1800 HRS (at the time of this writing.)
LOCATION: The Tarmac at NY’s LAGUARDIA Airport.
I’m aboard an airplane whose company shall remain nameless (hint: might be found in a fraternity or sorrority name) that was supposed to take off at 1630 EST.
The bouyant sounding Captain just announced: "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are finally in line for takeoff… However, we are number 27."
Groans, sighs and faint utterings of profanity flew throughout the cabin. (Yours truly in full participation!)
In the hour and a half that we have been delayed thus far, we have been told:
A. THAT There was an issue with another airlines’ plane on the runway which had to be cleared.
B. THAT There were some unexplained delays coming from the air traffic control tower. And while that might seem frustrating to some passengers, we should take some sort of bizarre comfort in knowing that its just as frustrating for "those of us up here in the cockpit." (I’ve never understood this logic because I’m not getting paid to sit on this bus with wings. What the heck does the pilot really care how long it takes to get from point A to point B – this is his JOB.)
C. THAT We were able to use the bathroom because there was a problem with the water pressure on the plane.
D. THAT We had to return to the gate to have to water pressure situation examined. (Upon examination: we learned that someone "simply forgot to flip a switch" on the outside.
And for all of these headaches, of course, Captain Cheerful was VERY SORRY for these inconveniences.
Now normally, I should be really ticked off. But I’m not – its really funny in a demented way!
And I gave a very nice woman who watches FOX my copy of the brand new People Magazine with Brangelina’s baby pictures.
She’s happy now. I’m happy to have made her happy! And I am confident sometime this week, Captain Cheerful might actually get us to Washington.
If you have travel nightmares – send them my way so I can post them: firstname.lastname@example.org