You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Flying the friendly skies.
As we are making our descent into Denver, the captain comes on the intercom.
“Well folks. Here’s the latest from the flight deck.”
I strain to hear his words over the garbled speaker system mixing with jet engine roar.
“I’m afraid the news is not good. There are two thunderstorms sitting on top of Denver International. They’ve closed down the airport and they are diverting flights.”
He clicks off the microphone as a murmur rises aboard flight 1638.
“Oh oh,” the older lady next to me says.
I look out the window. The sky is bright and blue. If there is a thunderstorm, it’s not here.
The pilot finishes his sentence.
“It looks like we are heading back to Salt Lake City. We’ll refuel there and get more information. Sorry folks. Sometimes thunderstorms don’t go where you want them to.”
And with that, the uncertainty sets in.
The lady next to me seemed nervous. “What do you think is going to happen?”
I thought about that question. I wasn’t sure what to tell her. I had a connecting flight to Nashville. That connection was surely compromised now.
I watched as the plane banked to the left, my view of the wild blue yonder melting into a cloud bank.
“Maybe they can re-route some of us out of Salt Lake,” I say really knowing nothing.
A woman in front of me is wearing a surgical scrub mask. I am unclear whether she is afraid of getting our germs or giving us hers. She seems upset, though what she is saying to her friend is muffled through blue paper.
The flight attendant is stopped constantly. He is peppered with questions about connections, questions about what if.
He is flustered, but holding it together. He speaks loudly so many rows can hear his words.
“Customer service agents are working this problem,” he says. “All the planes were diverted, so connecting flights were diverted too.”
“That’s good, right?” the woman beside me says.
I smile and stare out the window as the plane banks 180 degrees and heads back the way we just came.
I am angry. I’m not sure at whom. It’s an act of God. Surely it was the wisest decision to turn around. Safety first right?
But the other part of me that wants to throw caution to the wind. Part of me thinks, screw it, go for it. I’m a dangerous son of a bitch, and the pilot should say “Pony up boys, we’re riding into hell.”
OK, that’s dumb, but it makes me laugh.
So, we land in Salt Lake. It is clear and dry. The mountains are brown and the airport ugly.
How many Mormons does it take to screw in a light bulb?
The joke in my head evaporates as the flight attendant screeches into the p.a. system.
“Nobody get up please!”
We pull to the gate and the strangeness begins. Nobody gets up. Nobody rushes to the aisle to the over head bins. Passengers sit and stare and wait.
I hear conversations all around me. There is angst, frustration, panic.
After an hour the pilot says he is taking us back to Denver. He says Southwest customer service reps are doing all they can to put passengers on connecting flights.
“That’s good right?” the woman next to me asks.
I smile. I don’t want to alarm her. In my head I’m thinking. It’s an act of God. How much does Southwest really care about me?
Half way there, the flight attendant reads out a list of cities and gates for connecting information. Charlotte and Fort Lauderdale and Chicago. They make the list.
Nashville is not among the gates of opportunity.
I guess Southwest didn’t care that much. The flight didn’t wait and I am soon to be a refugee in Denver.
I get off the plane and it’s mass confusion. The customer service area is a boarding desk. It says Omaha with a flight number. Passengers for this flight are standing in line. Passengers from my flight and other stranded souls are now gathering behind me. Both lines begin to merge into a chaotic mess.
It is confusing and tempers start to flare. Nobody is answering questions. Nobody knows a thing. The counter women never look up. they are on white telephones tucked into their necks. They are typing on computers. They are working, but I think they are afraid to look up. To do so, would acknowledge the chaos brewing a few feet away.
I realize that I am screwed. This line will take all night to get through. If there is a flight going anywhere near Nashville, I got to get on it now. So I call Southwest from line.
A customer service rep comes on and tells me that there are no more flights to Nashville tonight.
The reality of my situation hits hard.
“No more flights tonight?” I parrot. Those around me seem concerned. They are not going to Nashville, but this could be indicative of what they are going to face trying to get home to Philly or Detroit.
Then more bad news. The woman says the only non stop to Nashville in the morning is over booked. She starts looking for any flight with a seat. It’s a long wait while she checks flight after flight.
As I inch forward in line, I am hearing from other passengers that this is an act of God and Southwest doesn’t offer free hotel and food vouchers for weather events.
The mood in line is now angry. What if you have no money? What if you have no clothes? What if your bags are in Timbuktu? Doesn’t matter. Southwest doesn’t pay for acts of God.
“That’s the best I can offer you,” the woman on the phone says. “Denver to New Orleans to Nashville. You arrive Sunday at 5pm.”
I roll my eyes. I would have been landing in Nashville Saturday night about right now. Suddenly I have to find a hotel a shuttle bus and take two more planes?
This sucks. I’m exhausted. I’m a dog who was beat with a newspaper because I soiled the kitchen floor.
“OK. I’ll take that flight,” I moan into the phone.
After 10 minutes, I move to the counter. The woman looks up she has a smile for me and she is pleasant. I see she is doing all she can do and it is not her fault.
She says the flight I booked on the phone is my best option.
I ask one more time for a hotel voucher.
“Act of God,” she says”
She hands me a pink piece of paper.
“This is an agency contracted with Southwest. If they can locate you a hotel room, they can get you a discounted price.”
“If they can locate me a hotel room?”
I am stumped by this one.
Her smile fades. “Yeah, with all the flooding in the Denver area, there are no hotels available. Displaced families have taken them all.”
The Denver floods!
I never watched the news. That’s the crazy thing about California. You are in the last time zone, on the edge of the world, crammed between an ocean and a pina colada. News doesn’t really matter.
For two weeks, I had no idea what’s been going on in Syria, or Nashville and certainly not Colorado. That is till I landed.
That’s when the craziness of this night really hits. I am stranded in DIA and I have no flight out for over 12 hours and now I don’t even have a place t stay.
I am exhausted from a full day of traveling. I started early and there is nothing relaxing about flying.
Strip searches and bus rides and TSA insensitivity.
But typically you get to where you are going.
Not tonight.
I move away from the counter.
“Good luck,” the agent says.
“Yeah thanks.”
I stare at a mile of seats and flight status boards and red carpeting.
I feel a pensive weight of anxiety wash over me.
“What now?” I say to myself. “What now.”
Life’s crazy™