New York Report Part 4
Monday, February 13: Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays
We woke late and left the hotel in search of bagels (to take home) and pizza (for breakfast). There was a nice factory place on Delancey where we scored four bagels and a small tub of delicious cream cheese. On the way back up Essex, we stopped at a pizzeria for a slice and a warm-up (the day was clear, sunny, and freezing).
After breakfast, Sce went to her meeting, and I camped in the room until they threw me out, which happened to be 2pm even though we were supposed to check out by 12. As it turned out, I got down to the lobby at the same time as Sce finished her meeting, so we were able to check out quickly and cab it to JFK to begin the process of trying to get home. And it was a trying process, let me tell you.
We got in a huge, snakelike line of desperate travelers, Sce to check in and I to get on standby. Her flight being at 5 PM, she realized she would have to leave me in line and go do the automated check-in, so she took off and I made my slow, steady way toward the counter. As luck would have it, I managed to get on standby for the 2/13 6:45 PM flight, 24 hours earlier than the one they'd originally reassigned me to. I was first in line for standby, which is a very good thing. I got my ticket and checked my bags and wandered off to the gate. While on the escalator, I received a phone call from our realtor letting me know that we would be shortly moving into escrow on our house. Pretty good news.
Getting on the flight was no problem. All 13 or 14 of us on the standby list got on the flight, and while we left a little late, it promised to be a decent flight. My one complaint was that I had a middle seat, and the guy in the aisle seat was 300lbs plus. Don't get me wrong, I think it sucks to be a bigger person and have to fly. The seats are too small, and there's nowhere to put your arms or legs, really. I felt bad for the guy, but he also impinged upon my space, which made it a little uncomfortable, but certainly not unmanageable. Besides, the movie was Walk the Line, and I still had a few hours of Howard Stern left to fill in the pre-movie time. I also finished reading Slanky, Doughty's excellent book of poetry.
It wasn't until we got to San Diego that, as the British say, things all began to go pear-shaped. First, our approach to the airport was wrong. We came in far too high, and while I assumed we would be descending in a semi-holding pattern until we got in line to land, those hopes were dashed. The pilot came on the intercom and told us that there was a 25-minute wait time to land due to fog, and our fuel state wouldn't allow us to circle. Therefore, we were being diverted to Los Angeles, LAX.
Much groaning followed. I had no idea what that meant. I first assumed it meant we had too much fuel and were a low priority to get in to land, so they were sending us to LAX. In retrospect, this makes no sense. My other seatmate (to my right), a flight attendant looking to have some extra time in SD before heading back to New York, said we might have to be bused down to SD from LAX. The guy to my left (who drove me nuts the entire flight by falling asleep - in itself not so bad - and twitching fitfully every few seconds with one leg pressed against mine) groaned when I told him it was at least a 2 hour drive from LAX to SAN.
On landing, we headed to a gate and the captain clarified things. We were just going to refuel and then hop over to SD. So, not so bad - maybe 20 minutes to refuel, another 20 to fly back down, no biggie.
You'd think.
We pushed back from the gate after refueling, and moved toward the line of planes in line to take off. Then we paused, sitting out on the tarmac for a while. And then the captain came on to tell us that we were having a mechanical glitch, and that one of the systems was not working, and we were going back to the gate for repairs. Shit.
Half an hour later (during which, I was amused to note that a woman in the seat behind me told someone on her cellphone that we were in San Diego - I gather she'd been sleeping awhile), we pushed back from the gate again and this time taxied out toward the runway. Then we were held up for 10 - 15 minutes because the fog was worsening in San Diego, and traffic control was spacing out incoming flights. Great. We took off after that, and I attempted to go to sleep in the naive hope that we'd be on the ground when I woke up.
Heh.
I awoke to the sound of the engines revving up in a sharp ascent. A look out the window showed thick fog that we were climbing out of. As we rose up, I could see downtown SD relatively clearly, and that the airport was covered by the thickest fog. The captain told us that we didn't make our minimum clearance on the first approach, and that we'd have to approach again. This entailed about a 15-minute turn out over the pacific, while we all stewed and fidgeted. Our second approach was equally frustrating; just as I started to see streets and street lights through the thinning fog, the plane began to climb again for another approach.
On the third try, we went straight down and cut through the fog. We came in from the northwest, the opposite of the normal approach to SAN, and I suspect the pilot just took a calculated risk and went for it, because I sure didn't see the fog thinning at all.
They got us down at around 1:45 AM, I guess, which - if you do the math is - 4:45 AM EST, which was 10 hours into a 6 hour flight. I was so discombobulated by that point that I accidentally left Slanky in the seat-pocket. On some level, I'm kinda glad - I hope someone picks it up and has a great surreal experience reading those awesome lines. And really, I don't mind giving Doughty more money; I'll just get another copy. At any rate, I got my luggage, picked up my truck, and got home at around 2:20 AM.
Overall, I'll take 2 feet of snow over that flight any day. The flight sucked, but the trip was great fun.
We woke late and left the hotel in search of bagels (to take home) and pizza (for breakfast). There was a nice factory place on Delancey where we scored four bagels and a small tub of delicious cream cheese. On the way back up Essex, we stopped at a pizzeria for a slice and a warm-up (the day was clear, sunny, and freezing).
After breakfast, Sce went to her meeting, and I camped in the room until they threw me out, which happened to be 2pm even though we were supposed to check out by 12. As it turned out, I got down to the lobby at the same time as Sce finished her meeting, so we were able to check out quickly and cab it to JFK to begin the process of trying to get home. And it was a trying process, let me tell you.
We got in a huge, snakelike line of desperate travelers, Sce to check in and I to get on standby. Her flight being at 5 PM, she realized she would have to leave me in line and go do the automated check-in, so she took off and I made my slow, steady way toward the counter. As luck would have it, I managed to get on standby for the 2/13 6:45 PM flight, 24 hours earlier than the one they'd originally reassigned me to. I was first in line for standby, which is a very good thing. I got my ticket and checked my bags and wandered off to the gate. While on the escalator, I received a phone call from our realtor letting me know that we would be shortly moving into escrow on our house. Pretty good news.
Getting on the flight was no problem. All 13 or 14 of us on the standby list got on the flight, and while we left a little late, it promised to be a decent flight. My one complaint was that I had a middle seat, and the guy in the aisle seat was 300lbs plus. Don't get me wrong, I think it sucks to be a bigger person and have to fly. The seats are too small, and there's nowhere to put your arms or legs, really. I felt bad for the guy, but he also impinged upon my space, which made it a little uncomfortable, but certainly not unmanageable. Besides, the movie was Walk the Line, and I still had a few hours of Howard Stern left to fill in the pre-movie time. I also finished reading Slanky, Doughty's excellent book of poetry.
It wasn't until we got to San Diego that, as the British say, things all began to go pear-shaped. First, our approach to the airport was wrong. We came in far too high, and while I assumed we would be descending in a semi-holding pattern until we got in line to land, those hopes were dashed. The pilot came on the intercom and told us that there was a 25-minute wait time to land due to fog, and our fuel state wouldn't allow us to circle. Therefore, we were being diverted to Los Angeles, LAX.
Much groaning followed. I had no idea what that meant. I first assumed it meant we had too much fuel and were a low priority to get in to land, so they were sending us to LAX. In retrospect, this makes no sense. My other seatmate (to my right), a flight attendant looking to have some extra time in SD before heading back to New York, said we might have to be bused down to SD from LAX. The guy to my left (who drove me nuts the entire flight by falling asleep - in itself not so bad - and twitching fitfully every few seconds with one leg pressed against mine) groaned when I told him it was at least a 2 hour drive from LAX to SAN.
On landing, we headed to a gate and the captain clarified things. We were just going to refuel and then hop over to SD. So, not so bad - maybe 20 minutes to refuel, another 20 to fly back down, no biggie.
You'd think.
We pushed back from the gate after refueling, and moved toward the line of planes in line to take off. Then we paused, sitting out on the tarmac for a while. And then the captain came on to tell us that we were having a mechanical glitch, and that one of the systems was not working, and we were going back to the gate for repairs. Shit.
Half an hour later (during which, I was amused to note that a woman in the seat behind me told someone on her cellphone that we were in San Diego - I gather she'd been sleeping awhile), we pushed back from the gate again and this time taxied out toward the runway. Then we were held up for 10 - 15 minutes because the fog was worsening in San Diego, and traffic control was spacing out incoming flights. Great. We took off after that, and I attempted to go to sleep in the naive hope that we'd be on the ground when I woke up.
Heh.
I awoke to the sound of the engines revving up in a sharp ascent. A look out the window showed thick fog that we were climbing out of. As we rose up, I could see downtown SD relatively clearly, and that the airport was covered by the thickest fog. The captain told us that we didn't make our minimum clearance on the first approach, and that we'd have to approach again. This entailed about a 15-minute turn out over the pacific, while we all stewed and fidgeted. Our second approach was equally frustrating; just as I started to see streets and street lights through the thinning fog, the plane began to climb again for another approach.
On the third try, we went straight down and cut through the fog. We came in from the northwest, the opposite of the normal approach to SAN, and I suspect the pilot just took a calculated risk and went for it, because I sure didn't see the fog thinning at all.
They got us down at around 1:45 AM, I guess, which - if you do the math is - 4:45 AM EST, which was 10 hours into a 6 hour flight. I was so discombobulated by that point that I accidentally left Slanky in the seat-pocket. On some level, I'm kinda glad - I hope someone picks it up and has a great surreal experience reading those awesome lines. And really, I don't mind giving Doughty more money; I'll just get another copy. At any rate, I got my luggage, picked up my truck, and got home at around 2:20 AM.
Overall, I'll take 2 feet of snow over that flight any day. The flight sucked, but the trip was great fun.