A Preposterously Delayed Flight
I spent last night in Virginia. This was not according to plan.
The plan was to fly from Chicago to Washington, DC, and thence back to Halifax, arriving yesterday at nine in the evening. However, the flight out of Chicago kept getting delayed by half-hour increments, and when its expected arrival time passed my connecting flight's expected departure time, I decided that it was time to investigate rerouting.
According to the staff at the boarding counter, this meant that I had to go to the Customer Service desk, the line for which went through a roped-in zigzag and spilled out across two terminal waiting-areas. Fortunately, my brother had a flight in the same terminal, which was to leave considerably later than mine even with the delay, so he stood in line with me, and we had a nice time together. By the time that I got to the head of the line, my current flight was scheduled to be boarding, so I was understandably a bit worried that I would miss it, but I did manage to get my situation addressed. The man at the desk told me (while smiling and not blinking once, creepily) that that was a matter to discuss at the boarding desk, but he was helpful when I pointed out that it was they that sent me here. In any event, rerouting was apparently not an option until I had actually missed the connecting flight, which had not yet happened, so I headed back to the gate.
The flight that I was scheduled to take was another small plane, and it was scheduled to stop along the way at Roanoke, Virginia. It shared a gate with another small flight, this one to Raleigh, and for a brief period it looked as though both planes were to board at the same time. I responded when my flight was called, and headed outside, where I was guided to one of the three waiting planes. Once on the plane, though, my path was blocked by the flight attendant (yes, the plane was so small that there was only one), who told me that I was on the wrong plane; this one did not go to Washington. I headed back out, explained things to the ground staff as best I could above the engine noise, and they accompanied me back to the gate, where I was told that the flight attendant was wrong, and I was in fact on the right plane. So we headed back, accumulating a steadily growing group of passengers that had also been told that they were on the wrong plane. Once back aboard, the flight attendant literally threw up her hands and told us to take our seats.
Getting the plane de-iced did not happen quickly, either in Chicago or in Roanoke, and the situation in Roanoke was complicated further by the flight attendant's insistence that everybody had to get off the plane, including the Indian couple with the tiny baby and all the baby paraphernalia. Fortunately, I had only just gotten my jacket on and my bag down from the overhead bin by the time that the flight crew for the second leg arrived and told the first flight crew that that would not be necessary. I imagine that the first flight attendant must have been having a hard day, and I was not surprised to overhear her mentioning to her replacement that she was pretty tired.
I changed seats for the second leg, since the flight attendant was looking for someone to sit in the row with the emergency exits over the wings, and that change of seat allowed me to sit on the opposite side of the aisle, once again in what was simultaneously a window and an aisle seat. By the time that we landed, my flight was over four hours late, and my connecting flight had indeed already left, contrary to the predictions of the airline staff in Chicago. Fortunately, I did not have to wait long to get myself in order, as I was picked as a guinea-pig to help a new trainee learn how to rebook people. There were other options that might have worked out for me had my flight been a mere three hours late, but as things stood I was out of luck, and would have to wait until tomorrow to get back to Halifax. The airline gave me a voucher for a discounted rate at one of the hotel airports, and that was that.
So I spent last night in Virginia, just outside Washington. The hotel had no restaurant, but I had packed some fruit and a leftover but shrink-wrapped fritter from my parents' hotel room, so I did not go hungry. It was actually quite a nice hotel, with what my father and angharad agreed was a very good rate, although there was no hot water in the shower, so I had to wash my hair in the sink. The bed, though, was amazingly comfortable, and I had a good night's rest.
This morning's flight was delayed as well, but nowhere near as badly; I arrived at my gate just as the staff were making their pre-boarding announcements. The flights were each unremarkable, aside from some interesting conversations along the way. Now I am, as the Blake's 7 report goes, down and safe, and on my way back home. It has been a crazy time, but I am glad for it.
The plan was to fly from Chicago to Washington, DC, and thence back to Halifax, arriving yesterday at nine in the evening. However, the flight out of Chicago kept getting delayed by half-hour increments, and when its expected arrival time passed my connecting flight's expected departure time, I decided that it was time to investigate rerouting.
According to the staff at the boarding counter, this meant that I had to go to the Customer Service desk, the line for which went through a roped-in zigzag and spilled out across two terminal waiting-areas. Fortunately, my brother had a flight in the same terminal, which was to leave considerably later than mine even with the delay, so he stood in line with me, and we had a nice time together. By the time that I got to the head of the line, my current flight was scheduled to be boarding, so I was understandably a bit worried that I would miss it, but I did manage to get my situation addressed. The man at the desk told me (while smiling and not blinking once, creepily) that that was a matter to discuss at the boarding desk, but he was helpful when I pointed out that it was they that sent me here. In any event, rerouting was apparently not an option until I had actually missed the connecting flight, which had not yet happened, so I headed back to the gate.
The flight that I was scheduled to take was another small plane, and it was scheduled to stop along the way at Roanoke, Virginia. It shared a gate with another small flight, this one to Raleigh, and for a brief period it looked as though both planes were to board at the same time. I responded when my flight was called, and headed outside, where I was guided to one of the three waiting planes. Once on the plane, though, my path was blocked by the flight attendant (yes, the plane was so small that there was only one), who told me that I was on the wrong plane; this one did not go to Washington. I headed back out, explained things to the ground staff as best I could above the engine noise, and they accompanied me back to the gate, where I was told that the flight attendant was wrong, and I was in fact on the right plane. So we headed back, accumulating a steadily growing group of passengers that had also been told that they were on the wrong plane. Once back aboard, the flight attendant literally threw up her hands and told us to take our seats.
Getting the plane de-iced did not happen quickly, either in Chicago or in Roanoke, and the situation in Roanoke was complicated further by the flight attendant's insistence that everybody had to get off the plane, including the Indian couple with the tiny baby and all the baby paraphernalia. Fortunately, I had only just gotten my jacket on and my bag down from the overhead bin by the time that the flight crew for the second leg arrived and told the first flight crew that that would not be necessary. I imagine that the first flight attendant must have been having a hard day, and I was not surprised to overhear her mentioning to her replacement that she was pretty tired.
I changed seats for the second leg, since the flight attendant was looking for someone to sit in the row with the emergency exits over the wings, and that change of seat allowed me to sit on the opposite side of the aisle, once again in what was simultaneously a window and an aisle seat. By the time that we landed, my flight was over four hours late, and my connecting flight had indeed already left, contrary to the predictions of the airline staff in Chicago. Fortunately, I did not have to wait long to get myself in order, as I was picked as a guinea-pig to help a new trainee learn how to rebook people. There were other options that might have worked out for me had my flight been a mere three hours late, but as things stood I was out of luck, and would have to wait until tomorrow to get back to Halifax. The airline gave me a voucher for a discounted rate at one of the hotel airports, and that was that.
So I spent last night in Virginia, just outside Washington. The hotel had no restaurant, but I had packed some fruit and a leftover but shrink-wrapped fritter from my parents' hotel room, so I did not go hungry. It was actually quite a nice hotel, with what my father and angharad agreed was a very good rate, although there was no hot water in the shower, so I had to wash my hair in the sink. The bed, though, was amazingly comfortable, and I had a good night's rest.
This morning's flight was delayed as well, but nowhere near as badly; I arrived at my gate just as the staff were making their pre-boarding announcements. The flights were each unremarkable, aside from some interesting conversations along the way. Now I am, as the Blake's 7 report goes, down and safe, and on my way back home. It has been a crazy time, but I am glad for it.