pilots are talking to the airport and they're offering a 2-hour bus trip up to NYC, so she hops on that deal. Generally, I thought that was a bad move. Watched pots never boil, and waiting planes never take off (same thing, right..?). Well apparently, they don't take off until people start to leave. Maybe she was weighing down the plane, because this baby takes off like a hot air balloon losing its sandbags. So long, sister. Hope that bus serves peanuts.
So the wind borrowed a letter jacket, rolled up the sleeves, and tossed that fog in a locker like everyone's favorite high school sweetheart, Big Billy Arson.
Needless to say, before I could find the "That was easy!" App on my iPhone, we were landing in JFK. And you know what? I'll give it to the tower guys, there actually was fog. Who knew?
Good music that helped me sleep through the crying baby:
Local Natives - "Wide Eyes", off their album "Gorilla Manor"
Great stuff. Check it out.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next post continues the absolutely RIVETING tale of the beginning of my trip. Jesus Christ. Here we are: a week in, and I'm writing in my diary like a school-girl instead of posting the 400-some pictures I have yet to post. Shit. Hope my writing doesn't deter you - I seriously will start posting some good photos soon. Bear with me until then. I'm bored, my songwriting has hit a speed-bump, and I've no other outlet. Also, apologies that this post was so much more sarcastic and ridiculous. I'll try to keep my wit in my pants.
I know, I know. Pictures. Got it.
Cheers!
yeah rick this beginning part is alot of writing
ReplyDelete